Chapter 3
"Merlin!" Arthur called. He started to follow after his manservant, but a soft hand on his arm stopped him.
"If I may, sire, give him some time to think it over. He'll calm down."
"He's going to run away again!"
Hunith shook her head, smiling sadly. "He won't. I know him. I especially remember him at that age. There's a place in the hills where he goes when he feels upset. He will come back when he's ready." She scrubbed the tears from her face and looked around at her very small house. There wasn't much to see – stone walls, a dirt floor, a single room with little furniture. "Forgive me. I know this is not a comfortable place to wait."
"Nonsense," said Gwaine, leaning against one of the walls.
Hunith wrung her hands self-consciously, sat down at the table again, and took up her mending. Arthur, feeling awkward, finally accepted her offer of a chair and sat down across from her. His armor clanked conspicuously in the quiet room.
The candle on the table sat in a puddle of cooling wax, a plain reminder of the little display Merlin had put on. As if Hunith could read his thoughts, she said, "He didn't mean to."
"Didn't mean to do what?"
"His… gift… sire," Hunith replied, staring deliberately at her mending. "Sometimes it gets away from him, but he never means it." She looked up at him. "I've wondered for years when he would tell you, but it seems you know about him at last. I'm glad, sire. I told him that you would understand."
Arthur looked at Gwaine, to make sure they were hearing the same thing. Gwaine looked similarly confused. He shrugged but said nothing.
"His magic," Arthur clarified. They had mentioned nothing of the magic, save Merlin's babble upon their entry, but that hardly counted. It couldn't account for this.
She nodded, glancing again at her mending. "After Will's death, I don't think he had a single friend who knew the truth. I could see how lonely he felt. Sire, it warms my heart to know…" She trailed off.
It may have had something to do with the stricken expression on Arthur's face. "You mean to tell me," he said slowly, "that Merlin has had magic this entire time."
Hunith paled. "This entire time?" she repeated.
"Yes," said Arthur. Something hot was climbing up his spine. "I was under the impression it was a side-effect of Morgana's curse. But it seems I am mistaken."
It was rage.
"Sire-"
Arthur slammed his fists onto the table. His breaths came hotly through his nose. "How long?" he said, voice low, emotionless.
"How long?"
"How long has he been practicing magic, Hunith?"
She shook her head. "Sire, it isn't his fault. He was born with it. Please, my lord, you must understand." She stood up, the mending falling forgotten into the floor. "Merlin is a good man. Yes, he has magic, but he uses it for good! You must not hurt him!"
"I must not hurt him?" Arthur flung himself to his feet, the chair clattering to the floor behind him. "Do you not realize what this means? It means your son has lied repeatedly to me, for years! It means he's a criminal! He's a sorcerer. He should be put to death! The both of you should!"
Then Gwaine was at his side, laying a hand across Arthur's back. "You're using your words carelessly, Princess."
Arthur shoved him off. "You knew, didn't you?" he said, whirling on the knight. "That's why you suggested it was a part of Morgana's curse! You were protecting him!"
"I suspected, yes," said Gwaine. "That is why I said that to you. But no, I did not know for sure until now."
"Even if you had suspicions, you should have told me! I'm your king!"
Gwaine narrowed his eyes. "So you could have done what, sire? Burned my best friend on a pyre? Your best friend?"
"That… monster is not my friend!" Arthur snarled. His hand itched to take Excalibur. He would track Merlin down and then strike him down.
"Right," scoffed Gwaine. "Merlin drank poison for you, protected you from a Dorocha's lethal touch, and as recently as yesterday kept you from plucking up a cursed necklace in your idiotic fingers, and he's a monster. You know the only reason I follow you is because Merlin told me you were a good man? I may be reconsidering my allegiance."
The anger became mixed with confusion. Gwaine's words were true. Whatever lay in Merlin's heart, his actions to this day spoke only of good. But he had magic. The two things were not compatible. Then how…?
"If anyone is a monster," Gwaine continued, "it was your father Uther. Here I was hoping you were better than him, but when it really matters, I learn that you are the same."
"Gwaine," said Arthur, "shut up!" He rubbed his temples. "I'm thinking."
He could feel the others' eyes on him. He closed his own for some privacy. After a second he opened them again. What he really wanted was to confront his manservant about this nonsensical business and have the idiot explain himself. But even if Merlin were standing in front of him, this Merlin could offer no explanation of the actions his older self had taken. Talking to him would be futile.
Even so, Arthur needed to see the boy before he would be able to decide anything.
"Hunith, can you tell me where Merlin goes on his sulks?"
The woman shook her head, tight-lipped and pale with fear. Arthur looked to the heavens and took a deep breath. Trying to appear as calm as he could, he said, "I'm not going to hurt him. I just want to talk."
"You swear he will be safe?" she said.
"I swear on my mother's grave," said Arthur solemnly. "I will only talk with him. You have my word."
"And you have mine," said Gwaine, stepping up beside his king, one hostile hand on the hilt of his sword. "I'll go with him."
"No, you won't," said Arthur. "I need to speak to him, and I need to do it in private. The issue is between me and my manservant, and I don't want you there making nasty comments."
"I'd rather not you be there alone to drive your sword through my friend."
Rolling his eyes, Arthur took off his sword belt and laid Excalibur on Hunith's table. He then removed his hidden daggers from his boots and laid them alongside it. "There. I'm unarmed. If he finds me a threat, he can just blast me away with his mind. Are you happy?"
"Sir Gwaine," said Hunith quietly, before the knight had the chance to protest. "I trust him. Sire, if you remember the caves and the pass, that's where he's gone. There's a cliff at the entrance to the caves where he likes to sit, and a goat-path at the foot of the hill that will take you there."
Arthur nodded. "I believe I can find it. Gwaine, stay here."
The knight picked up the chair, sat down heavily, and crossed his arms. "I will, but only because Hunith asked nicely. In answer to your earlier question, no. I'm not happy."
"And I couldn't care less. I'll be back." Nodding to Hunith, Arthur turned and left after Merlin through the back door.
From the cliffs, Merlin could see not only all of Ealdor, but on a clear day most of the holdings of Camelot to the west. Sometimes he even imagined he could see the castle, a white glimmer on the horizon.
Now, it was night, and the sky was dark with clouds. A cold wind was blowing from the north, and being so high up, Merlin could feel it pressing on his back. He pulled his jacket tighter about his shoulders and shivered obstinately. He would not go back yet.
He scowled at the night scene. He tossed a few rocks over the side, not caring to listen for if they hit the bottom or not.
Merlin had no idea what to make of the information from earlier. How was he supposed to believe that he was already twenty-five years old? That he had lived a full eight more years and the world had been changing around him, and now he could remember none of it? Except, he wasn't twenty-five. He was seventeen again.
It didn't feel like again. It felt like still. He could remember the entirety of the last week like it had just happened to him, not like it had happened eight years ago. The only gap was between fishing with Will and waking up with the knights. He had just assumed he had been knocked unconscious.
He had no feelings about being twenty-five. He had never imagined what it would be like. When he and Will discussed the future, they talked about leaving Ealdor, maybe in another year or two, or they talked about the days they would be old men with families, laughing at the idea of either of them fathering children or even getting a girl. What was twenty-five supposed to feel like? It was an entirely unimpressive number. No one cared about when a man was twenty-five. Merlin had no conceptions of it.
His mother had gotten rid of his things. He must have left Ealdor, and judging by his present company, he had moved to Camelot. Why? Of all places in the realms of Albion, why would he go to the worst place for magic? Did he have a death wish? It did not make any sense. And even if Merlin felt restless here in Ealdor, though he and Will spoke of how small the village felt, he wasn't actually ready to leave it. It was his home. But now his bed was gone, and his mother was old.
There was a dull tugging in his chest, like a huge hole was opening up inside of him.
And to top it all off was the knights' lie about the enchantment. He was enchanted, yes, but his magic had nothing to do with it. He was still a freak and presumably always would be.
Merlin felt so alone. He wondered what Will would think of this predicament, and realized Will, too, would be older now. He swallowed the lump in his throat. Suddenly, talking to Will seemed like a really bad idea.
There was a grinding of feet in the gravel. Merlin jumped in his seat and looked over to the goat path to see Arthur stepping out onto the cliff. Merlin glowered at him – really, why did his least favorite of the two knights feel the need to come up here and find him? – and then went back to glaring out at the valley.
"Here you are," said the knight, voice matter-of-fact, bordering on unhappy. It would figure, wouldn't it, that Arthur was still angry at Merlin for sharing his honest feelings on the road. Actually, Merlin had gotten the impression that Arthur didn't like him from the very beginning. This would not be a pleasant chat.
"Yes, I came up here to be alone," said Merlin.
"Too bad," was the reply. Then, "Move over." Merlin responded by glaring at the knight. The knight glared back just as nastily. "You heard me. Move. Over."
Merlin huffed and gave in, scooting a few feet to the right on the cliff side. Next to him, Arthur sat down and let his legs hang over the edge. His chainmail chinked and tinkled through the night air.
"Sulking," said the knight. "That's real mature, Merlin."
"I don't know," said Merlin. "I thought it seemed rather appropriate, given the circumstances." Silence stretched between them. "Why are you here?"
Through the corner of his eye, Merlin watched Arthur work his jaw. He seemed particularly unhappy about something. Whatever it was, the blame probably lay with Merlin.
"If you're meant to be here to cheer me up," said Merlin, "you're doing a pretty terrible job of it."
"Just shut up," the knight snapped.
"Shutting up," said Merlin. They both returned to staring out over the valley. It was then that Merlin realized Arthur wasn't here to fetch him or cheer him up or explain things or any of that. He was here to sulk, too. Knowing that, his company seemed much more bearable.
A few minutes passed. Without warning, Arthur said, "Tell me about your magic."
"Oh, it's my magic now, is it?"
Arthur's look was of bewilderment and annoyance – raised brow, curled lip. "What?"
"Before, you and Gwaine were all, 'Oh, it's not your magic, Merlin, we'll cure you of it right away!' Got my hopes worked up, and then you revealed that 'No, that was a lie, but wait, we have even worse news for you, you're actually forgetting eight years of your life.' Can you blame me for sulking?" He hadn't meant to say so much or for it to sound so over-dramatic, but his mouth had run away from him.
"Your hopes…?" said Arthur. "Wait a minute, you wanted us to get rid of your magic?"
"Is it really so shocking?" said Merlin. "It's nothing but trouble, and if anyone finds out about it, I die. Why would I want magic?"
Arthur appeared to mull this over. "Your mother says you were born with it. I've never heard of such a thing."
"I haven't either. But yes, my mother says I could use it before I could crawl."
"How do you do it? You don't say any spells."
"I don't know any spells. I just think about it, and it happens. Sometimes it happens even when I don't think about it, instinctively. For me, it's as easy to use as it is to breathe." A strange thought occurred to Merlin. "Don't you know all of this already? You knew about my magic before."
"Merlin, I had no idea about your magic until you woke up at our camp, panicked, and threw me into the dirt. I thought it was the result of Morgana's curse, until your mother told us otherwise."
Merlin's throat grew tight, and he could feel the blood draining from his face. These knights of Camelot had not known about his magic, and he had carelessly used it in front of them again and again. How could he have been so stupid?
He scrambled to his feet and backed away toward the entrance to the caves. If he was fast, if he used his magic well, he could still escape.
Arthur's next move shocked him. Not even bothering to stand up, the blond knight rolled his eyes and said, "Sit down, you idiot. I'm not going to hurt you."
Merlin didn't move. "Why not?"
"Why not?" the knight parroted. "Do you want me to hurt you? Believe me, I have every right to." When all Merlin did was stare at him, Arthur sighed and said, "I'm not going to hurt you, because you're not guilty of anything. By the laws of the kingdom, yes, the study and practice of magic is forbidden and punishable by death. But you don't study magic, and I believe in a punishment to fit the crime. You chuck me through the air? Very well, I can chuck a few things at your head and call us even."
"You're not going to arrest me?"
"I arrest sorcerers, Merlin. As far as I can tell, you're not a sorcerer. You're just a strange, strange person. And that is something I knew from the moment I met you."
Merlin did not sit down next to Arthur again, but he compromised and sat a few feet away. Arthur pulled his legs from the cliff, found a boulder to lean against, and sat facing Merlin. He stretched his legs in front of him, clasped his hands in his lap, and looked at Merlin expectantly. What, did he want a prize for doing something any decent person would have done anyway?
Merlin decided to change the subject. He was feeling distinctly uncomfortable talking about his magic now. "What about you? Why are you so upset?"
"What makes you think I'm upset?"
"It's obvious. I'm not the only one who came up here to sulk."
"I don't sulk, Merlin. Only girls sulk. Oh, and you," the man sneered.
"Sorry, got the wording wrong," said Merlin. "I forgot when nobles sulk there's more elevated language they use. 'Experiencing an existential dilemma', is it? Very well, what's your dilemma?"
Arthur laughed, rolling his eyes in disbelief. "Your mouth, Merlin, that's my dilemma."
"Come on," Merlin prompted.
"Fine. I just found out my manservant's been lying to me for the entirety of our time together."
Merlin nodded, but he failed to see the severity of the issue. "Nicking your gold, was he?"
"How can you be this stupid?" exclaimed Arthur. "You! You're my manservant!"
Merlin should probably have let that sink in before he said, "Ugh, that's my job?"
"You don't have to sound so pleased about it!"
"Sorry, when I imagined my future, I didn't see myself doing menial jobs for a prat. I must have been desperate, mustn't I?"
"I'm telling you that I'm angry with you, and you think it's a good idea to insult me, do you?"
"Ah…" Merlin rubbed the back of his neck, feigning humility and guilt, although in reality he had no feelings about this situation whatsoever. "I guess this means you're sacking me?"
"I…" Arthur had appeared ready to agree, but the word caught on his tongue. "I'm not going to do anything to you," he said. "You're not him. You can't be held responsible for any of his actions. So, no. First we're going to break this curse. Then I will sack you."
Merlin waited again for a feeling of regret, disappointment, anything, and was left waiting. "I'll, uh, look forward to it then."
Arthur rolled his eyes again – he seemed to do that a lot with Merlin – and pushed to his feet. "I'm done sitting here in the dark. Let's go back. Your mother is waiting."
Arthur set off down the goat path without checking to see that Merlin would follow. For a second, Merlin considered not following, but changed his mind when Arthur yelled, "Hurry up!" He had escaped death once today; he wasn't about to ruin his chances. So, Merlin jogged after him down the path.
As he caught up, he said, "Why did my mother call you the king?"
"Because I am the king."
Merlin snorted. "No, you're not."
"Merlin, I'm the king! I am Arthur Pendragon, son of Uther Pendragon, and King of Camelot!"
Merlin lost control of his legs, tripped, and fell on his face in the dirt. He was dimly aware of Arthur lifting him to his feet. His mouth, of its own accord, seemed to be repeating the words, "Oh god."
Arthur smirked. "What is it now?"
Merlin swallowed heavily. It felt like he had just fallen into the pond in the middle of winter. He swore he couldn't feel his extremities. "Sire, I'm afraid I've said some rude things to you."
He was rewarded with a cuff to the back of the head. It hurt, and Merlin glared at the king before remembering he was the king and lowering his eyes more respectfully.
"You usually do," drawled Arthur Pendragon. "Please, don't stop now."
Merlin could not bring himself to speak another word as they travelled back to his mother's house. As they walked through the door – and horrified, Merlin realized he should have opened the door for Arthur, not the other way around – he must have been wearing the expression of a startled deer.
"You said you wouldn't hurt him!" said Gwaine, rising to his feet.
"I didn't touch him," replied Arthur.
"Then why does he look like that?"
"Because he just learned that the person he's been calling 'prat' all day is the king of Camelot."
Merlin and his mother sat side by side on Hunith's bed, while Arthur and Gwaine took the chairs at the table. Hunith had one of Merlin's hands and was stroking it gently. The boy himself was stiff and kept his eyes trained to the floor. Arthur hadn't known telling Merlin he was king would have such an impact; if he had, he might have done it sooner.
Arthur studied the boy sitting in front of him. In many ways, he was exactly like the man he would become in eight years. He certainly had the same foul mouth and was confident to the point of stupidity. In many other ways, however, and perhaps the most important ways, this Merlin was nothing like Arthur's Merlin. The love and loyalty that had always defined his relationship with Arthur was absent. Certainly, Merlin always acted like he couldn't stand Arthur, but that had only been an ongoing joke. Arthur got the feeling that this Merlin genuinely couldn't stand him. This was not a boy who would say such sentimental things to him as being happy to be Arthur's servant until the day he died.
For some reason, it really bothered him that he had changed so little in the past few years that Merlin's first impression of him was 'prat'. But that was ridiculous. He didn't care what his manservant's seventeen-year-old self thought of him.
Right now, there was an altogether worse problem. Merlin had magic.
Arthur had to remind himself that if this Merlin had magic, it meant his Merlin had magic, too. Arthur could not make any sense of it. They had spent every day together for the past six years, and he had never seen any sign. Surely he would have witnessed one of the 'accidents' the magic seemed to regularly cause. Or was it that Merlin had gotten his magic under control before coming to Camelot? He must have; not even Merlin was stupid enough to take such a risk as coming to Camelot with out-of-control magical powers, not under the reign of Uther.
His talk with Merlin now had put a lot of things in perspective. Merlin did not want his powers. He seemed to hate them. That would certainly explain the present Merlin's strong feelings against magic; Arthur had interpreted them as fear, but maybe it was stronger. Maybe it was, indeed, hate.
Most likely, Merlin had stopped using his powers when he came to Camelot. It was a part of his past he had never felt worth mentioning, because as much as Merlin feared for his life should anyone find out, he also was trying to put it behind him.
Arthur could believe that. Really, this was Merlin they were talking about. Merlin didn't have secrets. In fact, he was a terrible liar. Had Merlin been practicing magic in Camelot, Arthur would have known about it.
He would have a long talk with Merlin about this, once they returned the man to normal. Arthur trusted that their conversation would confirm his suspicions – that all of this was a bunch of nonsense, that it was nothing he should worry about.
He knew all of this. He was positive of it. He knew it, because he knew Merlin. Though for some reason, he couldn't shake the faint feeling of unease that had taken up residence in his stomach.
"Sire," said Hunith, voice soft. "You believe Gaius can cure my son?"
"Of course," said Arthur, shaking off his thoughts, forcing his mind back to the present. "I've seen Gaius work in the past. Once he understands the enchantment, he'll be able to tell us how to break it. I promise, by tomorrow night, all of this will be nothing more than an amusing memory."
"Thank goodness," Hunith breathed. She shook Merlin's hand encouragingly. He seemed oblivious to this.
"Um," said Merlin. His eyes flicked to Arthur's and back to the floor. "I really appreciate that you're helping me, sire, but why? This seems like so much trouble. I'm just a peasant."
Arthur opened his mouth to respond, but Gwaine beat him to it. "It's because you're his best friend."
Merlin's head snapped up. His wide blue eyes stared at Arthur disbelievingly, almost awestruck.
Arthur huffed. "Gwaine, he's my manservant. I'm not best friends with my manservant."
"You could have fooled me," said the insolent knight.
"Stop giving him ideas." Exasperated, embarrassed, Arthur turned to Merlin and said, "The reason is you've been my manservant for the past six years, and I don't want to have to hire and train someone new. I don't have time for that. I'm running a kingdom." Merlin looked so confused that Arthur felt obligated to add, "That, and the only reason you're like this is because you were protecting me. I owe it to you."
Arthur smothered a yawn. It was getting late, and emotions had been running high all day. He had one last point to address, however, before they turned in.
"That's the issue of the curse. Now, Merlin, I must talk to you about your magic."
At this, Merlin flinched and went back to staring at the dirt floor. Arthur knew that look well. It was guilt; not the fake guilt Merlin put on when Arthur was scolding him for problems he clearly had no control over, but the true guilt he wore when he had done something wrong and knew it. Arthur couldn't help but feel a bit smug. His manservant was so easy to read.
And you thought he could be practicing magic behind your back in Camelot? Ridiculous.
"Merlin, you have magic. I understand. You're not in trouble for it, but I must lay down some rules for you. From here on, I must forbid you from using it. While I understand you do not have it by choice, I cannot stand by and condone your using it willfully."
"But-" started Merlin, raising his head, but he bit his tongue and lowered it again.
"No. There is no 'but'. Should I find you are using magic while in my kingdom, I will be forced to arrest you. Those are the laws of my land, and I will not make exceptions for you. Do you understand?"
Hunith nodded eagerly. "Sire, we are grateful for your understanding about this. He won't practice his magic."
"I'm sorry, Hunith," said Arthur, "but I need to hear him say it."
"…I understand," the boy muttered. "I won't use my magic."
"Good. Neither shall you tell anyone about it. This is all for your own good, of course. Sir Gwaine and I already know, but there is no reason for anyone else to find out. I don't care if they are your friends. I don't care if they tell you their secrets. You tell no one. Do you understand?"
"I understand."
"Good. Then we won't have any problems." Another yawn rose in his throat, and he fought it back. "Now, we have all had a long day. Let us get our rest, and Hunith, we will be on our way in the morning."
Hunith stood. "Sire, you may take my bed."
"No, I could never do that. We will take the floor." For a while longer, Hunith insisted that she couldn't allow him to do that, but Arthur, Gwaine, and after some instruction Merlin, too, stubbornly brought in and unrolled their camp bedding on the floor. Arthur lay down on it pointedly and closed his eyes. He listened to Hunith's amused sigh, and he was relieved when she blew out the candles and went to her own bed.
She was a good woman, Hunith, thought Arthur as he fell to sleep. Even among peasants, there was honor to be found.
Merlin could hardly sleep that night. So he was awake when his mother began to stir, at the early hour of the day when the sun had yet to break the horizon and everything was blurry gray. He decided to get up, too, and help her prepare breakfast.
He followed his mother out to the storage shed around back before either of them spoke.
"Good morning, my son," she said, smiling. It was such a warm greeting that Merlin was taken aback – normally she was threatening to dump cold water on him first thing of a morning to get him out of bed.
"'Morning," he said. "Can I help with anything?"
She smiled and passed him two buckets. "Go fetch some fresh water."
"We need two buckets for that?"
"Surely the king will want to wash up," she told him. "Now run along."
Merlin took the buckets down to the well; there were two wells for Ealdor, one in the middle of the village, and the other toward the hills. Merlin was always happy to avoid the villagers and so chose the latter, and he was able to make it there without running into another soul. As he lowered the first bucket, he couldn't help but wonder what they'd think if they saw him, looking the way he did now. If Will saw him. He would probably think it was a fantastic bit of fun, knowing Will.
Merlin filled up both buckets and started to carry them back. Without thinking, he used his magic to make them lighter. Then he remembered that he wasn't supposed to do things like that.
"Too bad," he said. "What the king doesn't know won't hurt him."
He found his mother back inside the house. She had started the fire and was measuring out some oatmeal for breakfast. Merlin noticed she had brought out her special stash of honey and a stick of cinnamon, which she only did on holidays and special occasions. Yes, having a king in your house was a special occasion, but it seemed too bad to waste the ingredients on a person like Arthur.
Merlin understood there was a certain way you should treat royalty. For example, you ought not to call them a prat to their face, because they could have you thrown in prison. He had also been under the impression that royalty ought to act a bit more like royalty. He'd never seen a king before, but when he imagined a king, he did not imagine such an unlikable git as Arthur. Why would he choose to work for him? Why had he tried to protect him from this cursed necklace? Likely closer to the truth was that Merlin had picked the thing up by mistake, and it had just happened to be cursed.
Maybe the pay was really good.
Gwaine claimed that he and Arthur were friends, but Merlin was also coming to understand that he should take whatever that knight said with a grain of salt.
Because there was no way Merlin could be friends with Arthur. Just thinking about the condescending way he had lectured Merlin about his magic the night before set his teeth on edge.
Merlin set the buckets on the floor next to the fireplace, careful to tread lightly around the sleeping knights. He tip-toed back to his mother and said, "What else can I do?"
"Tend the horses," she instructed.
He looked at her blankly.
"Take them down to the creek. Let them drink and graze. They have a long journey ahead."
Merlin did as she said, and by the time he led the horses back, the sun was climbing the sky and chasing away the chill of the night. Inside the house, the men were awake, lounging in the chairs at the table.
"There he is," said Gwaine with a smile as Merlin walked in through the door.
"'Morning, Gwaine," he greeted, and was about to ask his mother for another chore when he realized Arthur was staring at him. "What?"
The king frowned. "You're supposed to say 'Good morning, sire'."
Merlin glanced at Gwaine, who shrugged helplessly. "Um… good morning, sire."
"Is that the best you can do? At least smile!"
Merlin sighed, and then he plastered a smile across his face, all while his pride curled up inside him like a dead spider. "Good morning, sire!"
"Better," said Arthur, in total opposition to his face, which looked like he'd just smelled something rotten.
This was going to be a long day.
Merlin turned his back on the king before he let himself scowl. He wondered if it was worth returning to Camelot, getting his memories back, any of it. Maybe he could just start over, make different and better choices about his future. It wasn't too late.
"Merlin," said his mother. "Help me bring something in from the shed." Wrapping one arm around Merlin's shoulders, she led him from the house. When they had reached the shed, she said, "You need to give him a chance." Ah, so she had noticed the scowl.
"Why?" he said.
She sighed, but her smile was patient. "He may not seem it at first, but King Arthur is a good man with a kind heart. Much of that he owes to you, Merlin. You must understand that he is frustrated now – he misses his friend. But he is like your brother, Merlin. I've told you this before, but you and Arthur, you are like two sides of a coin."
"I can't believe that."
"Maybe you can't understand it now, but you must trust him. When Gaius restores your memories, everything will be clear."
His mother stood back and studied Merlin's face, smiling, until he squirmed. He asked, "What is it?"
"Nothing," she said, and she squeezed his arms. "It's just so nice to have my baby boy back, even if just for a day."
Merlin laughed. "I'm hardly a baby."
"No, I know. But…" She trailed off. Whatever she meant to say, it must have been something too serious, too sad, for the smile had vanished. Before Merlin could wonder too much about it, in a flash the smile was back. "Come on. Let's get back."
Inside, Merlin helped his mother finish the breakfast, all the while trying to ignore the knights who looked on. He was afraid to speak, unsure if Arthur would ridicule him or not. Part of him believed Arthur would ridicule any word he said at all, for the simple pleasure of calling him an 'idiot'.
But there was a question he was dying to ask his mother, and at last he decided to. "What is Will up to these days?" He chuckled fondly. "I keep wondering, if he saw me this way…" Merlin trailed off. He hadn't missed the look shared between Arthur and his mother, the way the king pinched his mouth and how his mother blanched. "What?"
His mother looked to the side and said, "Will doesn't live here anymore."
"Oh…" said Merlin. Trying to lighten this inexplicably tense mood, he smiled and said, "He always did say he wanted to leave Ealdor. Well, good for him."
Arthur and his mother both winced. Looking around in as much confusion to rival Merlin's own, Gwaine said, "I don't get it. Who's Will?"
"My best friend," said Merlin slowly.
Arthur shot a warning look to Gwaine, although warning him about what, Merlin couldn't say. For some reason, Will was a taboo topic here. Merlin was about to press, but at that moment Gwaine leapt to his feet, strode to Merlin, and wrapped his arm about Merlin's neck, pulling him in close and rubbing his knuckles into his hair.
"Don't be ridiculous. I'm your best friend."
Merlin squirmed out of the hold and patted down his hair, blushing. "But last night, you said-"
"I said you were the princess's best friend, never that he was yours. That position goes to me. Try to remember, eh, mate?"
"Stop telling him he's my best friend," snapped Arthur. "He most certainly is not. You're just going to swell that already incredibly big head of his."
"Very well, Arthur, who is your best friend then, if not Merlin?"
Arthur rolled his eyes and opened his mouth to answer, only to stop short. "…Leon."
Gwaine snorted incredulously. "Leon."
"Do you have something against Sir Leon?"
"No, no, I love Sir Leon. I just have a difficult time imagining the two of you spending quality time together."
"He is the best of my knights!"
"Ah, I see it then. You and Leon, arranging patrols, training recruits, arresting criminals, and generally having a good time." Gwaine said this with such an air of skepticism that Merlin grinned. He had no idea who this Sir Leon was, but he was getting a pretty good idea. "If that is what floats your boat, sire, you are the king. No one can argue with your royal whims and fancies."
Gwaine winked at Merlin, and at that moment, Merlin's mother began bringing bowls of oatmeal to the table. "Let's eat."
"Thank you, Hunith," said the king, and Merlin may have been mistaken, but the man seemed earnestly thankful.
As well he should, thought Merlin. No one, not even a king, had the right to disrespect his mother.
They ate breakfast quickly, but Merlin tried to savor the taste of his mother's oatmeal. He had the feeling he would not be able to taste her cooking again for a long time. He was leaving home. He was leaving Ealdor.
Technically, you already left Ealdor, Merlin told himself. This isn't your home anymore, anyway. It did not make him feel especially better. Had he had time to prepare – had he had memories of preparing to leave, that is – he might have felt excited. As it was, it was too abrupt. He was not ready.
Taking his last bite of oatmeal, his throat grew tight, and he felt his eyes burning. Don't cry, he told himself. Not in front of him. Crying in front of Arthur Pendragon would just have the king calling Merlin a 'girl' or something equally insulting. Tonight, all of this won't matter anyway. You'll be right at home in Camelot.
Knowing that and believing it were proving to be two separate things.
When everyone had finished eating, Merlin gathered the bowls and was going to wash them, when his mother took them from his hands and set them aside. "Don't you worry about that, my dear. I'm sure it's time for you to go, if you want to reach Camelot before dark."
"Too true, Hunith," said Arthur, rising to his feet. "Thank you for your hospitality, as always. Let's be on our way."
They went out to the horses, and Merlin hugged his mother goodbye. As the small company rode from the village, Merlin forced himself not to look back, kept his eyes trained on his horse's mane, ignoring the villagers at the side of the road who must have been staring at them, staring at him. He squashed the tears that were threatening to fall and took deep breaths against the budding panic in his chest.
And so, they left Ealdor.
A/N: If Arthur's reaction to Merlin's magic seems a little lackluster at this moment, don't worry - the issue is FAR from being resolved.
Sorry I'm late! I had a stomach virus over the weekend and was too distracted by how miserable I was to think about this story.
I also want to respond to one of the guest reviewers who requested that I upload more frequently than once every two weeks. I thought about it, but in the end, biweekly updates will benefit everyone. I'm a slow writer and have very little free time (I am a school teacher in my real life). Working diligently on any story, it takes about one month for me to produce a new chapter. So, if I post all ten chapters of this story now, the rest of the story will come with months-long gaps. Biweekly updates are giving me a 'buffer period', and I'm hoping to get some good writing in over Christmas break. I hope that makes sense, and thank you for being patient!
Thanks to: Gingeraffealene, ImpudentMiscegenation, PadrePedro, Krista Perry, myrosedream, Taz, CaptainOzone, cg037, Manateesrock33, BabyGlover, and guests for your reviews of chapter 2!
See you again on November 28! (For reals, this time)