Chapter 4
Merlin was unusually quiet. Arthur glanced over his shoulder to see the boy at the back of their group, staring expressionlessly at his horse's head, not even bothering to guide her. Luckily Merlin's mare was a well-behaved creature that knew well enough to follow the horses in front of her.
They had crossed back into the lands of Camelot some time ago, but for the whole of the journey from Ealdor his manservant had not said a word. Considering that Arthur's usual problem was trying to shut Merlin up, he could not help being concerned.
Arthur was about to say something, but Gwaine beat him to it. "Oy, Merlin, how do you feel? You're about to see Camelot for the first time."
"I'm fine," said Merlin moodily.
"Oh yes," Arthur replied, "I can see you're simply ecstatic."
Merlin was quiet for a while longer, and then he asked, "Why did I go to Camelot? I mean, in the first place?"
"You'll have to ask the princess," came Gwaine's response. "I wasn't there at the time."
Arthur frowned, considering it. It was never something he and his manservant had discussed, but it was odd, now that he thought about it. Merlin had grown up in the kingdom of Essetir, under an enemy king to Arthur's, with magic no less, and at the age of nineteen had decided to go to Camelot, to the most dangerous place on the earth for magic users. Yes, Hunith was old friends with Gaius, and Merlin had a place to stay within the castle for that very reason, but it still seemed peculiar.
Arthur shrugged. "I presumed it was to be a constant thorn in my side."
"According to Gwaine, I'm your best friend… um, sire."
Arthur was pleased that Merlin was recovering some of his pluck, and smirked, careful to not let Merlin see. "That's Sir Gwaine to you, and you must have realized that half of the time, he has no idea what he is talking about."
"I won't have my best friend calling me anything but my god-given name," said Gwaine. "If you call me 'Sir', your nose will meet my armpit. Also, don't let Arthur boss you around. He's just taking advantage of your temporary memory loss. The truth is, he owes his life to you several times over."
"Because, like an idiot, you insist on throwing yourself in harm's way to protect me," Arthur clarified. "Which is the origin of our current problem, isn't it? Merlin being an idiot."
"Speaking of which – not you being an idiot," Gwaine added as an aside to the manservant, "doesn't it make you wonder if Merlin's saved our lives more times than we realize?"
"Does what make me wonder that?"
"Think about it," continued Gwaine. "How many times have we managed to weasel our way out of hopeless situations thanks to a tree branch falling conveniently on our enemies' heads, or them dropping their weapons in the middle of battle, or tripping over themselves right into the points of our blades? Surely that was Merlin using his magic to help us, wasn't it?"
Suddenly Arthur's good humor was gone. "Hardly," he said. The retort was half-hearted, because in truth he had often wondered how he and his knights were so lucky in battle. Eventually he had decided that the gods were smiling on Camelot and that he should stop questioning it.
"What do you think, Merlin?" pressed Gwaine. "Does that sound like something you would do?"
"Fight?" sputtered Merlin. "In a battle? Me?"
"You give yourself too little credit," said Gwaine. "You're one of the most courageous people I know. So tell us, could you do those sorts of things with your magic?"
Arthur held his breath waiting for the boy's answer, hoping that it would be 'no'.
"I've never had the occasion to find out," said Merlin, "and from now on, I expect I'll be praying that the occasion never comes along. Especially because Arthur has explicitly forbidden me from using magic. I mean, the king has. I'm not allowed to call you 'Arthur', am I?"
"No," said the king, "you're really not supposed to."
"Come on, Merlin, just imagine it," persisted Gwaine. "Close your eyes and think 'bandit'. They're a pretty standard set of personages: ratty clothing, fairly smelly, missing a few teeth, a mean look in the eye, and not a lot going on in the head. Give them a sword or an axe and imagine them sneaking up on poor, defenseless Arthur."
"I'm hardly defenseless!" Arthur protested. "I'm the best swordsman in the realm!"
Ignoring Arthur entirely, Gwaine plowed ahead. "So there he is, unawares of the bandit sneaking up behind him, axe raised, all the other knights too far away or indisposed to help. But you, Merlin, you see this bandit and you think, 'A tree branch to the head ought to take care of that'. Could you do it?"
Merlin said nothing for so long that Arthur turned to look and found the boy frowning thoughtfully at the back of his horse's head. "Well, Merlin?" he said, somewhat impatiently. Arthur was irritated at being portrayed as the helpless maiden in this situation, and he was worried that Merlin might say 'yes', for it would give dozens of successful battles a much darker tone.
The boy shook his head. "I don't think so." A knot released in Arthur's stomach.
"Why not?" said Gwaine. "You threw us a dozen feet through the air with it."
But why did Gwaine want so desperately for Merlin to have used magic in their battles? Did he not realize that that would make Merlin a liar, a criminal, a traitor?
"Sure, I can do that, but that's because it doesn't take any precision. At that time, I just let my magic blast outward indiscriminately. If I want to move something in a particular direction, I've only ever been able to move things I'd feasibly be able to move myself, without magic. Unless I'm strong enough to snap a tree branch – one heavy enough to knock out a bandit, that is – with my bare hands, or wrest a sword from a man's hands, both of which I'm not, I can assure you…" He shook his head. "It wouldn't be possible for me. Maybe I could trip a bandit, though. Roll a rock under his foot, or a log or something." Merlin looked up, and seemed suddenly to grow self-conscious. "Did that answer your question?"
"You sound like you've thought about this a lot," commented Gwaine, although sounding impressed rather than admonishing, as Arthur would have preferred.
Merlin shrugged. "Will thought I should test the limits of my powers. That, and there's not much in the way of fun in a small village like ours."
"What are the limits of your powers, then?" asked Gwaine. Arthur could have smacked him. It was something he never knew about before; Gwaine's views on magic did not seem to be exactly orthodox. He would have to sit down and have a long discussion with his knight.
Merlin glanced to Arthur, who turned pointedly back to the front. In truth, Arthur was curious, too, if only to prove that his Merlin was not using magic, as was turning out to be the case. Showing Merlin that curiosity, however, might undermine the authority of his order against magic.
"Like you saw, I can move things with my mind. I can also freeze time – but only for a few seconds," he added hastily. "Only long enough to, say, get out of the way of a rock flying at my head, as Will helped me discover. And really, that's about the extent of my powers."
"Let me summarize," said Arthur. "You can toss people through the air with enough force to bruise their elbows, move things you could and should move with your own hands anyway, and freeze time long enough to dodge projectiles."
"Yes, that about sums it up, sire."
Arthur grinned, relieved. "You're hardly what one would call a powerful sorcerer, are you?"
"I suppose not, no…"
The king laughed heartily. Merlin, sounding rather bitter, said, "I fail to see what's so funny, sire."
"Nothing, really. It's only that I was afraid of you becoming a danger to yourself or others in Camelot, when all along I had nothing to fear! What was I thinking – you're Merlin! The idea of you being a threat to the realm is laughable, which is exactly why I'm laughing."
"I'm glad to learn you have such a high opinion of me, sire."
Arthur turned again over his shoulder and was surprised to see Merlin glowering. It was as though Arthur had hurt his feelings.
"Oh, don't be such a girl, Merlin," he said, grinning. "I'd rather you be worthless at magic than otherwise. While normally your worthlessness is astoundingly troublesome for me, for Gaius, surely everyone around you, in this case, it's a point in your favor. You should take it as a compliment."
Merlin smiled at him caustically. "Forgive me, Your Majesty. You're right. I'm Merlin, so of course I should be worthless."
The grin fell from Arthur's face. Merlin was taking this too seriously, and talking to him was quickly losing its appeal. "Oh, just shut up," said Arthur, turning back to the front, "if you're going to be so bloody depressing. In fact, I have a new rule – until we reach Camelot, Merlin's not allowed to speak."
"Hey!" said Gwaine and Merlin, in unison.
"The rule applies to Sir Gwaine as well. Let us continue this journey in peaceful silence, and we'll reach Camelot all the sooner."
Merlin followed the king's new rule, but it had less to do with making Arthur happy than with Merlin being too angry to speak. By the time his ire had cooled, he found there was little left he wanted to say. In any case, he was too wrapped up in his own worries to devote any more energy to pleasing the prattish king.
Merlin measured their journey by the sun. If they hoped to reach the citadel by sunset, it only made sense that the closer the sun dipped towards the horizon, the smaller the distance became that lay between their group and its goal. As the sun crested, and then began to sink in the sky, the feeling of nausea Merlin had been experiencing since morning grew.
When it was decided that Gaius would restore his memories the previous evening, Merlin had given the matter no close thought. Now, his mind was dredging unpleasant implications to the surface. Did Merlin really wish to be twenty-five again? And when he was, would he remember any of the last few days, or would it feel like a dream, or worse yet, be erased entirely? What was waiting for him on the other side of this transformation? He had no reassurance but the words of other people – most of them strangers – that the life his older self was leading was in any way good.
In short, Merlin was terrified.
They ate in their saddles that afternoon to save time. Gwaine pointed out where Older Merlin had packed such supplies in the saddlebags. Merlin obediently retrieved a hunk of hard bread, but he could not eat more than two small bites before his appetite disappeared entirely. When no one was looking, he quietly put the bread back.
The sun was a hand's breadth from the horizon as they began climbing out of one of the many valleys through which the trade road crossed. They reached the ridge and there, gleaming orange in the fire of the setting sun, bright against the shadows of the Darkling Woods, was Camelot.
And Merlin had seen nothing like it. He reined his mare to a halt on the ridge so that his eyes could continue drinking in the sight. The white citadel of Camelot rose from the land, its towers stretching regally toward the sky and dwarfing everything around them. From here, Merlin could just see small red flags, presumably bearing the Pendragon crest, whipping in the wind at the highest points. The distant chatter of a city teeming with people rumbled against the sides of the valley.
The nausea was washed out of him by awe, and he found himself grinning broadly.
"She's a beauty, isn't she?" said Gwaine, who had trotted his horse back to Merlin's side. "The view never gets old."
Merlin had no words to describe the feeling in his heart. He just nodded.
"Come on, Merlin," called Arthur from down the path. "You'll have plenty more chances to gawk at the castle later."
Reluctantly, Merlin pulled his eyes from the awesome sight and spurred his horse forward, although he took every opportunity to stare at the citadel and its lower town on their approach.
By the time they passed through the gates of the lower town, Camelot was steeped in twilight. There were few people on the street, most home with their families or warm inside a tavern. Cheery orange firelight shone through glass panels or open windows, and muffled conversations fell onto the streets, accompanied by the warm smell of food, the tang of mead, and the underlying reek of a large and not especially clean town.
A fair number of soldiers patrolled the streets. Each was dressed in mail and bright red livery, the golden Pendragon crest emblazoned across their chests. When they saw their king passing, each man stopped whatever he was doing and stood at attention, pressing a closed right fist over his heart. Arthur did not acknowledge one of them, nor did Gwaine. Merlin, suddenly reminded of his prestigious company, could not help but smile sheepishly at the guards and feel incredibly out-of-place.
In time, they passed over a drawbridge and through the main gate to the citadel. Their horses trotted into an open courtyard, hooves echoing against the flagstones. In one end of the courtyard was a large and elaborate fountain, mirrored by a well on the opposite side. Arched porticos led to multiple entrances to the citadel's interior, while at higher levels windows and balconies looked down on the yard. Torches, despite their large flames, cast only meager light on the scene.
Before they had dismounted, a woman came rushing down the steps from the citadel. "Arthur!"
The woman was young, her skin light brown, smooth but freckled, and her long curly hair was pinned back from her face in a simple but elegant fashion. She was wearing a high-quality gown, lilac in color, embroidered at the waist and collar with small pearls and amethysts that glinted in the dim light of the courtyard. Most of all, she was beautiful.
Arthur dropped to the ground in time for the woman to throw her arms about his neck and bury her face in his shoulder. Pulling back, she gazed up into the king's eyes with an expression of relief and adoration. Arthur's face softened, and he brushed gentle and tender fingers across the woman's cheekbones. Merlin made the connection immediately. This was Arthur's wife and therefore Queen of Camelot.
Meekly, trying to be nothing more than another shadow, Merlin climbed down from his saddle. And yet as soon as he did so, the queen detached from her husband and engulfed Merlin in a hug. All too aware of the sweetness of her perfume and the softness of her form, Merlin stiffened and felt his face become hot.
"Merlin!" she gasped. She released him from her embrace, only to grab his arms and stare entreatingly into his face. "The knights say you were cursed."
"Um," said Merlin.
A few seconds more of looking at him probably revealed the change. The queen's expression crumpled and she threw her arms around him again. "Oh, Merlin!"
"Y-your M-majesty," he stammered. Unsure of what he ought to do, he raised one arm and patted her stiffly on the back. Over her shoulder, his eyes sought Gwaine. Help!
Gwaine did nothing more helpful than wink.
"Guinevere," said the king. There was a note of caution in his voice, but Merlin could not be sure what the warning was about, whether it was to tell the queen not to lower herself to hugging peasants or to tell her how uncomfortable she was making Merlin. Merlin hoped for the latter, but knew it was probably the former.
The woman – Guinevere – sprang back. "I'm so sorry," she said, smiling kindly at Merlin and brushing a wavy lock of hair behind her ear. "You must not even know who I am."
"You're the queen," said Merlin automatically.
"Yes," she said. She reached forward and took his hand, squeezing it gently in hers. "But I'm also your friend. I'm called Gwen. Or," she continued, laughing, "I used to be called Gwen. Most everyone these days calls me 'Majesty' or 'Highness'. But not you, Merlin. You must call me 'Gwen'."
Merlin felt distinctly uncomfortable with that prospect. He could not imagine what his older self could possibly have done to earn the right to call a queen by a nickname. Or to have a king personally escorting him from Ealdor. All whilst having the position of manservant. The whole situation was absurd. Maybe if he pinched his arm he'd wake up and realize this was nothing more than a dream.
She was waiting for a response. Merlin swallowed, tried to smile – but probably grimaced – and said, "Gwen it is, then."
After squeezing his hand once more, the queen released him and stepped away. Merlin nearly wilted with relief.
Arthur and Gwaine had handed off their horses to some young men, perhaps stable hands, who looked to be Merlin's age or younger. Arthur glowered at the citadel and said, "We must speak with Gaius at once."
"Of course," said Guinevere, nodding. "If anyone can set things right, Gaius can."
Arthur strode through the corridors of the citadel along a familiar route to the physician's chambers, one that he had, for better or worse, traveled often. Gwaine was at his heels, and Merlin scrambled after them. Guinevere had returned to her own chambers, excusing herself by saying that too many guests would spoil Gaius's concentration. Saying so, she had nibbled her lip in that old habit of hers, and to Arthur it was all too obvious that she longed to be at Merlin's side. Arthur understood why – after Morgana, Merlin was Guinevere's oldest friend in Camelot.
But she had a good point. If Arthur could have dismissed Gwaine, he would have. The problem with Gwaine, however, was that no one, not even a king, could tell the man what to do.
They reached Gaius's rooms in short time. Arthur flung open the door and hurried inside, ushering Merlin after him. Camelot's physician, Gaius, jumped up from his bench and whatever project he was working on.
"Sire!" he said first, and then, "Merlin!" Gaius crossed the room in great strides and threw his arms around Merlin, engulfing him in the folds of his robes. "Oh, my boy."
Merlin looked just as bewildered as he had when Guinevere hugged him in the courtyard. This time, he didn't wait to be released but instead pulled out of the man's arms.
"You're Gaius?" he said hesitantly.
The physician's expression tightened. "Yes. I am Gaius." Turning to Arthur, he said, "Sire, what did this to him?"
Wordlessly, Arthur pulled the leather pouch from his belt and passed it to the man. Gaius took it to one of his tables and dumped the necklace out onto the wood. With a magnifying glass, he began to inspect it, occasionally prodding it with a fork that had been lying nearby.
Merlin drifted over to the table, frowning at the jewelry. For a second, Arthur was afraid he would grab it again, and an admonishment hung on his lips. "That's it?" said the boy.
"That's it," Gwaine answered grimly. "Doesn't look like much, does it?"
"No," said Merlin. He shivered. "But it feels… wrong."
You and your feelings.
Arthur's chest felt tight. "What do you mean?" At the time, he had merely assumed Merlin thought the situation was suspicious. What if-
Eyeing the cursed jewelry, Merlin said, "I don't know. Looking at that necklace, I feel cold. It's just… evil. There's no other way of putting it."
Gaius looked up from the object and glanced between Arthur and his manservant. There was a question in his eyes, either suspicion or disquietude. Arthur could not help but wonder - did Gaius know?
And if Merlin could feel the evil permeating that necklace, and he had grabbed it anyway, so that Arthur wouldn't –
The king shivered, too.
"The necklace itself is nothing special," said Gaius, straightening and placing the magnifying glass on the table, "but it is host to a powerful curse. One that is likely still active. Before I can tell you anything more, we must test it and find out exactly the nature of this enchantment."
"Test it?" said Arthur, filled with disdain. "How do you plan to do that?"
"A medium-sized animal would do. Something with which we could easily discern the effects. Perhaps a dog."
Nostrils flaring, Arthur considered the matter. Finally, he turned to Gwaine and said, "Bring Pierre from the kennels." Gwaine, for once, did exactly as he was asked.
"Who's Pierre?" said Merlin, glancing between the king and his physician.
"One of the hounds," said Arthur tersely.
Merlin nodded and began to pace the room, wringing his hands, casting his gaze about the crowded tables and shelves. Arthur noticed the way the old physician followed the boy with his eyes, the boy who had for these past six years been his ward. Gaius had never married and as such had never had any children, but he seemed to treat Merlin like his own son. It was a good situation, for neither had Merlin ever known a father.
"How do you know my mother?" asked Merlin abruptly.
Gaius measured each word like he was measuring ingredients. "She is an old friend of mine."
"Yes, but I never understood how you met each other and she would never tell me why."
Arthur nearly told Merlin off for being so forward and sticking his nose into situations where it didn't belong – but the king was tired of secrets hanging about his manservant, and his curiosity held his tongue. If he listened well and watched closely from this point forward, it was possible that the meaning of the young man's magic would be revealed.
A white eyebrow climbed Gaius's forehead, and the old physician glanced at his king. It seemed obvious to anyone with eyes that the man would rather not discuss this with a royal audience. "Did you ever consider that she had reasons for not telling you?"
Merlin pursed his lips. "I know she had reasons, I just wish I knew what those reasons were."
Gaius surprised them both by chuckling. "In all our years together, not once have you asked me that question. It makes me wonder what is different now." Merlin waited, Arthur inclined his head meaningfully, and at last the man relented. "As you know, your mother once lived in Camelot. What she would not have told you is that she was the daughter of the woman who, for years, was the main supplier of ingredients for my potions."
Merlin looked shocked for one moment and frowned the next. "Why would she keep that a secret from me?"
Gaius glanced at Arthur, but he did not hold back. "It is likely because the fate of your grandmother was not pleasant. She was not a witch, but because she sold ingredients to many witches and sorcerers, she was arrested under suspicion of practicing magic. She caught wind of her fate with enough time to send Hunith out of Camelot. And later," Gaius sighed, "she was executed with the rest."
The blood visibly drained from Merlin's face. His eyes darted to and fro, disconnected from the room, as if searching the words for some invisible meaning.
Arthur shuffled from one foot to the other. Muted pain echoed in his breast. The Great Purge – his father's legacy – had killed hundreds, destroying countless families and leaving scars that still hurt the people alive today, nearly thirty years later.
Merlin and Arthur both were saved from commenting by Gwaine's return. The long-haired knight reentered the rooms, leading behind him on a rope the oldest dog from the royal kennels, Pierre. Even on a diet of royal scraps and given every comfort a dog could want, this russet-furred hound sported a hoary muzzle, cloudy eyes, and protruding ribs that no amount of nourishment could fatten. Its soft fur was stiff and matted in places from its incontinence, and it stumbled forward blindly, trustingly, after Gwaine.
"Pierre?" asked Merlin in a thick voice.
Arthur nodded grimly. He dropped onto his knees in front of the dog, which, recognizing its master's smell, weakly wagged its tail and licked Arthur's fingers. The king gently rubbed Pierre's ears and snout, before leading the dog to Gaius.
"Is he…?" Arthur could not find a word to use that did not sound callous. 'Will he suffice?' or 'Can you use him?' were not so apt as the question, 'Will his unwilling sacrifice help our cause?'
"Pierre is perfect for this task. Thank you, sire." Donning a pair of leather gloves, Gaius motioned for Arthur to lay Pierre on one of the cleaner counters. There, the dog continued to happily wag its tail, bewildered at this interruption in its day.
Gaius took up the necklace in his palm. He used the other hand to clear a patch of skin on Pierre's flank and then pressed the necklace against it.
At once, the hound released a piteous cry. It would have struggled, but its limbs were already petrified in the grips of the curse, and in short seconds, it could make no sound and do nothing but tremble, engulfed in phantasmagoric white light.
Watching this, Arthur felt sick to his stomach. Instead of Pierre, all he could see was Merlin – white, shuddering, suffering. To reassure himself that Merlin was safe, he looked to the boy. Merlin stood several feet from the table, eyes locked on the hound and the curse engulfing it. His expression was stark horror, his fists clenched and shaking at his sides. His eyes gleamed, and at first Arthur thought it was the reflection of the magic's radiance, or the shine of tears, but then he realized the color was eerie gold.
The next moment, he became aware of how the windows were rattling in their frames, the glass vials and jars clattering on Gaius's tables and shelves, the candles and torches flaring. The others in the room noticed this at roughly the same moment – Gaius looking at Merlin with an expression of panic and Gwaine grabbing Merlin's shoulder, saying something low and entreating to the lad.
"Stop!" cried Arthur to Gaius. "That's enough!"
The physician pulled the necklace back and released the hound from its curse. The dog's shudders stopped, and the glow dissipated. About the room, the disturbed objects settled themselves as the glow left Merlin's eyes. Scowling angrily, Merlin scrubbed tears from his cheeks with the backs of his hands. The boy shoved away from Gwaine, walked straight to Pierre, and pulled the unconscious dog from the table into his arms, where he cradled the hound protectively.
The hound, which was now only a pup.
Silence reigned in the physician's chambers. Arthur knew he ought to address Merlin's magical accident, but he dared not speak until he knew how much Gaius was privy to already.
Gaius cleared his throat. "Well, a certain amount of discharge is common with the work of any spell, especially a strong curse such as this."
The physician spoke a blatant lie. He must have seen the glow in Merlin's eyes, yet rather than show surprise, he was trying to deflect all blame from the boy. It could only mean that Gaius knew, and had known for some time, of Merlin's 'gift'. At once, Arthur began to wonder how many times his manservant and the royal physician had worked together to keep this secret from him. How many times Merlin's magic had been unleashed within the walls of the castle. How many of those times were accidents, such as now, and how many times the magic had been used on purpose, as it had been on their journey to Ealdor.
Arthur's insides boiled. He clenched his fists so hard he felt the bones creaking, and he knew his face must be turning red, if not purple.
And there, the focus of this tension was completely oblivious to the atmosphere of the room and seemed only concerned with the already-ended suffering of a simple dog. Arthur wanted to throttle him.
Gwaine stretched his arms above his head, forcedly lackadaisical. "So, Gaius, what can you tell us about this curse?"
The physician pursed his lips, eyeing the king warily. "It is much as I feared, and the manifestation of the enchantment is unmistakable. The dread purpose of this curse is to erase the years of a person or creature's life."
"We know that!" exclaimed Arthur. "Tell us when we can free Merlin from the curse."
"I'm sorry, sire, but Merlin is no longer under a curse."
"He clearly is!" said the king, gesticulating to the boy.
"Not now, not anymore." At last, Merlin raised his head from the puppy in his arms and looked with interest to the physician, who sighed wearily. "As soon as Merlin released the necklace, he was freed from any curse or enchantment acting upon him. What we see now is merely the result."
"I don't care about the semantics, Gaius," said Arthur. "I only care about returning him to normal. How soon can we do it?"
Looking years older, Gaius said, "I'm afraid the answer is 'never', sire. Yes, if one were to use magic, he could theoretically be returned to his proper age, but his memories of the last few years are gone. There is no way to restore them, because to Merlin, they never happened."
"You haven't even tried!" Cold dread was creeping into Arthur's chest, squeezing his heart.
"Sire, Morgana's choice of enchantment was not ingenious. This curse is ages old and has been used on a variety of occasions for a variety of purposes. All sources agree that the effects are irreversible."
"I don't care! This is Merlin we're talking about. I refuse to believe that he's gone forever."
"He isn't gone, sire. He merely hasn't grown up yet."
Arthur looked to the boy, who was to him a stranger. A shadow of his manservant, tainted by magic, lies, and a disrespect for Arthur which bordered on hatred. "No, Gaius, I want my manservant back. Not this- this whinging, self-absorbed child! This isn't Merlin. So you will do everything in your power, exhaust every resource, to return him. That's an order."
Overwhelmed by his frustration – and on some level, guilt – Arthur turned and stormed from the room.
A/N: I want to borrow a scene from another Merlin fanfic I'm writing. It seems highly appropriate to this moment:
"Well, first thing, you can't act surprised by his identity. You must be fully in control of your emotions."
Arthur raised a dubious brow. "Merlin, I am always in control of my emotions."
Merlin knew for a fact that this wasn't true.
Oh Arthur. -sigh- Well. This curse is here to stay. So what happens next? Stay tuned!
Thanks to: Hades Lord of the Dead, Meeeeeerlin, Taz, Gingeraffealene, cg037, PadrePedro, laily. spenstar , Manateesrock33, and Guest for your reviews of Chapter 3!
See you again on December 12th!
T.F.C~