Chapter 1

There was nothing remarkable about that day. It was springtime, Camelot and its environs were damp with life-giving dew, the sun was bright overhead, and Merlin, as usual, was being an irritant. Already he had woken his king up late, brought him his breakfast cold, dropped his armor on the floor, and broken one of the straps on Llamrei's saddle. On top of all that, he had the gall to complain about their patrol.

"I just don't understand what you're expecting to find, Arthur," he said, dogging Arthur's steps as the king moved around the decrepit hovel.

"As I have explained to you, Merlin - multiple times and with extraordinary patience, I might add - we are looking for clues as to Morgana's whereabouts." Arthur poked the tip of his sword underneath some of the mess on the table and carefully overturned it. He had no idea what he was even looking at. A huge scrap of tree bark, a browned and stiffened article of clothing, the cover of an old book - whatever it was, it was too rotten to identify. He curled his nose in distaste. It was hard to imagine his sister, who had once been the gem of the realm, living in such a place as this.

"Yes, I have ears," said the manservant, rolling his eyes and crossing his arms petulantly. So far, he had not done a single thing to help investigate. Arthur should have left him outside with the rest of the men, if hindering the king was his only goal. "I heard you the first ten times you told me that."

Arthur resisted making a stab about the other man's overly large ears. "Then why do you keep bringing it up?"

"It's in the hopes that you'll eventually realize how pointless this is. Since you won't listen to me, maybe coming to the realization on your own will make the idea seem more legitimate in that cabbage-filled head of yours."

So now my head's filled with cabbage? That was a new one, or was that perhaps the logic behind Merlin always calling him King Cabbagehead to begin with? "At least pretend like you're helping. Don't just stand there."

"Great," muttered Merlin. "Ignoring me, again. Why am I not surprised?"

Arthur, spitefully, chose to ignore that. Wiping the back of a gloved hand across his forehead, he stepped back from the table and surveyed the rest of the room. Honestly, there was not much to see. The building was in a sorry state and looked long abandoned, but since it was known Morgana had stayed here, they were obligated to investigate.

If Arthur were to be entirely frank, he really was not expecting to find anything here, not that he would ever admit that to Merlin. No, he would look for a few more minutes, if only perfunctorily, and then point them towards home. Being here, in a place his sister had lived, was depressing him.

"I don't like it here," said Merlin, cradling and rubbing his arms like he was cold. He eyed the dark corners of the room like he expected something to jump out at them.

"Liking it isn't a requirement," retorted Arthur. He stepped over some of the broken pieces of glass and wood that scattered the floor, to a bedside table that was remarkably intact.

"I mean, it doesn't feel safe."

Arthur was not going to encourage that paranoiac line of thinking with a response. Instead, he nudged his sword through the items on the table, turning them over and spreading them out. Like the larger table, it was mostly garbage or other things too decayed to make out. Except for -

"What do we have here?"

Underneath a mouldering piece of parchment, glinting through the gloom, was a necklace. Its silver chain had somehow managed to avoid being tarnished, and the ruby, cut in the shape of a teardrop, looked freshly polished. Perhaps being hidden on this table had protected the jewelry from the elements.

The king frowned. He knew this necklace. He had seen Morgana wearing it on multiple occasions. It had been a birthday gift, for her, from Uther Pendragon.

The memory tugged uncomfortably in Arthur's breast. He reached out a hand to pick up the jewelry but stopped when he saw how dusty his glove was. Not wanting to spoil the only bit of beauty in this dilapidated hut, a small but benevolent remnant of the sister he had lost, Arthur stripped his gloves off, tucked them into his belt, and reached out again.

"Wait, Arthur," said Merlin suddenly, seeing what his king was about to do.

Arthur did not lower his hand, but he paused long enough to look at Merlin and raise one of his brows incredulously. "What?"

The manservant took a step forward. He gulped. "I think it's a trap."

"How can a necklace be a trap? Really, Merlin, you're acting more oddly than usual."

"Something about this doesn't feel right," Merlin insisted.

Arthur rolled his eyes and fisted both hands against his waist. "This is Morgana's house – although I hate to call it such," he added, eyeing the state of the hovel. "Obviously there will be some of her belongings lying about. That doesn't make it a trap."

"The key word being 'obviously'. Arthur, doesn't this necklace seem too obvious? As though you were meant to find it?"

"That would imply that Morgana knew we were coming here, and I can assure you, she didn't. Besides, it was buried under a heap of garbage. If it is a trap, it is a most poorly laid one, and not one I would consider 'obvious'."

Merlin bristled at the tone Arthur was using with him, like he was explaining something simply so that a child might understand it. His frustration only served to make the king smirk. "Please, Arthur," he pressed on, "I have a bad feeling about this."

"You and your feelings," Arthur drawled, and he chuckled. "Stop being such a girl." Again, he reached out to take the necklace in hand, but before he could touch it, his manservant swooped in and scooped the jewelry up, pulling it in a clenched fist toward his chest.

"Merlin!" scolded Arthur. He whirled on the man, ready to unleash a barrage of insults, but all of his irritation fled his body when he saw the look on Merlin's face. The manservant's eyes were wide with shock, his mouth parted in a silent 'oh'. The blood was visibly draining from his skin, his complexion paling with each passing second. "Merlin?" Arthur repeated, in a whisper.

Gradually, it became clear that Merlin's pallor was less to do with his skin than with the white glow, like moonlight, beginning to encase him. Tremors wracked him, beginning with the fist wrapped tightly around the necklace, spreading until all of his body was shuddering violently. Suddenly, the air in Merlin's lungs escaped, unnervingly like a death rattle, and his eyes slid shut. His body was taken over by the shudders and by the white light of the curse.

For that was what it was. A curse, a trap set for Arthur. Merlin had known, and now he was suffering its effects.

Arthur had to get the necklace away from him. He needed to do it without touching the thing. Merlin's sacrifice would be for nothing if Arthur merely fell into the trap as well. Frantically, Arthur glanced around himself, looking for something he could use. There was a ratty cloth on Morgana's cot, which probably had once served as a bedcover. Arthur had snatched it up and wrapped it around his hand several layers deep before he remembered his gloves. But he did not bother with them; every second counted now.

With his other hand, he grabbed for Merlin's wrist, flinching when he felt the energy coursing through the smaller man's limb. It stung Arthur's hand like pins and needles. Pulling the arm away from Merlin's chest was more difficult than it should have been, as though he was bending iron, but Arthur managed. Then, with great effort, Arthur used the hand he'd wrapped to pry open Merlin's fist, one painstaking finger at a time. It wasn't until he'd opened the thumb and first three fingers that the necklace fell free from Merlin's clutch, dropping to the dirt floor with a muffled tinkle. Quickly, Arthur kicked the cursed object away from them.

The tremors in Merlin's body quieted, and the glow left his skin. Where he had been rigid before, his body abruptly relaxed, and if not for Arthur's grip on his wrist, Merlin would have fallen to the floor. One hand under Merlin's knees, the other supporting his shoulders, Arthur lifted his friend into his arms and carried him from the blighted abode.

Outside in the sunlight, Arthur took Merlin to the place their group had tethered their horses and laid Merlin gently on the ground. He checked the man's pulse and made certain that he was breathing. Besides him being unconscious and abnormally pale, there was nothing visibly wrong with the manservant. What had the curse been intended to do? Kill? Had Arthur rescued Merlin in time?

Eyes sweeping over Merlin's body, barely aware of the shouts around him and the knights who were gathering, Arthur felt a nagging sense of wrongness in Merlin's appearance. Had the man always been so thin and lanky, his hands so disproportionately large? Had his face always been so smooth and free of stubble? (For Arthur knew Merlin was finally capable of growing a 'beard', as much as he bragged about it and proudly wore the bristles during their extended journeys.) There was something, too, about the way Merlin's clothes hung on his body that suggested, not that Merlin was too thin – though he nearly was – but that he simply hadn't filled them out yet. He looked, for lack of better words, much too young. If Arthur had passed him on the street, he would have pegged him as a boy, no more than sixteen, seventeen best. But he knew for a fact Merlin only lacked a year on him, and Arthur had lived twenty-six winters, fast approaching twenty-seven. Yet this was not the body of a twenty-five year old man.

Just what had been done to him?

"Leon," Arthur called to his second-in-command. Immediately, the knight was at his side. The king did not let his eyes leave Merlin as he spoke. "On the floor inside the hut, there's a necklace. I need you to retrieve it for me, but be careful not to touch it with your bare skin. There is a curse upon it. Morgana… somehow she knew we were coming."

"Sire," said Leon, and he jogged toward the hovel.

"How is he?" said another voice. Gwaine. The knight knelt at Merlin's side, his long brown hair nearly obscuring his face as he stared at the manservant. His normally carefree demeanor had fallen away, replaced by open worry and another, darker emotion lurking underneath.

Arthur shook his head. "I don't know. I don't know what's been done."

Gwaine laughed softly, but the sound was sad. "Of course Merlin would touch a cursed object. He's drawn to danger like a moth to a flame."

"No," said Arthur. He sighed. "It was not his fault. Merlin realized it was a trap, and I didn't listen to him. He took the necklace so that I would not."

The knight's jaw line hardened, and Arthur watched as he ground his teeth. "Ah, so now I see where the blame lies."

"I thought he was being overly cautious. How could he have possibly known?"

"Simple. Between a king and a servant, somehow the servant is the one with more sense."

Arthur had to bite his tongue to keep from snapping at the man. He was not about to get into a fight over Merlin's unconscious body. It was neither the time nor the place.

"We need to get him to Gaius," said Arthur sharply. "He'll know what to do." The king again lifted his manservant into his arms and began to place him onto his horse. Gwaine joined Arthur in assuring that Merlin was tightly strapped onto his saddle.

"You will make sure Merlin recovers, Princess," said Gwaine. It was not a question. "You owe him that much. This isn't the first time he has used himself to shield you from danger. You would not be alive today if not for Merlin."

"I know that!" Arthur growled. He paused, taking a deep breath and running a hand through his hair. "I know that," he said again. "But there is no way Merlin could not recover. It's Merlin."

Gwaine opened his mouth to retort, but something made him stop. Maybe he realized that Arthur's words weren't said recklessly or flippantly, but more to reassure himself. Merlin had to recover. The alternative was unthinkable.

"You're right," said Gwaine, smiling grimly. "Merlin doesn't die today. Hear that, mate?" He patted Merlin gently on the back. "You are going to be fine, and when Gaius fixes you up, I will buy you a drink. We're going to drink ourselves senseless."

Leon returned with the necklace, which he had sealed in a small leather pouch. The king accepted it, knowing Gaius would need to see it if they had any hope of figuring out the enchantment. Then Arthur tied Merlin's horse to his own and immediately set out for Camelot, Gwaine following behind. He trusted the other knights to complete their search of the area, but he knew that Morgana was long gone from the place and not likely to return. Yet again, this had been a dead end.

They were not able to reach the citadel by nightfall. Arthur wanted to press their horses to continue, but the beasts' flanks were soapy with sweat, and to drive them any further would be to seriously harm them, if not kill them. Reluctantly, Arthur pulled their small group off of the road to set up camp.

"For a few hours only," he told Gwaine. "For the horses to rest."

"I'd be willing to carry him on my back if I thought it would get him home any faster," said Gwaine.

"As would I," said the king, as unfitting as it may have been to admit that about a servant. However, there was no need to pretend in front of his Round Table Knights that Merlin was not a friend. In fact, treating the young man as a friend had probably garnered more respect from the knights, who all looked upon Merlin as a comrade, for some reason or another.

Gwaine more than most. Once upon a time, Lancelot as well.

Merlin just had that way about him. Despite being mouthy, foolish, impulsive, impudent, and generally a pretty awful manservant, it was impossible not to feel fond of the man. He was all of those things, true, but he was also kind, amusing, and loyal to a fault. Brave. Arthur had never met a person braver than his manservant.

They built a small fire and laid the unconscious man on a cot beside it, before covering him with a thin blanket. Arthur and Gwaine sat to either side of him, neither one becoming too comfortable. They shared a plain meal of bread, cheese, and dried meat.

"He does look odd, doesn't he?" said Gwaine, regarding Merlin with a troubled expression.

Arthur shrugged sullenly. The knight had confirmed his previous suspicions, and he wasn't especially happy about that.

"How many times is this that Merlin's saved your hide, Princess?"

"Too many," mumbled Arthur, annoyed at Gwaine for bringing that up again. He stared into the fire. Despite what he felt about it, Arthur's brain began to dredge up occasion after occasion of when he owed his life to Merlin. When the boy had drunk poison in his stead. When he'd jumped in front of the Dorocha. The times Arthur had been wounded in the field, with no one by his side but Merlin to hide him and nurse him back to health. The times Merlin had ridden by his side into battle – a servant, not even a soldier – when death was certain.

He always complained of Merlin being a terrible servant, but perhaps it was Arthur who was a terrible master? Wasn't part of his duty to protect those who served him, and not the other way around?

This was Arthur's fault, of course. He swore, from this moment on he would do his damnedest to take Merlin's advice.

A small sound drifted through the murky night, a groan. Arthur and his knight's entire attentions turned to the small man lying between them, who was shifting restlessly under the blanket. Merlin's eyes fluttered open and then squeezed shut again against the light of the fire. Shading his face with one hand, the manservant opened squinting eyes and sat up.

"Merlin?" said Arthur tentatively.

At the sound of his voice, Merlin stiffened and dropped his arms to the ground. He looked between Arthur and Gwaine, eyes wide, startled and confused. "What's happened? Where am I?"

"He lives," said Gwaine, grinning broadly. "Welcome back, mate." He reached out a hand to clap Merlin's shoulder, and seemed understandably perplexed when the young man jerked back. Merlin tossed the blanket off and stumbled to his feet. Arthur and Gwaine followed suit.

"Calm down, you idiot," said Arthur, frowning. When he was conscious and standing upright, the change in Merlin was even more distinct. Arthur felt like he had been flung back in time. This was the very same face he had seen in the training grounds that day, that he had chased through the market with a mace. In fact, it looked even younger than that.

"Calm down? How am I supposed to calm down?" Merlin squinted at them, his blue eyes flicking up and down their forms. They widened as he, apparently, reached some conclusion. "You lot are knights."

"'You lot?'" echoed Arthur.

"Do you know who we are?" said Gwaine. At first, Arthur couldn't understand why he would ask such a question, and stared openly at the other man, but then it dawned on him. The possibility – but no, he couldn't stand to think of it. His blood ran cold at the very idea.

"You're knights… of Camelot. That's the Pendragon crest, that is." Terror crawled over Merlin's features. He took two steps back. "No, no, no. How did you find out? Oh gods, this can't be happening. You didn't hurt my mother, did you? She was just protecting me, she didn't mean any harm-"

"Your mot- Why in the world would we hurt your mother?" snapped Arthur.

Merlin's shoulders sagged in relief. "Thank you."

"What are you prattling on about?" said the king, advancing toward the other man. Merlin seemed to cower as he approached, and perhaps Arthur should have taken that as a sign. "Come on, we're taking you back to Camelot."

Merlin took another step back. "This is really happening," he whispered. Then he shook his head and squared his shoulders, and his face adopted a very familiar, bull-headed expression. "No," he said. "I won't go with you."

"Arthur," Gwaine warned, but the king ignored him.

"What do you mean, you won't come with us? Stop being such a bloody idiot and get on your horse." Arthur reached out to grab his manservant by the arm. He did not expect to find himself being thrown bodily backwards, over the campfire, to land heavy and winded in the dirt on the other side.

"Merlin!" he heard Gwaine shout. Arthur blinked at the stars, gasping for breath, and struggled to sit up. He was just in time to see Merlin swing up onto a horse – Arthur's horse – and gallop away into the night.

Gwaine jogged to the king's side, extended a hand, and hauled Arthur to his feet.

"What," gasped Arthur, "the hell just happened?"

His knight frowned, crossing his arms pensively. "I don't think Merlin remembers us. We'd best go after him."

"Not that!" snarled Arthur. "I mean, how the hell did I end up being thrown through the air like a sack?"

"Ah," said Gwaine. He chewed his bottom lip, twisted the toe of his boot in the dirt, and avoided looking at his king. Arthur, meanwhile, resisted swinging his fist at the man's jaw. "Seems like Merlin can use magic now, doesn't it?"

"Seems like…?" sputtered Arthur. "Seems…? Just how can you say that so calmly?"

The knight shrugged. "I'd assume it's a part of Morgana's curse, wouldn't you?" he replied slowly. He started to gather up the bedroll that they'd provided for Merlin. "Now, are you going to help me track him down or not?"

"Of course we're going to track him down," growled Arthur. He readied Merlin's horse as his own, even though none of the horses had recovered enough for this; he only hoped Merlin didn't hurt Llamrei in his quest to run away from them.

As soon as Gwaine was ready beside him, they spurred their horses in the direction of the fleeing manservant.

A/N: Hello! This is my first time posting anything in the Merlin fandom, although I've been writing and reading Merlin stories since 2012. If I'm not writing about Danny Phantom, I'm usually writing about Merlin. I love this fandom.

But… I also have a terrible track record about posting new chapters. (Treading Water folks, please don't kill me for posting this, a whole new story.) To guard against my own self-destructive tendencies, I am posting this only because the first 7 chapters are already entirely written, edited, and ready to go, along with about 40 more pages of material after that. Most of the chapters are about 6,000 words long; this one is actually the shortest in the whole story.

So, I'll post a new chapter every two weeks, which will take us through to January 3rd, 2021. That way I'm still sharing some writing but will also have plenty of time to work on my other sad and neglected stories.

Anyway, this is a fun tale, full of lots of banter and magical mishaps. I hope you all enjoy it as much as I've enjoyed writing it. De-aged Merlin is a challenge to write, but I took up that gauntlet and have had a blast with it.

See you again on November 1 with Chapter 2.

T.F.C~