The Warlock Prince

by DracoMalfoy456

It wasn't fair. Arthur was only supposed to be in Camelot for one week. A single week, while he solicited more grain for his starving village. That was it. Instead, he managed to somehow save the life of a prattish prince and was now bound by the king to serve him. And what was with the dragon in the dungeon, calling him the "Once and Future King?"

1. And So Our Story Begins

Pairings:

Merlin/Arthur Pendragon, Freya/Morgana, Gwaine/Merlin, Arthur Pendragon/Gwaine (unrequited), Ygraine de Bois/Uther Pendragon, Minor or Background Relationships.

Characters:

Merlin, Arthur Pendragon, Balinor, Ygraine de Bois, Freya, Gaius, Kilgharrah, Valiant, Gwen, Lancelot, Gwaine, Percival, Elyan, Leon, Cerdan, Ewan, Pellinore, Bedivere, Iseldir, Morgana, Agravaine, Tristan de Bois, Uther Pendragon.

Additional Tags:

Alternate Universe - Role Reversal, Merlin is the Prince of Camelot, Arthur is his (Unwilling) Servant, Partial Series Rewrite, Fluff and Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, light humor, Slow Burn, Mutual Pining, Morally Dubious Balinor, Internalized Homophobia, Mentions of Homophobia, Lots and Lots of Introspection, Like You'd think I'm a Psychologist Or Something

---

Hey all! So, I decided to revise my previous note, as it got… way too long.

Anyway! Hi! So, this is my first story that I've written in a year and it's… well, a beast. I started writing on April 1st, 2020, stopped writing May 9th, 2020, and it has over 365,000 words. Which is… a lot. And most of it is repetition, as I don't know how NOT to do that, so… sorry. I wrote for so fast for so long that I barely had time to reread my work, and now that I am, I'm… I don't know. Disenchanted. I'll post this story, and I hope y'all like it, but it's not the best written story in the world. Eh. I tried. I have no aims to be a professional writer, just a school psychologist if I can, and I write for fun more than anything.

Thanks for reading! Hope you like!

Obligatory 'I own nothing, these characters belong to ancient Arthurian legend, I just borrow part of the plot and characterization from the BBC adaptation of the story.' Does this even matter anymore? Who knows. The rituals of Ye Olde Fanfic writers are intricate.

---

Arthur sighed as he wiped the sweat from his brow, squinting up at the harsh sunlight. He looked down at the plow that was before him and suppressed another sigh as he realized how much work he still had left to do. Squaring his shoulders, he went back to his plowing, ignoring the dull pain radiating from his back. He had to finish this whole row by sundown or else him and his mother would pay for it. That much, he knew.

Part of him seethed at the unfairness of it all. Having to work in the fields in this blistering heat, no relief from the unrelenting sun, while those with power just stood and watched. He hated it, hated it with every fiber of his being. But what could he, a lowly farm boy, do? And so, he seethed, but he plowed on. Because what other choice was there?

As he sat in front of the fire later that night, though, back aching and red with burns from the harsh sun, he let his hatred flow through his veins. His mother wouldn't want him to hate this way, she'd scold him if she knew. But she didn't, couldn't, so he gave himself this moment of resentment. It was all he could do, after all, in resistance to King Balinor, the Powerful (as he called himself, that bastard). The man may have his, very forced, servitude, but he'd never have his full compliance. He refused. He was too proud for that.

(Just like his father, a voice whispered in his head. He mercilessly pushed that voice down. After all, he'd never known his father. King Balinor saw to that.)

The soft sound of footsteps caused him to look up, catching his mother's concerned and loving gaze. Despite his dark thoughts and emotions, Arthur smiled weakly up at her. No need to needlessly concern her, after all.

"You're in pain, my love," Ygraine softly spoke, reaching out and running a hand through her son's hair. Arthur grimaced lightly as he rotated his shoulders, but he quickly shrugged it off.

"Don't worry, mother. I'll be fine. You should go to bed, you have a long day tomorrow," Arthur replied, catching his mother's hand, and placing a gentle kiss of the back of it. She had an hour's walk to the village next over for her shift as a tavern cook. She needed rest, not to be kept up, worrying for him. No matter what, Arthur would always love and care for his mother. His pain didn't matter as long as she was happy.

He felt her heave a small sigh before getting up and walking over to her small mattress on the ground. They didn't have the money for a full bed, but at least they had their mattresses. It was better than sleeping on coarse hay or the ground, at least. And, on nights when it grew colder, it was nice to sleep before the fire, rather than upstairs. It was cruel of this summer, to have blazing days but chilly nights.

"Very well, my love. But please try and get some sleep soon. You, too, have a long day ahead of you and I'd hate to see you fall ill from exhaustion."

Arthur gave his mother a reassuring smile, watching over her as she succumbed to sleep, that worried line on her face finally smoothing out.

He hated this. He wished things were different, that he'd somehow find a way to make this all better. That he could find a way to destroy the king's reign and make it so non-magic users weren't treated as secondhand citizens. But it was just a wish, nothing that could ever come true. And as he laid down to sleep that night, trying to ignore the throb in his shoulders and upper back, he felt a small feeling of helplessness run through him, as he did every night since he was a child and had to watch his mother slave for hours over a hot stove as cruel men shouted disgusting things at her.

This was how things were. Nothing would ever change this. Arthur tried not to cry as he finally fell asleep.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

He didn't understand why he had to come to these stupid meetings. They always just ended after hours of boredom on his part, seeing as how he wasn't allowed to do anything, not yet. Merlin tried to hide his yawn behind his hand, but he could tell his father had caught it, judging by his disapproving frown. Merlin stood up straighter at the King's attention, not wanting to seem rude or uncaring, and began trying his hardest to pay attention to whatever the sorcerer in front of them was saying.

Something about a rebellion in one of the outlying villages. The non-magic peasants had apparently attacked their town's sorcerers, beating them with sticks and stones, shouting how they refused to be treated like subpar creatures anymore. Merlin had to stop himself before he rolled his eyes. This was the third rebellion this month, when would they realize it never got anything done? It would just make his father angrier.

Case in point, he watched with distant eyes as his father, King Balinor, scowled and ordered the men of the village to be put into one of their reform camps, while the woman and children were put into the fields for good use. Merlin kept his tongue to himself as the sorcerer bowed and left, setting out to do as his king ordered. He felt himself start to shake but ignored it. Like he always did.

"Merlin, come here," he heard his father demand, after the council was over, beckoning him closer with a hand.

"Yes, Father?" Merlin questioned, eyebrows raised slightly. He controlled his face, expression a blank mask. Balinor stared at him for a second before shaking his head.

"We have heard news of a griffin attacking some of the villages. I want you to ride out there and kill it. Alright?" His father asked, frown on his lips. Merlin nodded once and turned quickly to leave, his pace brisk and controlled. He couldn't control the distress on his face completely, but he hoped he had done well enough. Right as he was about to exit, however, he heard his father call out his name.

"Merlin."

Merlin turned back to face his father and king. His father was staring at him intently. Damn it.

"You must understand why I do what I do. If I let these rebellions continue, they will destroy everything we have striven so hard to create. I don't like punishing them anymore than you do, but still, I must do it. And one day, so will you. The fate of Camelot herself depends on it. Do you understand?" Balinor implored, searching his son's eyes for the answer to his question. Merlin hesitated for only a second, before nodding once again. His father nodded back, dismissing Merlin, allowing him to leave in peace.

To be honest, Merlin didn't understand, not really. He understood, of course, why they had to keep the non-magical people at bay. Otherwise, they would rise up and try and destroy his kind. They hated his kind, after all. However, what Merlin didn't understand was why they had to keep non-magical people in poverty. Why only a select few were allowed to have rank in the castle, why even the richest were treated with scorn and disdain. Couldn't they just set the rules and let everyone live equally? Surely the non-magic users would understand that his father was the ruler and that they had to listen to him?

But he wasn't the one in charge. His father was, and that's how it would be for a long time to come, hopefully. Maybe one day, when he was king, things would change. But until then, he had to do as his king ordered.

The next morning Merlin set out for the surrounding villages, finding and killing the griffin in no time, ignoring the way his stomach churned as he passed by the faces of poverty-stricken peasants.

This was the way things were. Nothing would change that. And as he fell asleep that night, Merlin tried to get the faces of crying, hungry children out of his mind.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

"I don't see why I have to be the one to go," Arthur grumbled under his breath, ignoring the disapproving stare from his mother.

"Because, Arthur, you're the only one who's strong enough and the only one who owns a sword," Ygraine replied chidingly, adding another shirt to the bag Arthur was expected to carry all the way from his village to Camelot. He eyed it with mild trepidation.

"But what about the crops? Who will tend to them while I'm gone?" Arthur questioned, eyebrows raised. His mother shook her head and tsked.

"Stop worrying over such things. I've asked young Ewan to look after them for you. Now, quit stalling. You need to leave soon, so you can make it to the city by week's end. Remember to hand the invoice to the castle's solicitor only, so that we may petition for more grain for the following year. Speak to no one else and keep your head low. Do not attract any unwanted attention upon yourself, you hear me?" Ygraine fretted, her hands reaching for Arthur's shoulders and grasping them gently as she looked into her son's eyes, her own soft and filled with love and sorrow. Arthur put his hands over hers, gazing down at his mother steadily. "Be safe, my love," she whispered, pulling him into a tight hug which he reciprocated.

He gave her a quick grin as he pulled back, moving over to the pack, and hefting it up onto his back. It was still sore from the hours of hard labor, but he refused to even wince. He wouldn't make his mother worry more than she already did.

"Do not fret, mother. I'll be back before you know it. Safe and sound," Arthur assured before heading for the door. He stopped briefly at the doorway, hesitating for only a moment before setting out.

He looked around as he exited his small village, trying to remember which way to go. The problem with seeing the world only through maps is that maps were hardly a reliable source for what one would actually encounter on a trip.

Part of Arthur really didn't want to go if he was being honest. Camelot was no friend to his kind. However, his village was depending on him. If he didn't get their petition for more grain and seed for the next year's harvest to Camelot, they might not be able to make enough to survive, especially with the taxes the king was implementing. It was that thought that had Arthur taking a left, walking the beaten path to what could possibly be his doom.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Camelot was a lot bigger than anyplace he had ever been. Not that that was saying much, since Arthur hadn't left the areas around his village since he was very young, but still. It made him feel uneasy, all these people milling around. Most of them would have powers of some kind, Arthur knew. It made his stomach roll to think about it.

He hefted his bag higher on his back, setting out quickly for the castle. He passed by some guards dressed in deep blue tunics, holding long and intricate staffs in their hands, some kind of bird on their capes. The king's crest, Arthur knew. Arthur tried not to hiss at the sight of them.

As he entered the courtyard, he could see a large congregation of people standing in the square. They appeared to be standing around something, talking excitedly. Curious, Arthur wandered over to see what was happening. He knew his mother would be upset if she knew he had diverted from their original plan, but something told him that this was important. That he needed to watch this.

There, in the middle of the group, was an executioner's block. Arthur only knew it from pictures and descriptions in books. A lump of dread started to fill his belly. He suddenly knew what was about to happen and wanted to be anywhere but there. But he felt stuck, trapped in some sick sort of fear and morbid curiosity.

He watched with trepidation as a man was led up to the block, trembling with fear. He looked young, to Arthur's eyes. Not all that much older than Arthur, himself, was. He could barely hear as someone-the King, a voice whispered in his mind- listed the man's crimes. Something about stealing some bread while possessing a sword. It shouldn't have been an execution worthy offense, but ever since King Balinor outlawed armed swordplay years ago, except for in self-defense, using a sword could very well get you killed. Even having one while committing a crime was a grave offense, even if the blade was never used. Arthur shifted the sword he kept by his side, trying to make it as unnoticeable as possible. He allowed to have it, yes, but one could never be too careful.

Time slowed down for him as he watched the man step up to the block, kneeling on trembling knees. The executioner lifted his axe high in the air, and for a second everything was frozen. Then, swift as a river, the axe went down, and Arthur had to look away lest he be sick. He had seen death before, but never so much blood. Suddenly, he heard a scream echo across the courtyard, heartbroken and desolate. Arthur shuddered at the raw pain he heard in that scream.

"My son! You killed my only son!" He could hear an aged, feminine voice cry. He turned to face the sound and saw an old woman, her arms clinging around her waist. She looked so pitiful that Arthur immediately wanted to go to her and console her. He watched with saddened eyes as a group of sorcerers led the woman away, dragging her from the scene. She never stopped screaming, her eyes glaring daggers at the king. He couldn't hear her words after that, but he felt her sorrow deep in his bones. He would never forget this day. Never.

Arthur then looked up, at the place he knew the King would be. He saw the man he could only assume to be Balinor, staring with uncaring eyes at the boy's headless body as it got carried away. Arthur had to clench his hands in order to contain the hatred that suddenly flowed through his veins. How could anyone feel nothing at the sight of the body of a dead boy? How could they sentence a person to death for only trying to feed their family?

Clamping down on his hatred and anger, Arthur moved swiftly away from the crowd, into the castle itself. The king was saying words, how it had been necessary, the good of the kingdom, blah blah blah. He didn't care. He had a reason for being here, after all, and it was best not to dawdle. He'd tarried too long already. The sight of a headless boy and distressed mother fresh in his mind, Arthur set off. Anger did nothing for him here.

It took him a while to find the place he had to go. The castle was huge, with many twisting hallways and open corridors. Honestly, Arthur wasn't even sure he was meant to be in here, but he didn't know where else to go. It was only when a servant took pity on him and pointed him in the right direction that he found where it was that he needed to go.

Once at the solicitor's office, however, he was met with a problem.

"What do you mean it will take a week before the solicitor is available to meet with me?" Arthur shouted, his anger rising as he stared at the small sorceress in front of him. The woman just gave him an unimpressed stare before going back to whatever it was that she had been reading before he had entered the room.

"I meant just what I said, boy. The solicitor is a busy man and will not be available for a week. You can make an appointment now if you wish. Otherwise, would you mind leaving? I do have work that needs to be done," the sorceress snapped impatiently as she read her documents. He wasn't even important enough to warrant her looking up at him. Arthur had to count backwards from ten in order to control his rage.

"Make me an appointment, then," Arthur gritted out, glaring daggers at the woman. She waved her hand lazily and Arthur watched as a piece of paper flew into it, words appearing a second later. She hadn't even asked his name, he thought tastelessly, just referred to him as 'case number 203.' She handed it over to him, as he tried to ignore the churning in his stomach. He hated magic, he really, really did.

The paper said that he was to come back in exactly a week, at noon. Arthur sighed, but had a feeling this was the best he was going to get. Feeling tired and hungry, Arthur went out into the city, wondering where exactly he would be staying for the next week.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

"Merlin! Pay attention!"

Merlin's head snapped up instantly, eyes wide as he took in his father's annoyed expression. Merlin grimaced, before bowing his head in chagrin.

"Sorry, father," he mumbled, still looking at his shoes. He looked up only when he heard his father sigh in exasperation.

Merlin spent the rest of the council meeting trying his hardest to pay attention to whatever problem was brought up, but it was difficult. He truly hated these meetings. When the meeting was finally, finally adjourned for the day, he got up immediately, not waiting to see if his father wanted to speak with him. He needed to get out of the castle before he went mad.

Merlin flitted passed the servants that passed him by, barely sparing them a glance. Most were magicless anyway, hardly worth the attention of a Prince. Or so he was told. He exited the castle, exhaling deeply as he walked through the courtyard, trying, and failing, to forget the sound of that woman's scream. He hated the executions, yet his father always made him watch, even if he had to stand far enough back that no one could see the pain on his face. He wished he didn't have to go.

Merlin passed the courtyard quickly and soon was in the lower town. He could feel some of the tension in his shoulders fade as he walked the familiar streets. Here, things were good. Here, there was nothing to worry about. No council meetings, no orders from his father. No starving peasants being executed in the middle of the courtyard, presented almost like a spectator sport. Merlin shivered as that thought passed through his head, speeding up to try and outrun his thoughts.

Running blindly in a crowded city was never a good idea, though. A fact Merlin learned the hard way, when he ran headfirst into a very solid, very hard body.

"Oi! Watch where you're going, you pillock!" A voice shouted from in front of him. Or, above him, Merlin realized, having found himself suddenly on the ground. That's what he got for having his head in the clouds, he supposed.

Merlin had a retort fresh on his lips, annoyance filling him. He was a prince! How dare this person call him names, especially after knocking him down? He was all ready to let his vitriol loose, when he looked up and found his breath stolen from his lips.

In place of a dirty peasant, like he had expected, he saw the most beautiful man he had ever seen. Hair like spun gold, eyes like a mountain spring, the man (no, boy, Merlin heard a voice within him whisper, he's no more than a boy) towered high above him, an arrogant look on his oddly aristocratic face. He clearly was a peasant, though, if his simple clothing was anything to go by. The way he looked, though, it was almost as if he was the prince and Merlin the lowly peasant, unfit to even walk the same ground as such a magnificent creature.

Yet... that was wrong. Merlin was the prince, not this insolent welp. And it was then that the words the man (boy) spoke caught up to him, causing him to flush bright red in anger.

"Excuse me?! Who on earth are you calling a pillock, you... you... clotpole!"

Merlin almost immediately winced, his words as inelegant as the peasant he had almost likened himself as. Realizing once more that he was splayed ungracefully on the ground, he quickly scrambled to stand, not allowing this peasant to be higher than him. He felt his anger rise, magic simmering under his skin as the peasant smirked, twisting his angelic face into something cruel.

"Clotpole? Come now, did I hit you so hard your brains ceased to work? Or are you always so stupid?"

Oh! Oh! Merlin felt his temper soar at this... this insolence! How dare he?! He was the prince! Who was this boy to insult him so? Magic simmering under his skin, tingling his hands, Merlin felt his face twist with rage as he snarled at the insolent peasant.

"You can't say that to me," Merlin warned, eyes flashing gold for only one moment. But that one moment was enough to let the boy in front of him see, to see the power he held. Merlin highly doubted this boy was a sorcerer. He looked too... well, not weak, Merlin grudgingly admitted, eyes roving the hard muscles he'd briefly felt slam into his fairer frame. But he didn't have the look of a magician, let alone a sorcerer.

It was a fact that was proven when the boy took a harsh inhale and took a half step backwards, a look of mild fear on his face. Merlin smirked at the reaction, satisfied that he'd gotten his point across. He had almost turned around to leave, the guards stationed near the stalls looking at the peasant warily, but before he could he saw the boy steel his expression and step forward, so close Merlin could almost feel his heat. He tried not to shudder, a shiver passing through him despite the warmth.

"And why not? Hm? You think your magic makes you so special, huh? Well, you're not. Magic means nothing, not if your head is as empty as yours," the peasant hissed, eyes slits, voice shaking with barely suppressed rage. And a hint of fear, Merlin noticed, though the boy was good at hiding it. Despite himself, Merlin was impressed. Not many were willing to be so insolent to a sorcerer, let alone a prince, and it was... brave. Stupid, but brave. Merlin could give him that.

However, even in spite of the mild admiration, he was still the prince. And, brave or not, the boy was challenging him in his own city, eyes of the other peasants wide as they stared at the two. He couldn't let such behavior lie. Not when the world was watching.

And so, even though it chilled him, Merlin forced a dark grin on his face, eyes dark as his magic flowed through him. He knew they had turned gold by the flash of fear the boy before him had on his face before he steeled it once more, into arrogant disinterest.

"I could have your head for that, you know?" Merlin questioned, voice soft and silky, making his stomach churn. He hated this part of himself. Hated how false he was in these moments. Hated it; but he could do nothing against it. How could he? He was the prince. He had to be strong. His father told him this often. His soft-hearted ways would just doom them if he let them take over.

The boy sneered at him, face filled with disgust and anger, battling with the suppressed fear and uncertainty. Obviously, the boy knew how foolish he was being. But, despite that, the boy did not back down. He just set his (utterly gorgeous, his mind supplied) jaw and looked at Merlin with eyes hard as steel. The bright blue reminded Merlin of a raging ocean, beautiful but oh so deadly. He tried not to shudder at the wave of heat that hit him.

The boy's right hand twitched at his side, making Merlin suddenly aware of the blade he had sitting there. And then, unexpectedly, Merlin was afraid. Not for his life, heavens no. Merlin had nothing to fear from a starving peasant (and he was starving, Merlin noticed blandly, despite the muscles that filled the boy's frame). No. Merlin suddenly feared for the boy. After all, swordplay was outlawed. And he doubted his father would spare this boy's life, even if Merlin begged and begged. And Merlin, despite everything, desperately didn't want this boy to die. He didn't know why, especially since the boy was glaring at him like he was everything wrong with the world (and maybe he was, he thought, a touch hysterically), but he didn't want him to die. He knew that, clear as day. He had to end this.

"Oh yeah? And why is that? You're not the king," the boy hissed, jarring Merlin from his thoughts. Oh, he realized suddenly. The boy didn't know who he was. Made sense, Merlin supposed, as he often didn't wear his crown, hating how it felt on his head. The boy must be from an outlying village, Merlin figured, eyes widened only a fraction. Obviously, since Merlin was certain he'd never seen this boy before. He'd have remembered a face like his.

And so, with almost a sick glee despite the nausea that was rising, Merlin allowed himself to smile slowly, cruelly, as his magic gathered around him, making the air crackle with energy. The peasants on the street all gasped and backed away, well aware of their prince's power. He wasn't considered the best warlock for nothing, after all. It was almost worth it to see the boy's impudent look melt off his face, naked fear filling his (too beautiful for words) eyes. The boy tried to hide it, but Merlin saw.

"No, I'm his son."

And with that, Merlin let his magic lash out, the power singing through his veins as the boy was blasted back, hitting the stall at the end of the street. Before the magic hit him, though, a look of such raw panic and fear had passed his face that Merlin was instantly regretful. He struggled to keep it under wraps, smirking at the peasants who surrounded him, a small scatter of applause making its way through the crowd. Merlin was content to just walk away and let the boy handle himself when he heard the sound. It was like... a grunt of pain.

Blood cold, Merlin turned to the boy and saw the blood pooling under him. It wasn't much, but it made his stomach churn. He hadn't meant to hurt the boy. Only push him away, scare him a bit. But Merlin had underestimated his power, like usual. And now the boy was lying still, too still on the ground, no one daring to approach him for fear of their prince's wrath.

And suddenly, Merlin felt white hot shame fill him. He was a prince. He shouldn't have let his emotions control him like that. He shouldn't have...

With a controlled expression, Merlin sauntered to the boy, hiding the guilt that rose in him as he saw the still body. He held his breath until he saw the rise and fall of the peasant's chest, releasing the breath like it burned him. Just knocked out, then. Not dead. Not wanting to look weak or concerned, Merlin turned a supposedly uncaring eye onto the guards that had cautiously approached the pair. Pushing down his regret and unease, Merlin smiled casually and nodded to the boy.

"Have him sent to Gaius, to make sure he's alright. Then put him in the stocks for an hour. Maybe that will temper his tongue."

With that, Merlin swept off, trying to appear as if he didn't care if the guards listened or not. It shouldn't. It was no longer his problem, after all..

And if Merlin couldn't get the bright blue eyes, steady as the ocean and hard as steel out of his mind, well. No one would know but him.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Arthur let out a soft groan as he came to, his head aching and his back on fire. He hissed as he tried to sit up, head swimming and fuzzy.

"Ah, ah, ah, stay down my boy. You had quite a hit to your head, so you shouldn't be moving around too much," a kind, elderly voice said, gentle hands pressing softly to his shoulders. "The prince doesn't know his own strength sometimes, I'm afraid."

Arthur was instantly awake, jolting upwards, eyes snapping to the (seemingly) kindly old man, who only held his hands up in a sign of peace. Arthur immediately regretted his decision as his head swam, eyes blurring as he groaned at the pain. The older man clucked his tongue softly, shaking his head. Or, Arthur thought he shook his head. It might just have been the world that was moving, everything blurry and wobbly.

His memory was fuzzy, but he tried to recall how he had come to this place. He recalled the meeting with that rude sorceress, the piece of paper that he had clutched in his fists as he stormed through the city, trying to find someone who needed a job done so he could get a roof over his head, or at least some food. After that, though... he focused as he tried to recall, bits and pieces coming back to him. Something about walking through the lower town, minding his own business, when someone ran into him. Not hard enough to hurt, but hard enough to startle. Someone…

It was then that he remembered the boy at the market. Arthur felt his heart freeze, before his blood began to boil, his rage and anger blocking out the pain.

How dare he?! How fucking dare he?! He attacked him! Unprompted! (Well, not unprompted, but still!)

Oh, Arthur always knew sorcerers were no good. And that boy was no different. Even if his dark brown hair and bright blue eyes and overly large ears made Arthur's stomach flutter, even as the dreaded gold overtook the ocean blues. He shook his head to clear them of the thoughts, only to regret it a moment later as he hissed in pain, his headache making itself painfully clear.

He heard the older man cluck again, as he walked away to grab something on the counter. The words the man had said caught up to him, then, as he stared faintly at the man's back, his blood running cold with sudden fear.

"Did you say... prince?" Arthur questioned hesitantly, mouth dry and gritty. Oh, shit.

The elderly man just clucked again, shaking his head in what seemed to be disapproval. The withering glare he got confirmed that.

"I hear it was some spectacle. You, insulting his royal highness in front of the whole city to see. I can't tell if you're incredibly brave, or incredibly stupid. Perhaps both."

Arthur felt a scowl rise on his face unbidden, setting his jaw as he turned away from the older man, whose eyes, despite his harsh words, seemed to dance with mirth. Oh sure. Laugh it up. Arthur was an idiot, he knew that much. His mother always said his temper would get the best of him one day. Well, it seemed this was that day.

With a sigh, the older man stepped closer, a bottle of... something in his hand. He shoved it into Arthur's hand, causing him to wince in pain. Arthur hesitatingly lifted the bottle to his nose and gagged at the foul scent.

"Gods, are you trying to kill me?! What is that?!" Arthur demanded, shoving the bottle away. The older man just rolled his eyes and handed it back.

"It's a potion, designed to help with your headache. It is not poison, I promise you that. It tastes awful, but if you drink it quick you might not notice."

With that, the older man swept away, over to a table nearby, shuffling through the papers there. Scowling at the dismissal, Arthur looked skeptically at the bottle.

On one hand, it could be deadly poison, designed to punish him for his insolent ways. On the other, he thought with a wince, it may make his head stop pounding for a minute so that he could think through his options and find a way to talk his way out of this. Either way, he figured, the headache would technically be gone, so...

Against his better judgement, Arthur quickly downed the potion, trying not to gag as he did so, the foul stuff thick in his throat.

"Oh, god! That's horrible! I think you are trying to kill me," Arthur exclaimed, fighting the urge to vomit all over the clean bed. The older man just chuckled, eyes now bright with mirth as he turned to face Arthur, a wry smile on his lips. Arthur just scowled back, trying to be more threatening than he felt, hunched over his bed trying not to spew. He obviously failed, as the older man just clucked again, a chuckle following the sound. Arthur was starting to think the man may have actually been a chicken, all the clucking he did.

Despite the foul taste in his mouth, his head was starting to feel better... a lot better, in fact. He nearly sighed in relief as the pounding ceased, the world no longer violently swirling around him. He suppressed the sound, though, not wanting to give the other man the satisfaction. He watched, warily, as the older man walked slowly towards him, hand out to grab the bottle. Arthur scowled, but handed the damned this over. After all, it's not like he had any use for it.

"Well, I'm glad you're feeling better. Now, care to tell me your name, young man? I can hardly call you clotpole, like the young prince, now can I?"

The words were dry, but the humor shone in the older man's eyes. He was clearly highly amused. Arthur just let his scowl deepen, hands clenched on his lap as he looked away, eyes hard. Clotpole. Ha! Prince or not, the brown-haired boy certainly was an idiot.

A minute passed in silence as the older man watched him, but Arthur refused to break. Another sigh sounded, before the older man moved away, head shaking in disappointment. Arthur felt his stomach clench, for god knew what reason. Letting out a grunt, he crossed his arms and stared resolutely at his blanket covered lap. A moment passed before he begrudgingly spoke.

"Arthur. My name is Arthur," he muttered, eyes downcast. The other man hummed, his shadow casting over the bed as he moved closer again.

"Well, was that so hard? My name is Gaius, and I am the court physician in Camelot. Now, is there a family name, or are you just Arthur?"

Arthur thought about being petulant and rude but decided against it. Despite the foul potion and damned amusement, the man, named Gaius apparently, had done nothing to him. Nothing bad, at least. So, he sighed again and looked up, directly into the physician's eyes, a shot of satisfaction filling him at the surprise that filled Gaius's eyes at his daring.

"Pendragon. My name is Arthur Pendragon."

There was a time that name would have commanded respect, he knew. The Pendragons had once been a proud Noble family, richer than the rich, envied by all. Now? Now, he was a poor farm boy, barely making ends meet, happy at the small luxury a stupid mattress provided. He couldn't even afford a fucking horse, for God's sake! How the mighty have fallen.

And yet... and yet, as he looked in the physician's eyes, he saw a hint of recognition fill them, the eyes widening before a soft smile lighted his face.

"Ah, the young Pendragon! You must be Ygraine's boy, yes?"

Arthur was instantly on edge, eyes hard as his body tensed, poised for a fight. He scowled at Gaius, throwing the blanket off as he made to stand. A wave of dizziness hit him before he could, forcing him to sit down hard on the mattress. Gaius clucked again, shaking his head at his foolishness.

"How do you know my mother," Arthur hissed, trying to ignore the throb that had returned to his head. Luckily, it stopped a few seconds later, the potion still taking effect. Gaius just raised his eyebrow, giving Arthur a very unimpressed look. It made him feel like a naughty child, stealing cookies from the baker. Which was certainly nothing he had ever done, no sirree!

"I got a letter from her a few days ago, mentioning you'd be in the city, with a grain and seed request for the king. She asked that I keep an eye out for you, keep you out of trouble. I see I've already failed at that," he intoned, head shaking as a soft smile graced his lips. Arthur paused at that, eyeing the relative stranger.

"... how do you know my mother," Arthur repeated, voice softer, calmer. He couldn't tell if the man was lying or not. He had an excellent poker face. Then again, if he was a sorcerer, then he must be lying. All sorcerers lied, after all.

"Oh, Ygraine and I go way back. I knew her quite well, once. But that's a topic for another time. Tell me, what were you doing in the town square? Shouldn't you have been here in the castle, with the solicitor? Striking a deal for more grain for your village come spring? That is why you're here, is it not?"

Arthur hated how the man spoke, like he was a dunce who had failed at even the simplest of tasks. Putting away the topic of how this stranger knew him, Arthur scowled again, ignoring the voice of his mother saying his face would stick like that if he didn't stop scowling.

"I did! And all I got was this stupid paper saying that I had to wait a godforsaken week before I could even meet with the solicitor, let alone strike a deal!"

It was beyond frustrating. He had hoped he'd be in and out of the city in no time flat, home before he even knew it. Now he was stuck, for a whole week, in this damned city full of magicians and sorcerers alike. The gods must hate him, he thought bitterly.

Gaius just hummed, like he had said something very interesting for once. Arthur rolled his eyes in response, scowl still on his face. He was starting to greatly dislike this man.

"Ah, yes. Cerdan has been exceptionally busy this week, what with his son's illness and the rebellions. Still, it's not a safe place for you, in the city. Non-magic folk have been nearly eradicated from the city proper, outside of the servants. You're not likely to find much help there."

"Yeah, but I still needed somewhere to, I don't know, sleep?! I was hoping to find some work, but clearly, there is none. So, I guess I'll camp outside the castle for a week, while I wait for this stupid solicitor to find time in his stupid schedule for this stupid meeting."

Arthur huffed in annoyance, crossing his arms with, what he would deny until his death as a pout, on his lips. Gaius just laughed, seemingly finding more amusement at Arthur's predicament. Anger filled him, but before he could let it loose and ruin everything, Gaius shook his head, holding up his hand.

"Ah, I apologize. I'm not laughing at you, I promise. I was merely thinking it good fortune that my last apprentice has left so suddenly, leaving me an open room. Of course, I can't just let you stay for free, so once your injuries heal I'll be expecting you to help with my deliveries and gathering herbs, but it will be a warm room with food in your belly until you decide to leave. Now, I have some potions to deliver, so I'll leave you alone to mull it over. Either way, you should rest until I get back. The potion will numb your pain as the healing takes place, but you won't be raring to go for at least another day or two. So please, stay here and rest," Gaius stressed, before walking back to the table he had been at earlier and grabbing a few bottles. With a sweep of his robes, the older man left the room, the door fluttering shut behind him, with nary a backwards glance. Very trusting, wasn't he?

Finding himself suddenly alone, Arthur let out a soft sigh, sinking down onto the slightly uncomfortable mattress. Biting his lip, he stared at the ceiling.

It was a good offer. A great one, actually. He could stay here, in the castle, closer to the solicitor. He'd be fed, too, if Gaius were to be believed. It was honestly too good to be true. Literally.

But... what other choice did he have? He didn't fancy sleeping outdoors, the rocks and twigs poking his back harshly. Plus, it was getting colder, the summer an abnormally chilly one. And the rooms here did seem quite nice- warm and cozy in a way that reminded him of home. Of his mother's cooking, which was the best in the world, he was sure. And Gaius, for all his mirth and wry humor, seemed a good man. The jury was still out on if he were a sorcerer or not, but Arthur would bet on it. After all, the man had said that almost all non-magic folk were out of the city, save the servants. Gaius, he could see, clearly wasn't a servant.

And, he noticed with a wince, his back was hurting something fierce. He lifted his hands and felt a bandage around his stomach, making him realize that it wasn't just his head that had been hurt.

With another sigh, Arthur leaned back against the hard bed, eyes closing with exhaustion. He hadn't realized how tired he was until his eyes slipped shut, his mind drifting as fog overtook him. He would think more on the topic later. After a quick nap. Too much had happened all at once. He just needed some rest.

His last thought before succumbing to sleep was of bright blue eyes shifting to gold, a mischievous smile on a devilish face.

God, he hoped he never saw that, that prat again.

(God, he hoped he did.)

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

It had been three hours, and Merlin could not get that idiot out of his mind. The way he had spoken. His vivid blue eyes. His golden hair. His pink, shiny li-

Aaaand that was enough of that, thanks ever so!

Merlin groaned as he hit his head against the wall, eyes pinched tight with anger. And exhaustion. It had been a long, trying day. He still couldn't forget that mother's screams. He wondered if his mother would have screamed for him, had he been in that boy's place. If his mother hadn't been killed by merciless knights, hours after his birth, seeking revenge for his father's supposedly unjust laws. If he'd ever had the chance to meet the woman his father barely spoke of, but that he, apparently, took after.

Great. This line of thinking was not good, either. Perfect.

Merlin groaned once more and flopped onto his belly, a petulant frown on his lips (frown, he thought, not a pout. Prince's didn't pout.)

Unbidden, the boy in the market came to mind again, his steely eyes haunting Merlin, taunting him with everything he wanted yet could never have.

Merlin has always known he was different. Not just because he had more power in his pinky than most men would have in their entire lives, no. But because his eyes lingered too often onto the built forms of men, not just the dainty forms of women. Because he all too often had to tear his eyes away from the Castle Mages he trained as they practiced outside, arms fluid and languid as they bent nature to their wills. Because he often wondered what it would be like to be pressed against a wall, a hard, toned body against him, hands pressing down, down, down, his breath ragged, his eyes clouded as steely blue eyes stared him deep in his soul, judging him for all his crimes, finding him wanting, wanting, wanting-

Fuck!

Merlin snarled as he shot up, pacing the room.

It wasn't that he never noticed women. He did! Women were nice! They were soft, and sweet, and cute. He could even see himself marrying a woman, one day. Maybe. Maybe even sleeping with her, maybe even enjoying it. But it didn't make his blood boil. Not like the thought of a man.

But that was ridiculous. He was a prince. He would be married to a woman, would produce an heir that would make his father proud. And he'd do it! Happily!

He just...

No! He just nothing! It meant nothing, he cared not at all. Especially not for that boy from the market, with his gorgeous hair, and stunning eyes. And his toned, slightly too thin body, muscles fighting against hunger. Oh, what he would look like after a few good meals, under that ragged, tattered old shirt he had worn...

Before he could chastise himself farther, he heard a knock at his door, startling him from his thoughts.

"Come in," he cried, trying to make it seem like he was perfectly fine. Because he was. Perfectly fine. Of course, he was.

He let out a soft sigh of relief when he saw Gaius's face pop into view, the older man's eyes softening when he saw him. Merlin had been afraid it was his father. He knew he shouldn't think like that, but... well.

"Gaius! Hello! It's good to see you, are you doing well?" He quizzed, like it had been years since he had last seen the elder man, not the day it had been.

"Yes, your highness, I'm doing quite fine. And you? Is your arm better, from the griffin?"

Merlin winced, reflectivity rotating his shoulder, though no pain had plagued him for a few days now. Still, he remembered the sharp sting of pain as the griffin tore into his upper left shoulder. It had been a surface wound, due to a stupid slip of concentration, but it had hurt like hell at the time. Gaius's salves worked like magic, though, and now he was as good as new. Funny, since Merlin knew that the older man rarely used magic potions, unless he had to. It was a funny thing about his old mentor, but he respected it. Especially when they always worked so well.

"Yeah, yeah I'm good. Not even a slight twinge of pain now," Merlin grinned, causing Gaius to chuckle lightly, shaking his head the way he always did. Merlin found his mouth going dry and spoke before he had fully considered his words. Like usual, then.

"So, uh. Do you know, uh, I mean... what about the boy? Uh, the one sent to your rooms?" Merlin grimaced as he saw Gaius's eyebrows go up, judging him silently. Like usual. He panicked as he hurried to get the words out in a way that made him look less like an idiot. "I-I mean I was just wondering, that is, I wanted to know, if he was, I mean-"

Merlin was cut off by a low chuckle, Gaius shaking his head with a fond grin on his face.

"Stop Merlin, you'll only hurt yourself if you keep trying. The boy is fine. He woke up a little while ago and took a pain potion. He should be healed fully by tomorrow."

Merlin let out a soft breath he had been holding, relief filling him. He couldn't help but remember the bright red blood that had marred the boy's golden skin, blue eyes shut tight in unconsciousness. A second later, though, Merlin chased the relief away with a scowl, annoyance filling him. The peasant had deserved it, he felt! After all, he had called him stupid! A pillock! And was so impudent, so audacious, so presumptuous, so... so other synonyms of insolent! So, Merlin felt, he deserved what he got.

Right?

Right, Merlin nodded, ignoring Gaius's questioning look.

"Well, good. Then he should be in good shape for the stocks come morning. I'm looking forward to seeing him in there. I'm sure rotten tomatoes will cure him of his, his rudeness," Merlin crowed, feeling awfully pleased. Even Gaius's disappointed look couldn't quell the feeling.

"Merlin, that boy is in no shape to be put in the stocks. His back is still healing and will likely be scabbed over for a few days yet. He'll probably be out of the city before they fully heal, so if you put him in the stocks, well, I fear he'll break open the wounds again and I'll have to fix him up once more. I'm a busy man, Merlin," Gaius chided, head shaking slightly. Merlin's mouth opened in shock, guilt niggling at him. He knew the boy had been bleeding, but he hadn't thought it that bad, and hadn't Gaius just said...

"B-but you just said he'd be fully healed by the morning! Like, you literally just said that!"

Gaius sniffed, eyeing Merlin with disapproval.

"Yes, I did say that. But that was more about his head injury, which was of more concern. His back, however, will take longer to heal. I could speed it up with magic, but as he's non-magical, I dare say he might be better off healing naturally, with maybe a little aide if needed. And anyway, he's my guest, so I won't have you sending him to the stocks, you hear me, Merlin?"

Merlin spluttered, eyes wide as he took in his mentor and dearest friend. He couldn't be serious?!

"You, you invited him to stay in your quarters?! Gaius! Why?! He insulted me and my honor! How could you?!"

Merlin felt so betrayed, even more so when Gaius just chuckled, grinning at his affront.

"Oh, Merlin. Arthur's a good boy, strong and resilient. He's a good heart, I assure you. Yes, he has a temper, but I'm sure you'll come to enjoy his company once you get to know him. Who knows, maybe you'll even love it," Gaius claimed, sending Merlin a wink that he desperately wished he hadn't seen. He ignored the words, despite the churning they cause in his stomach, stomping away with a huff. He did file away the name, though. Not because he ever intended on seeing the boy again, no. But just... out of curiosity. That's all.

Gaius left soon after that, leaving a salve on the table, telling Merlin that it was there if he needed it. He felt a bit guilty as he ignored the older man, but mostly felt it was justified. After all, Gaius had betrayed him! Had offered that, that... that clotpole a place to stay! In the castle! Where Merlin lived!

Ugh. This was awful. The worst thing that had ever happened to him. And! And he wouldn't even get to see the peasant in the stocks, not unless he wanted Gaius mad at him. Which he didn't. He loved Gaius, almost more than he loved his own father, though he'd never dare even think that, not even to himself. So, with a sigh, Merlin took a heavy seat at the table and put his head in hand, his cheek resting inside the splayed fingers.

God, he hoped he never saw that-that clotpole again.

(God, he hoped he did.)

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

Three days. It had been three days since he had arrived at Camelot. Three days since he had met that aggravating, stupid warlock prince. Three days of gathering herbs and delivering potions.

It was... interesting. It had been a bit of a challenge, finding the right herbs that Gaius had wanted, as the herbs here were slightly different to the ones his mother had him collect at home. But he learned quick. It was harder still to find the sorcerers that Gaius told him to give potions to, as he'd never heard of half of them. But he was grateful to Gaius for his kindness in letting him stay. His back still stung whenever he moved, and he knew that sleeping on the ground would have just made it worse. Plus, he had an actual bed for once. God, that was a trip. It wasn't the most comfortable thing, but it was off the ground, and near a fire, so it was warm. God, he loved warmth.

He had met the king's ward the other day, Gaius asking him to deliver her a potion. He had been strangely intimidated, though she had been beyond lovely, her brown hair and eyes glistening like bronze. Freya, her name was. Lady Freya. Arthur would have fancied himself in love, if it were not for the fact that she was a powerful sorceress.

But she had been oh so kind to him... unlike every other sorcerer he'd met. Half didn't even bother looking up when he entered, just waving their hands, and grabbing the potion with magic. Disgusting.

Well, he supposed it didn't matter. He had heard rumors, in his three days, that the prince was madly in love with his father's ward. So, there wouldn't have been any hope. Not that he wanted to have hope, no. Just... well. It didn't matter.

All in all, Camelot wasn't what he had expected it to be. It was bigger, louder, dingier, but also... familiar. Like he'd been here before. Which was ridiculous. He'd never been to Camelot in his life. He's sure he'd remember. Still, it was like... like he belonged here. Like he was finally, finally home, after decades away.

But that was wrong, he scowled, grabbing some more wolfsbane. His home was far from here. Not Camelot. Never Camelot.

Despite how pleasant it may seem, Arthur knew the evil underbelly this city held. The hatred towards those without magic. Those who refused to learn. Or, through a trick of fate, couldn't learn. He still couldn't forget that headless boy, the mother's desperate wailing. While he had come to care for Gaius, the old man like the grandfather he'd never had, he missed his mother dearly, as well as the small farming town he hailed from.

Sighing, Arthur picked some last few herbs before heading back to the castle, the light of the day starting to fade. That meant the festivities would start, he thought bitterly. 20 years, it marked. 20 years since the sorcerer Balinor overthrew the non-magical king and declared himself king of Camelot. 20 years since those who refused to learn magic were persecuted, ridiculed, and hated. 20 years of suffering, misery, and pain.

And they held a celebration for it.

It made him sick.

Of course, he had heard the whispers, among the servants. Whispers of hope, whispers of freedom. Whispers of an Once and Future king, a man destined to reclaim the throne of Camelot and reunite Albion. Apparently, it had been a prophecy, foretold years and years ago, when Arthur had just been a baby. But he didn't believe in such nonsense, not anymore. It was just talk, designed to make the small feel better about themselves. A bedtime story his mother had told him, ages ago. He didn't begrudge the servants their hope, but he had none. After all, how could a mere mortal man fight against all powerful sorcerers? As much as Arthur hated them, he had to admit they were effective.

He entered the city in no time at all, not looking the guards in the eye as he passed. He had learned the hard way that they didn't like non-magical people being so bold. Whatever. It grated Arthur, his hands itching for the sword he'd left in Gaius's room, but there was nothing he could do. It may have galled him, but it was true. And, contrary to popular belief, Arthur was not an idiot. He knew what battles he could and could not win. And while he was fantastic with a sword, the movement coming as naturally to him as breathing, he was not allowed to use it. Only in self-defense. And even then, he'd likely be killed, as the king rarely cared the reason why. He only really carried the thing since it was all he had left of his father. That, and an old signet ring that he kept on a chain, nearest to his heart.

His mind in the clouds, he barely registered his feet walking the now familiar path to Gaius's room. He only jolted out of his thoughts when he nearly ran into someone rushing out of the rooms. He scowled and was about to snap at the person, until he saw the mop of brown hair, large ears, and a weird red... thing around a thin neck.

Of course, Arthur thought wryly. Of, bloody, course.

And here he was thinking his wish had been answered. That he'd never see this prat again. But no. The gods truly did hate him.

"Hey, watch ou- oh. It's you again," the boy before him intoned, eyes turning hard, before a cocky grin lighted his face. "Come to get humiliated again? I'm sure I can teach you a lesson you won't soon forget."

The boy- prince, whatever- leered at him. Or, he tried to. It more looked like a grimace mixed with a wince, but whatever. Arthur wasn't in the mood. He was annoyed enough at the feast that night. He didn't need this, too.

"Oh, whatever, you prat. Just... get out of my way and let me get into my room," Arthur barked, sneer rising on his face. He tried not to let his heart race at the look of anger the prince gave him, telling himself it was racing out of anger, not fear. Or... anything else.

"You, you can't call me a prat! I'm the prince in case you failed to notice!" The boy exclaimed, pointing at his head. Arthur was momentarily confused, until he noticed the crown that adorned the boy's head. Huh. He hadn't noticed that. It hadn't been there the previous time, for he was sure he'd have noticed then. It looked like it was made of woven ivy leaves, covered in liquid gold, but somehow still living. There were golden berries on some of the branches, jewels on others. It was, honestly, kind of beautiful.

But that wasn't important. The prat in front of him was. Or, insulting the prat in front of him was. The prat himself wasn't important at all. No sirree.

"Oh, I'm sorry. Your royal pratness, then. How's that, is that better?" Arthur hissed, blood singing as he stared into infuriated (beautiful) blue eyes. It had been a while since he had felt so... so alive. It was exhilarating. And terrifying, but Arthur didn't care about that. He'd looked terror in the eyes before, battling the beasts that tried to invade his village, organizing the men into a force to be reckoned with. He wasn't afraid of anything. Certainly not a waifish, delicate looking young prince whose face was flushed prettily with anger, eyes shining and bright. Wait. Not prettily. He meant-

He didn't have time to know what he meant when he felt himself fly backwards, his back hitting the far wall with a grunt. He waited for the blinding pain, like the last time, but it never came. It seemed the prince had been practicing, as Arthur felt barely a twinge as his back hit the wall, the wind knocked out of him more than anything. He tried to move, but couldn't, his back glued to the stone. He tried not to feel afraid as the prince stalked towards him, eyes glowing gold. Arthur pushed the thought away of how beautiful those golden eyes were, even filled with such anger.

He saw the prince open his mouth, eyes flashing as he stopped before him, finger pressed to his chest as the boy crowded Arthur, but before he could say a word, the door to Gaius's quarters opened, startling both boys badly. Arthur stumbled as the magic let him go, dropping the couple inches he hadn't known he'd been suspended hard. He grunted, but didn't let any other noise escape him, especially when the prince gave him a smug look.

"What on earth… Merlin! What in heaven's name are you doing? That is my guest! And, look at that, you made him drop all the herbs he picked for me. I needed those, you know!"

Arthur watched in amazement as the prince, Merlin apparently (so he hadn't bothered to learn the prince's name, whatever. The boy was a prat, sue him), froze and looked at Gaius with a chagrined look on his face. It was hilarious, but he didn't dare laugh, lest Gaius's wrath be upon him. He'd only lived here three days, but he knew that Gaius was not a man to be trifled with.

"Ah, Gaius! I, uh, don't know what you mean! Arthur and I were just having a nice little chat, right, Arthur?"

Merlin gave him an intense death glare, promising pain if he refused to go along with his words. Arthur, however, was never one to back down from a challenge, and so he just smirked, a little evilly, loving the way the prince paled significantly. No, wait. Not loving, he meant... he... oh screw it, whatever. He didn't bother to wonder about how the boy knew his name. Probably Gaius.

"Oh, yeah, Gaius. Just having a-a lovely chat. With me suspended three inches off the ground with my back magicked to a wall. Just a friendly, lovely, little chat. Isn't that right, Merlin."

It felt strange. The name. Merlin. Merlin. It was odd. But... nice. Wait. No. Nope! Not nice. Definitely not... whatever. It was strange, that's all. Not a name he'd ever heard before, not outside of the birds his mother liked. It strangely fit the odd young man in front of him. But he refused to say that out loud, so he just smirked meanly, grinning outright when he saw Merlin's death glare. Oh, he'd pay for that, he knew. But who cared? He was under Gaius's protection and it seemed the prince cared what Gaius thought. And he'd be out of there in less than four days, never to return (hopefully). He'd be fine. Probably.

Gaius tsked and moved forward to pick the herbs up. Arthur briefly wondered why the man didn't use magic to gather them, since he knew the man had magic, had seen it, but figured it didn't matter. He was allowed his quirks.

"I thought I told you to leave poor Arthur alone. His back is still healing. He can't handle you throwing him around the castle, slamming him into walls. He's delicate."

Arthur's eyes widened significantly as he opened and closed his mouth, hands clenching into fists when he heard a snort of laughter coming out of Merlin. His turn to glare, he put every inch of his hatred into his glower, almost wishing he had magic so he could burn the prince with his eyes alone. But, he didn't, so he just had to settle for his patented Arthur Pendragon Glare of Death (as Gwaine, lovingly, called it).

"Wha-I, I am not delicate! I am-I am far from-from delicate, thank you very much! How dare you, I mean, I-"

He was at a loss for words, anger and affront filling him. Merlin burst out laughing, then, eyes shining with mirth. Arthur ignored the butterflies that gave him, ignored the thought that said Merlin's laugh was the sweetest sound he had ever heard, like a bell. He instead scowled harder.

"Oh, hush. I didn't mean it like that. And you should stop laughing, Merlin. One would think you liked pushing young Arthur around. Throwing him up against walls like that. Well, people might talk."

Now it was Arthur's turn to laugh, as Merlin's face turned beet red, eyes darting away from his as he spluttered, trying to defend himself, very poorly. God, the boy was worse than he was! Not that that was saying much, since Arthur was perfectly articulate, thanks ever so.

Still, it was funny. The shade of red that Merlin turned almost matched that godawful thing around his neck. Was that... was that a neckerchief?! God, he thought those had gone out of style eons ago, if it had ever been in style at all. Arthur pushed aside the thought that said it suited the boy.

Gaius just tsked again, but Arthur swore he saw a smile on the old man's face. It made him feel... strange. Warm. That same feeling as earlier. Like he was home.

But he wasn't. And he had to remember that.

"Oh, alright, that's enough. You need to leave, Prince Merlin, or your father will have my head. Hurry now, don't tarry! You still need to change before the feast. Where is that servant of yours, anyway? I've not seen him in a while."

"Oh, I fired him. He was godawful. Just... bad. But you're probably right. See you there, Gaius. Hope to never see you again, clotpole."

With that, the prince sauntered off, head held high, like the pompous arse he was. God. He was straight up the worst.

He hadn't realized he'd been staring after that pompous arse until he heard Gaius cluck at him. He was starting to hate that sound.

"Oh, you go on, too. You need to get changed for tonight as well."

Arthur looked at Gaius like he had gone mad. To be fair, he may have. It's not like Arthur knew how old the old man actually was, after all. Didn't old men turn senile, after a certain age?

"Uh, Gaius. I don't know if you noticed, but I'm not going to the feast. I'm not invited. Plus, I'm non-magical. I think that going would be against at least one law. Having a non-magical person there for the, oh, I don't know, 20th anniversary of my people's enslavement?"

He hadn't meant to sound so bitter. After all, Gaius had done nothing wrong to him. But he couldn't help it. It just... slipped out.

Gaius tsked. "Ah, but Arthur, I have already told the king I was bringing a guest. You don't have to worry, you'll just be along the wall, but I thought it would be good for you to get out. Meet some people. It'll be fun!"

It didn't sound like fun. Skulking along the wall as a bunch of sorcerers patted themselves on the back for practically enslaving his kind. Yeah. So much fun.

Gaius clearly saw the look on his face since he only shook his head as he herded Arthur through the entry to his quarters and into his borrowed room.

"Come now, Arthur. It'll be good for you to get out. I've got a good feeling about tonight. Now, I've laid out some clothes for you. They're a bit old but should fit you rather nicely. They belonged to an old friend of mine, but I'm sure he'd love you to have them. Go on, get dressed. Meet me out here in half an hour. Go on!"

Arthur had no choice but to agree, scowl permanently stuck on his face. Sorcerers. He hated them. Truly, he did.

Just as he had given in and almost walked up the stairs to his (temporary) room, he heard Gaius call out. He turned back and saw the most serious expression on the old man's face that he'd seen yet.

"Oh! One more thing, before I forget. You cannot, under any circumstances, tell anyone your last name. Do you hear me? Not a soul."

Huh? Arthur looked at Gaius like he'd gone mad again but was only met with a stony expression that left no room for argument. However, this was Arthur he was dealing with, so an argument he got.

"Wait, what? But... why?! It's my name!"

It was, quite literally, all he had. One of the only keepsakes he had of his father, his heritage. Why did he have to keep that a secret? It seemed silly, but Gaius looked more serious than ever, so he knew there had to be a good reason. Even if it made no sense.

"Just... trust me, Arthur. Please."

The strangest thing was... he did. And so, he agreed, even though he didn't understand. Even though he didn't want to even go to this stupid feast. Even though it pained him to have to hide a part of himself, even if no one in the world cared. He was a Pendragon, adopting the surname after his mother had told him of it on his fourth birthday, refusing to listen to her protests. That name once meant something. He should be proud of it, even if no one else on this godforsaken earth was.

He was starting to realize, however, that, despite his misgivings, part of him was excited for that night. He'd never attended a fancy party before. He wondered if there would be dancing. He never danced, no, didn't know how. But it just seemed like... like fun. Even if sorcerers were the ones doing it. Even if they were celebrating the conquest of his people.

At least the clothes Gaius picked out were nice. Far better quality than anything he'd ever owned, that's for sure. It was fine silk, with velvet. Probably cost a fortune, once upon a time. Hopefully, Gaius was right and the friend he'd borrowed this from didn't mind a dirty, non-magical peasant wearing his fine silk. Putting it on was a struggle, but he managed. It fit rather well, too. A little loose around the shoulders, like the person who last wore this was broader, bulkier, but it was good. Nice.

Maybe tonight wouldn't be so bad.

Maybe.

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

God, this night was a disaster. Merlin contemplated how disappointed his father would be if he drowned himself in his cup of wine.

Well, alright. To be fair, it wasn't that the night was awful, awful. It just... well. Maybe it had to do with Freya, his father's ward, flirting with the men around her. No, he wasn't madly in love with her, like the rumors said. He just... admired her, that's all. And maybe, maybe he'd been infatuated as a child, her big brown eyes captivating him. But then he'd grown into a man, and realized his, ahem, lower regions didn't stir that much when he saw her. Oh, they did, a little. But nothing like what that one fit serving boy had made him feel, when he'd been younger... or Arthu-

And he went back to contemplating his demise in a wine glass. It seemed a fitting end.

Needless to say, he was not having fun. Nothing about this was fun. He was stuck in stuffy old clothes he hated, talking with stuffy old people he barely tolerated, sitting in a stuffy old room, which he hated. The only good part was the food. And even that was wearing on his nerves.

And. And, it didn't help that along the edges of the room, he could see the bane of his existence. The stain on his otherwise perfect (ha!) life. Arthur.

God. And he was even wearing nice clothes, for once. Where the hell had he gotten silk and velvet from?! Did he steal it? No... it fit him too well. Maybe it was Gaius's? Hm.

Wherever he got it, the outfit suited him. Bright red, with golden accents. It was like the colors of the old kingdom, which he usually hated out of habit, but it looked natural on the peasant. Like he belonged in those colors. Merlin could barely tear his eyes away from the boy, who was standing awkwardly in the corner, like he didn't know if he belonged. Well, he didn't, so that was one thing.

He turned his attention away, looking at the displays before him. Magic was being used so casually in the room. Sorcerers showing off, trying to court one another. It was awful, too, but could be amusing. Like the young magician, trying to impress Lady Freya with some hastily conjured flowers. Please! Like that would work. Though she did smile prettily at him... hm. Whatever.

Bored, Merlin's gaze walked around the room, landing once again on Arthur. Merlin tried to tear his eyes away but couldn't. The boy looked, despite his best efforts, enthralled. Enraptured. Enchanted. Other 'E' words. He kept staring at acts of magic like they were foreign to him. Maybe they were. Not all villages had sorcerers in them, though many did. Maybe he was from an outlying village, and entirely nonmagical one. Perhaps. Merlin soon found himself enthralled, wine glass death forgotten as he stared. Gods, he was beautiful. Incredible. Stupendous. Amazi-

God. He was fucked.

Luckily (or unluckily, it depended), his father began to talk to him, talking about the recent uprising they had defeated. Merlin tried to be interested, he did, but it was hard. Especially when his father mentioned the child who had gotten in the way of his father's execution ax, getting killed alongside the man, the wife and mother inconsolable with grief. Why did his father think this good dinner conversation? He had no idea.

Finally, the entire room hushed as the entertainment for the night came in. It was a lovely young woman, nonmagical, who had the voice of an angel, it was said. She smiled prettily at his father as she started her song.

It was indeed beautiful, Merlin thought, a small smile on his face for the first time. He could almost have believed her to be a sorceress, for how captivating she sounded. Everyone's eyes were on her as she sang. All eyes but one.

Suddenly, as the singer hit her high note, Merlin felt more than saw the knife as it hurled towards him. Magic on guard, he quickly blocked it, eyes tearing from the woman towards the side, where the knife had come. Before he could see who had thrown it, his magic sounded again, warning him of another danger. But this time, he knew it was going to be too late.

In horror Merlin turned his head, time seeming to pass in slow motion, as the knife soared through the air, straight towards his heart. He could block it. He knew the words; his magic was roaring in his veins. And yet... he paused, eyes wide as he stared at the woman, the beautiful singer, eyes red with anger and hatred. What had he done to earn her ire? What had he done...?

Well, it wouldn't matter in a moment, he thought hysterically, eyes tracking the slow-moving blade. He'd be dead soon. Dead. His magic, powerless to help. Or, it could help. But he couldn't muster up the strength to call it. Why? Why? Wh-

He felt something heavy slam into his side, pressing him down onto the harsh, unforgiving ground, knocking all the air out of him. Above his head a knife flew into the chair behind where his chest had been seconds before. He stared, wide eyed, at the space, before a quiet hiss of pain alerted him to his rescuer.

Eyes nearly black with how dilated the boy's pupils had become, Merlin stared deep into the eyes of the bane of his existence. The reason his blood had been boiling for the last three days. The occupant of his every waking thought. Bloody Arthur.

"What on earth were you thinking?! Are you insane?!" Arthur hissed, a grimace of pain on his face. It was then he remembered the peasant's injuries, which he had likely opened in his dash to be the noble rescuer. When had Arthur gotten to close to him that he could just... save him like that? Why had he had to be saved by a nonmagical person?! Ugh. How embarrassing.

Before he could reply, not that his addled brain could think much of anything at the moment, he heard his father's voice booming out.

"Guards! Grab them!"

"No! You monster, you killed him! My, my brother you killed him! I'll make you pay, Balinor Emrys, I'll make you pay!"

The woman screamed, her once beautiful voice broken as the guards surrounded her and dragged her away. From the ground, Merlin could barely see the old woman from the execution also get dragged off, sobbing too hard to say anything. So, it was her. Her and her daughter, out for revenge. Merlin wanted to hate them, hate them for trying to end his life. But all he felt was cold inside.

The body that was still atop him froze, the woman's pained words causing him to shudder, Merlin feeling every last movement. He wondered if he regretted it. Regretted saving his life. Merlin knows he would if he was in Arthur's shoes. So much pain. So much death. To what end?

To what end?

It seemed like an eternity that Arthur laid atop him, like a blanket protecting him from the world. Logically, it could only have been seconds before the boy rolled off him, kneeling down as he tried to catch his breath, his eyes still wide, pupils blown. He stared unseeing at the wall. Merlin didn't blame him.

He hesitantly stood up, knees weak and eyes unseeing. He stared blankly at the knife still embedded in the chair. He had had attempts on his life before. He had gotten far closer to death than this. So why was he so shaken?

"You… you saved my son's life," Merlin distantly heard his father say, though he couldn't look away from the knife. He heard Arthur grunt, saw him stand hesitantly, face grimaced in pain, but it was all so distant. So far away. "How can I ever repay you?"

"Oh, it was nothing, just, you know. Nothing," Arthur claimed, cheeks pink and eyes downcast. It almost looked like shyness, but Merlin could see the truth. Arthur's hands were clenched in fists, his (beautiful, so goddam beautiful) jaw set in stone. He was angry. Furious. He did regret it, Merlin thought absently. He tried to ignore the stab of pain that caused in him. Larger than the stab wound he could have gotten had he not been saved, he felt.

"Nonsense. You, you deserve some reward. I know! You will have a seat in the royal family. You can be Merlin's new manservant!" Balinor announced, grinning like he had thought of some great prize. And maybe it would have been. For anyone else. Instead, Merlin watched as Arthur's eyes widened, before narrowing with anger and disgust. Balinor didn't see that, though. He had already turned away to deal with the guests.

"No, I- I don't think that's necessary. I'm only in Camelot for a few more days, I couldn't possibly-"

"Nonsense! You will be Merlin's new manservant. It has been decided. It would be a great insult to decline me now, boy, so you'd best be grateful. Now, where were we…" his father's voice drifted off, Merlin's ears now roaring with blood, drowning out all sound but that of his beating heart. He could only stare at Arthur, mouth dry and sealed shut, watching the anger and rage dance over those beautiful cerulean eyes, followed quickly by disgust, then sorrow, before resignation finally filled them. He couldn't breathe for a second as those eyes met his, narrow where his were wide. That jaw was set, fists clenched, eyes now blazing with emotions that Merlin couldn't, wouldn't name. It hurt too much. He couldn't breathe. He couldn't...

With that, Arthur turned and stalked away, anger and rage and darkness surrounding him like a fog. Distantly he noticed Gaius following him, chasing after the enraged boy, but Merlin didn't care. He just stared, unseeing, at the door Arthur stormed out of, until he felt a soft hand touch his arm, pulling him roughly back into reality. The noises all came back at once, nearly deafening him. He looked, wide eyed, down at Freya, the girl's brown eyes full of sorrow and compassion.

"Merlin. Merlin, are you alright? Did you, did you get hurt?" Freya questioned, a soft frown marring her beautiful lips. Merlin felt a pang as he saw her worry and forced a smile upon his lips.

"Ah, don't worry for me, my Lady. I'm, I'm fine. Just… just fine. How did he… how did he get to me so fast? I thought…" Merlin trailed off, eyes glassing over again as he pondered. Freya didn't let him slip away, though, gentle hands moving to grasp his. He stared her in the eye as she shook her head.

"I don't know. I saw him, staring towards the area that the old woman was hiding, before he moved over to the main table. And then, when the first knife started flying… he just, leapt. Over the table and into you. It was, dare I say… heroic. He certainly is brave."

Yeah. Brave. That's one word for it.

Merlin took a heavy seat, the knife that had almost ended his life inches from his face as he sat, thinking.

So. The boy was to be his new servant. Some reward, he thought with a snort, shaking his head. His father had the worst ideas of what was a good reward or not. But still. Arthur was to be his servant. To wait on him, day, and night. To stay in Camelot, or else feel the wrath of his father.

Oh.

Merlin, for the first time since he'd felt his magic sing the danger of the knife, felt a smile rise on his face. It was not a nice smile. Not at all.

After all. He was still so very angry at being called a pillock.

Perhaps some recompense was in order?

(He ignored the voice that asked if saving his life wasn't recompense enough?)

(No, he decided softly, in bed that night. No.)

(He wanted so much more.)

~XoxoxoxoxoxoXoxoxoxoxoxoX~

He was going to kill someone. Most likely his new, stupid, horrible, master.

Master! His! God, how dare they?! He'd saved the prince's life! And now, this? This?!

Arthur felt like throwing things, but the room was not his, so he dared not. But he did grab the pillow and swing it at the wall, over and over, until some of his anger had been released. And then he punched the pillow, over and over, until he was panting, eyes misty only because of the exertion. Nothing else.

He could feel his heart clenching as his knees gave out, weak from the… the exertion. Not the idea that he'd never see his mother again, or his friends. Not the idea that he was stuck in this godforsaken castle for who knows how long. Not the idea that he was now the unwilling servant to the rudest, most vile person he had ever met. No. Not at all. Just… exertion.

He heard soft sounds puttering around downstairs, Gaius clearly home. But Arthur didn't want to see him. Didn't want to see anyone, but especially him. It was his fault he'd been at the feast, anyway. All his fault.

Well. It hadn't been Gaius's fault that he'd saved the stupid prince's life. God. What had he been thinking?! Why! Why had he done that?!

He honestly didn't know. The feast had been going surprisingly well if he were being honest. He'd even managed to snag some food, the most delicious things he had ever put in his mouth, making him groan filthily. Luckily, no one had heard him, but it was so good. So, what, the prince had his eyes trained directly on him, following his every move, the prat? Who cared? There was pleasant music playing, light chatter, good smells, amazing food… what more could the simple farm boy ask for?

And then that woman began to sing. And he got that awful feeling in his gut.

He honestly didn't know why. The woman was beautiful, her voice like an angel's. Everyone was entranced, even the king. Arthur had watched, but his heart had begun pounding, mind racing. Something wasn't right. Something… something felt off.

And then he'd seen it.

Behind one of the many curtains, movement. A flash of something. Silver. A knife.

Before he'd even been able to think it through properly, Arthur had felt his feet moving, carrying him forward. He didn't know where he was going, just moving, until he found himself beside the royal table. He knew he'd be in so much trouble for being there, but something felt so wrong. And going to the table had just felt… right.

And then he'd seen the knife being thrown, as the woman hit her high note. And then he'd had no other thought other than 'save Merlin.'

God.

He hadn't even known that Merlin was the target. He'd just seen the knife and… dove. Luckily, he dove when he saw the first knife fly, as it had given him enough time to knock the prince down before the second knife landed, right where the prince's heart had been.

And now. NOW. Despite his good deed. Despite the fact he had saved his son's life, now he was forced to be the prince's manservant by the fucking king.

It wasn't fair! He just wanted to give his stupid request to the stupid solicitor, for the stupid grain and stupid seed! Why, why was that so hard?!

And he knew he couldn't refuse. Balinor has said it himself, to refuse was a great dishonor. It didn't matter it was supposed to be a reward. It didn't matter that Arthur longed so desperately to go home. It didn't matter that he hated Merlin with all his heart. It didn't matter. Because the King has decided. And Arthur was the one who would suffer. Or else his mother and the rest of his village would, should he refuse.

He sat shakily down on his bed (for now, he thought desperately, but what about now that he was staying indefinitely? Where was he going to stay?) and put his face in his hands and tried his damndest not to cry. He was a man, goddammit. Men didn't cry. He wasn't a girl. He wasn't…

But maybe he was, he thought helplessly, as tears began to stream down his face, angry and hot. He tried to stifle his sobs, but he couldn't do that anymore than he could stop the rain. He was powerless. Weak. Nothing.

As he sobbed, he mourned the life he had. He mourned the loss of his mother, for surely, he'd never see her again. He'd be worked to the bone, he knew it. Merlin hated him as much as he hated Merlin. If he were in the prince's shoes, he'd make his life a living hell. And that's exactly what it would be. Arthur was sure of it.

And all because the greedy King had withdrawn their allotted levels of seed two years past, making their village slowly starve as they tried to recover. He never had any hope the king would listen to his village's plea. The king hated them. Hated his kind. With a passion. Anyone who refused to learn magic. Or who just couldn't, like Arthur. Oh, he'd tried. Tried, to protect his mother, keep her safe. Wanted to learn magic so bad it burned him. But no matter what he tried, he couldn't even light a damned candle. He was useless. Nothing.

He sobbed for what felt like hours, tears never drying, until he had nothing left. And then he just stared blankly at the wall, breathing heavy, heart heavier.

When the door creaked open, hours later, Arthur didn't even care. Maybe it was a thief. Let them kill him. He was already dead, he thought, melodramatic.

But all he felt was a soft, gentle hand touch his hair, carding soft fingers through it. His breath hitched, stuttering in his chest. The old man above him just hushed him, hand moving soothingly through his hair.

"Hush, Arthur, it's alright. It'll be alright. You'll see. This is your destiny, my boy. This is what was meant to be."

Was it, he wondered, staring blankly at the darkened wall? Was it his destiny to be a whipping boy, beaten for his master's amusement? At least in the fields he was free. Free, like a bird. No. Free, like a dragon.

Now? Now, he was caged. And he knew he was being dramatic, being a girl, being a-a pillock. But he didn't care. He was so tired. So very, very tired. He just wanted to go home, to his mother, to hold her tight and never let go. To see his friends, Gwaine's carefree laughter a balm to his aching heart, Gwen's sweet smile making his heart soar. He wanted these last few days to be a dream, a nightmare, to wake up in his mattress, free, at home.

But that wouldn't happen. He was here. Trapped. In Camelot. With people who hated him surrounding him.

How on earth was he supposed to survive?

He felt another sob enter his throat, mortifying him. It was one thing to cry like a baby alone, where no one could see him. It was another to cry in front of another man, never mind how tenderly the other held him, like he was precious.

So, he squared himself up, sitting up abruptly and scrubbing his eyes roughly, trying to erase the memory of his tears. But Gaius saw. Gaius always saw. He'd only known the man three days, yet he knew that already. Gaius saw everything a person tried to hide.

"What am I going to do, Gaius? I, I don't know how to be a servant. Merlin hates me. I don't…" Arthur trailed off, running a hand roughly through his hair. He shook his head, then squared his shoulders once more, jaw set.

This was a challenge. The universe was challenging him. And he, Arthur Pendragon, never turned down a challenge. Ever. He was brave, and noble, and a warrior. Like his father was, and his father before him, and his father before him. And maybe his father would never had lowered himself to be a lowly servant. Maybe his father would have rather died than that. But Arthur wouldn't know. He'd never known his father. The man had died before he'd even been born. Or so he assumed. He honestly didn't know. His mother rarely spoke about it, just said the man 'went away.' He'd either died before he'd been born or had left shortly after his birth. It didn't matter, regardless, as he had no memory of the man either way.

So, he'd take it as a challenge. A fight. And he would win. Oh God, he would win. He'd make Merlin Emrys rue the day he ever set eyes on Arthur Pendragon, he swore that now, eyes blazing as Gaius stared at him with pity in his eyes. But that was okay. He didn't need pity. He was the last of the noble line of Pendragon. He'd honor those before him. He swore he would, or he'd die trying.

He was jolted from his noble thoughts when Gaius coughed lightly beside him, turning his gaze to the older man. It was then that the pain in his back come back, the sticky blood that spilled after he tore open the wound earlier having dried into uncomfortable crust.

"Well, whatever it is that you decided just now, know that I support you. I know you've not known me long, but I would be honored to have you stay here with me, as long as you need. I still ask for the occasional help, though I imagine you'll have your hands full with Merlin. I love that boy like he was my own, but I know how stubborn and pigheaded he can be. But he can also be kind, kinder than anything else on this planet. He has a large heart, though he tries his very best to hide it, to protect it from the world. Don't forget that, young Pendragon. And don't forget my warning, either. No one can know your last name. Alright? Not even Merlin. Especially not him."

Arthur stared at Gaius, trying to understand the meaning behind the warning. He dismissed the other words, though. Merlin wasn't kind. He couldn't be. He'd taken away Arthur's freedom, after all. He focused on the thing that mattered now, though. That made no sense at all.

"But why? I don't understand. Please, Gaius. Tell me," he pleaded, soft and imploring. He saw Gaius wavering, but eventually the older man shook his head.

"I'm afraid it's much too late to have this conversation. But one day, Arthur. One day, I promise I will tell you everything. For now, rest. You've got a long day ahead of you tomorrow. Now, let me look at your back. I fear you've torn open your wounds."

With that, the elder man stood up and exited the room, puttering around downstairs as he grabbed some salves. He returned a moment later, helping Arthur get out of the rich clothes he'd likely ruined. He looked sadly at the ruined fine silk but watched in amazement as Gaius just muttered a spell and the blood magically vanished. Hm. Maybe magic wasn't all bad? The older man then set to work healing Arthur's back, the boy grunting in pain even at the soft ministrations.

Once finished, the man stood and exited the room with a soft 'good night, Arthur,' closing the door gently behind him. Great, Arthur thought. Just great. Well, at least he had a place to stay. It was… something. One less worry. But now he had another.

Head swimming, Arthur didn't know how he would sleep that night. But when he placed his head down on the pillow, his eyes closed unbidden, heavy with tears and pain. His back ached, but he welcomed it. Pain was familiar. Pain was an old friend.

Pain was the only thing he would know from now on.

He'd better get used to it.

---

So! That was the first chapter. Some things I write in this chapter may get contradicted later, just because I honestly forgot what I wrote in this chapter, aha. I tried to fix that. Also, no idea why I made Cerdan a solicitor. Is that even the right word for the role I put him in? No idea, I wrote that when I was 17 and 22 year old me just ran with it. Also, Cerdan is Mordred's father (probably), who was killed in the first season. Also, if anyone is confused, Ewan is the knight who died in the second episode, Valiant. No idea why I added him, either, but eh. He comes back in later chapters, so keep an eye out for him.

Anyway! Posting schedule. This story is complete, mostly. I currently have 38 chapters, roughly 10,000 words each (give or take), and I'm planning on posting once a week until I'm out. Maybe twice a week, depending. I will post every weekend, usually Sunday, but possibly earlier, possibly later, depends on how I feel.

One thing to note, though. The other relationship tags. While the Morgana/Freya and Uther/Ygraine is mild, the Merlin/Gwaine is not. Spoilers, but they do end up in a relationship, though the end game is Merthur. But if you hate any other pairing other than Merthur, this may not be the fic for you. I still ask you give it a chance, but the Meraine (what is their ship name called? Gwerlin? Maine? Magical Strength? The Beauty and the Brawn?) is kind of a big deal, partway through the fic, around 100,000 words in. So, yeah. Just a warning. Or a promise, to those who like the pairing, as I do.

Let me know if you see any spelling or grammar mistakes. I write this on my iPhone, mostly in the dark with my glasses off. Yeah, I'm chaotic evil, what of it? Because of that, tenses may shift, since Apple seems to like present tense over past tense, and autocorrect keeps messing things up. And this story does not have a beta. We die like fools. I do edit, but I'm only one person, ya feel me? So feel free to point out any glaring mistakes if you'd like. :-)