Chapter Summary: Merlin promises Prince Arthur an uninterrupted discussion, receives welcomed and unwelcomed visitors, not-eats desserts, and confronts the realizations he's hiding from.
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Chapter XX: On the Road He Takes to Avoid It
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"That's good enough, right?" Merlin asks as he stretches his limbs, feeling them tingle uncomfortably.
Sparks of pain ignite between his joints, and he winces. In the past few minutes, discomfort accompanies his every movement.
For the past half-hour, Prince Arthur has carefully nitpicked and helped him solidify the flimsy parts of the plan. Merlin feels a lot more confident about it now.
"It's an unnecessarily convoluted and possibly ineffective scheme," Prince Arthur says. There goes Merlin's confidence in it. "Furthermore, you're asking me to lie to my own mother."
Merlin lets out a sigh. "Yes, I reckon that would be the problem."
"I never said I wasn't willing." Prince Arthur's eyes briefly gleam with an emotion Merlin can't identify. Then, the blank mask is back. "But before I go along with this plan of yours, I wish to discuss a certain discovery with you."
The statement makes Merlin's hackles rise ever so slightly. "Discovery?"
"Not tonight," Prince Arthur amends. "I want our discussion uninterrupted, and it may be a long one. In the morning, perhaps. I'll visit you to speak about it."
Merlin's curiosity is piqued, as is his worry. Prince Arthur doesn't appear overly suspicious or blatantly careful around the warlock; this discovery cannot be bad, then. He puts it aside for now and focuses on another issue.
"But you can't leave your room . . .?" Merlin ends it as a question.
Something in the prince's expression darkens. "Do you think me so powerless that I can't disobey a minor order of the queen?"
"Doesn't seem so minor to me," Merlin mutters. "I understand the queen's concerns, but she shouldn't have restricted your freedom like this."
Prince Arthur stills. "Is that so?"
Merlin, now concentrating on resetting the board once more, fails to notice the change in tone. "As the main target and prince of Camelot, it should have fallen to you to lead the investigation." If it has been Arthur, the king certainly will deal with the issue personally, no matter how much his councilors protest. "Given your shrewdness, this matter would have been solved days ago had the queen put you up to the task." Merlin looks up to give the prince a teasing smile.
Prince Arthur is looking straight at him, expression utterly and eerily blank.
The warlock falters. "Um, so I think, anyway. I meant no disrespect to your mother." He tears his gaze away from the prince.
Until now, Merlin still cannot gauge Prince Arthur's relationship with Queen Ygraine.
Uther had been tough and mostly distant with Arthur. The then prince did everything he could to prove himself in his father's eyes. Then, he eventually realized that, while he desired his father's approval, he did not need it. He ceased using Uther's commendation as a measure of his worth and strove to make his own path.
Merlin doesn't think Prince Arthur and Queen Ygraine have a similar dynamic, but he has witnessed little of their interactions to make assumptions.
Silence reigns over both of them for a while; only the sounds of wooden pieces moving can be heard. The quiet between them isn't uncomfortable, surprisingly enough.
"Thank you," Prince Arthur suddenly says, several minutes later, startling Merlin into almost dropping the pawn in his hand. The prince's voice is soft, and his gaze is steadfastly lowered on the board. "For saving my life."
Warmth unfurls in Merlin's chest. A giddy smile slowly climbs his face. "The prince of Camelot can actually say thank you. I half-thought you'd been cursed to turn into a toad if those words ever left your lips."
Prince Arthur deadpans, "Good. You won't be too surprised to hear the croaking later then."
The unexpected retort provokes a burst of laughter from the warlock; the action causes a painful twinge across his back and ribs, but he cares not. The prince may have tried to hide it, but Merlin sees his lips twitching in a smile.
"If you really are grateful." Merlin adopts a mock-arrogant air after finally placing down his pawn. "You'll muck the stables for two hours instead of one."
Prince Arthur's face twists, unamused. He places his rook right next to the chestnut king and locks Merlin in a checkmate, causing the latter to curse. "I had hoped you forgot that."
Merlin grins, his third loss forgotten. "If you think you can escape —"
The door bangs open, making both of them jump. Merlin hurriedly stumbles to his feet, heart in his throat. Pain lances across his torso and legs at the sudden movement. He gasps but determinedly sets the agony aside, thinking that another assassination attempt is about to occur.
Unfortunately, it's worse than that.
The Court Sorcerer stands at the entrance, a disapproving and angry air wrapping around him like a cloak. He storms in, looking utterly pissed.
Behind him, the guards adopt nervous expressions. A grimace paints Sir Lancelot's face, showing blatant regret.
"Merlin came here on his own. I didn't invite him," Prince Arthur claims calmly, arching an unimpressed brow at the Court Sorcerer's entrance.
Merlin gapes at the prince, indignant that he seems to be throwing the warlock to the wolves without remorse.
Balinor makes a sharp gesture, and Merlin finds himself floating an inch above the ground. Merlin squawks and tries to un-float himself. His muscles throb in protest in the struggle, so he ceases it almost immediately.
"You certainly didn't turn him away, Your Highness," the Court Sorcerer replies coldly.
Prince Arthur looks away and denies nothing.
Then, the Court Sorcerer turns to Merlin with furious eyes, and the warlock wishes the prince kept his attention for a bit longer.
"And you're supposed to be off your feet and resting, not off gallivanting as soon as you've woken!"
"Can you please let me down? I—I'm fine," Merlin insists. The warlock has been gone for barely an hour. He doesn't think all this commotion is warranted. "I just went to the next room over! Sir Lancelot practically carried me here; I didn't strain myself."
Sir Lancelot's eyes widen, horror strickening his demeanor. Balinor slowly turns his head in the knight's direction, his venomous gaze demanding an explanation.
Merlin probably shouldn't have mentioned him.
"Sire, I . . ." Sir Lancelot's shoulders slump. "I have no excuse, sire."
"I see." The Court Sorcerer's tone is ice-cold, making Merlin wince even if it's not directed at him.
It is then directed at him, and Merlin inwardly curses his luck. "Do not mistake the lack of pain to indicate you are hale. I'll see to it that none of Gaius' pain-numbing tinctures reach you again."
As the previous soreness slowly begins to settle in his body, Merlin can only hope that Balinor is making an empty threat.
Without another word to the silent prince, the dejected knight, and wide-eyed guards, Balinor spins on his heels and exits the chambers. Unwillingly dragged just two steps behind is a glum Merlin.
"On the morrow," Prince Arthur mouths, reminding Merlin of the promised discussion.
Merlin nods firmly. The prince then sends him a look bordering on pity.
If the emotionless prince is pitying him, the warlock considers pretending to fall unconscious to escape the coming scolding. But no, that would just add to his embarrassment.
Merlin can do nothing but merely hang there like a kitten strung up by the neck as they pass through the hallway and head to his assigned chambers. He can cut off the enchantment holding him up, he thinks. That course of action, however, will no doubt lengthen the oncoming lecture even further.
Also — and he won't admit this to anyone — his knees are feeling a bit too feeble to take his weight.
So, he tolerates the mortification heating the back of his neck. He keeps his head lowered and hopes no more passers-by see him in this state.
The guards in front of his chambers scramble to get out of the Court Sorcerer's way as if avoiding a runaway cart rolling down the hill. Merlin witnesses Leon visibly swallowing as he grips his long spear tight with both hands.
The hallway and the guards vanish out of Merlin's sight as the chamber door closes behind him.
When he faces forward, however, he is met with a revolting sight.
"You," Merlin growls out.
Agravaine De Bois rises from his seat in the dining area. "My son!" Delight paints every line of his face. Merlin resists the urge to throw the lord against the stone walls. "How are you?"
The warlock sends the Court Sorcerer a look that hopefully comes across as 'You brought me back here for this? I'll be marching back to Prince Arthur's chambers if he doesn't leave'. Sadly, Balinor doesn't seem to get the message and merely cocks a questioning brow.
The Court Sorcerer deposits him onto the bed and tucks the sheets across his legs and lap — all without lifting a finger. The warlock should probably be offended at the manhandling but he's a tad too exhausted to argue with the man who's likely angrier than him. Maybe later.
He leans on the pillows propped against his back and lets out a small sigh. His whole body is beginning to punish him for his insolence, and the soft cushions ease the pain just a little.
The smarmy little face of Agravaine enters his vision, and all traces of relaxation fade from his body. "You tricked me!" He points an accusing finger at the lord.
Agravaine takes a glance at the Court Sorcerer, who's heading to the dining table where servants have already laid out an assortment of dishes for dinner, before saying sweetly, "Merlin, I'm afraid I've no idea what you're referring to."
"You never told me I would be impersonating a prince," Merlin continues, seething. "And now, you're using me to hurt Prince Arthur's standing in court."
"I really have no clue at all, Merlin," Agravaine replies with a guileless smile. He shifts to address the other occupant of the room. "Lord Balinor, I wish to speak with my son alone, if possible. There seems to be a misunderstanding between us that needs to be resolved."
"I'm not your son." The warlock glowers, shooting Agravaine a look that would have killed the lord had he willed magic into it. "Unless you're here to tell me that you're confessing the truth to the court and ceasing your schemes, we have nothing to talk about. Leave."
Balinor, on the other hand, gives Agravaine a cool gaze as he walks towards the bed, a bowl of stew hovering over one palm. "Lord Agravaine, I let you in because I thought Merlin wishes to see you. I see now that I was mistaken. Perhaps you should come again some other time."
The small wooden platform Merlin used for lunch found itself on his lap once more. Balinor calmly sets the stew and a wooden spoon on top of it. The savory fragrance of the food wafts to Merlin's nose, and his stomach grumbles in excitement. Two thumb-sized pieces of meat float in the stew while the thick lightly spiced broth mostly fills up the bowl. Merlin briefly commiserates the fact that he is restricted to light foods for the next few meals.
"Kindly leave, my lord," Balinor repeats to the lord standing stunned in the middle of the chambers. "Merlin needs peace and quiet to rest, and he won't achieve that with you here, it seems."
Merlin gives a vehement nod at that. He swallows a spoonful of the stew while his eyes drift between Balinor and Agravaine. The tension between them is palpable.
Agravaine's left eye twitches. "I know that you are the Court Sorcerer, Lord Balinor, but I still outrank you. I will speak with my son if I wish to."
Balinor arches a brow, folding his hands on his back. "As Merlin said, he is not your son. But he is my apprentice. In that manner, I have the right to make decisions on his behalf if it concerns his well-being."
"The boy denies his parentage because we merely don't see eye to eye —"
"You being here right now is not conducive to my apprentice's recovery —"
"It will only be a moment —"
Merlin watches the volley between them for several minutes, sipping his stew. He should interfere, really. He is, however, enjoying how Agravaine's face is becoming redder and redder with offense while Balinor's countenance is as calm and cold as a bright winter day throughout.
Their quarrel halts abruptly when the door creaks open, and a voice cheerily pipes up, "Merlin, we're joining you for —"
Gilli stops at the doorway, blinking. Behind him, Mordred, Morgana, and Theo almost stumble into each other at the mage's sudden pause. Trays of steaming dishes and filled goblets clatter in their hands, some items dangerously tipping over. With a golden flash of Mordred's eyes, the articles righted themselves.
For a short moment, everyone merely stares at one another.
Then, Morgana clears her throat before putting on a courtly mask. "Lord Agravaine. Lord Balinor. We apologize for the interruption. We didn't realize Merlin had company."
"Lord Agravaine was just on his way out," the Court Sorcerer says rather pointedly.
Not desiring for any more witnesses to his losing composure, Agravaine straightens and huffs. "I suppose I'll visit another time." He sends Merlin a meaningful look, one where Merlin doesn't get the meaning at all and doesn't care to.
Agravaine leaves without another backward glance, and the people by the doorway give him a wide berth.
Then, the apprentices' gazes switch to the Court Sorcerer. Balinor promptly ignores their stares and simply strides towards the dining table once more.
"All right then." Gilli and the others fully enter the room, their own dinners in tow. Their food brings another fresh set of delicious aromas into the room. "We're here to join you for dinner, Merlin."
"We hope you don't mind," Morgana says with a smile.
Merlin returns the smile. "Not at all."
The newly arrived apprentices pull out the dining chairs and arrange themselves around Merlin's bed. The bed serves as their table, much to Morgana's chagrin. She worries they might stain the sheets.
"There's always fresh linen in the wardrobe of royal rooms," Merlin informs her before eating one of the two pieces of meat allowed on his plate tonight.
The warlock immediately feels surprised stares digging into him.
"I was a servant," Merlin reminds them again.
"Yeah, I still don't get that." Theo shakes his head. "How could you have been a mere servant with magic like that?"
Well, living in a magic-hating Camelot leaves little options, Merlin thinks morbidly. Outwardly, he shrugs.
"Thank the Goddess you've quit." Gilli sniffs. "You deserve to be so much more, Merlin."
Heat suffuses the tips of Merlin's ears. He coughs to hide his embarrassment and switches the subject. "So, has anything interesting happened in the past few hours?"
The answer to that is no. Morgana and Mordred, however, have extricated four magical textbooks from their pockets (Morgana's dress has pockets? Merlin wonders why such practical design has yet to be invented in his realm), temporarily shrunken to fit into tiny spaces. The titles and contents of the tomes spark discussions and debates as they eat. Merlin listens to them as he skims the first book.
The apprentices appear to have largely forgotten about the Court Sorcerer in the room. He's taking his own dinner by the dining table while working on a pile of documents that he produced from seemingly nowhere.
Merlin glances at him from time to time, witnessing frowns and pursed lips frequently adorning his face. Concern swells within the warlock; Balinor has never once worked while partaking in a meal.
"Mealtimes are for relaxation and socialization," his mentor once said when he saw Merlin doing an assigned reading while having dinner. "No work or duty should be mixed in it. That'll only lead to quick exhaustion on your part."
The warlock sends his mentor pointed looks, which the latter largely ignores. Merlin knows Balinor sees the meaningful glances.
After finishing their dinner, Merlin realizes his visitors have brought desserts — for themselves and him. He eyes the sweet fig cakes and gingered brie tart with anticipation.
"You cannot eat those," Balinor speaks for the first time. He doesn't even glance up from his parchmentwork.
"What? Why not?" Merlin demands, his fork about to cut into the fluffy texture of the cake.
"It's too heavy for your stomach," Balinor replies.
When Merlin awoke after being poisoned by the Mortaeus flower, Gaius, for a couple of days, had put him up with light soup, a mix of vegetables, and whatever fruits were in season. After seeing the sad meal Merlin had for lunch, Arthur had then given him a basket of bread rolls with honey filling. Not long after practically inhaling the gifted food, Merlin had the unfortunate experience of his stomach purging itself of the heavy contents. Arthur had been there to witness it, trying and failing to hide how horrified he was.
Gaius had given both of them severe looks and explained that Merlin's stomach needed to be eased into accepting food after going so long without.
Merlin intimately knows the consequences of putting strain on a stomach that just awakened. He stares at the desserts with dismay.
Mordred steals away his dessert plates to remove the temptation, a pitying look upon his face. "Sorry, Merlin. We didn't think about that."
Morgana plucks out the fork from his hand before patting his arm. "Not to worry. More delicious desserts await you after you've fully recovered."
The other apprentices eat their portions quickly, likely to spare Merlin the pain of watching them enjoy something he can't.
Half-an-hour later, Mage Edwin Muirden enters the chamber, a tincture in tow. His nose wrinkles upon seeing leftover plates lain upon the bed but he says nothing regarding it.
Instead, he addresses Merlin. "Good evening, Your Highness. I am here to give you another vial of pain-numbing potion."
Balinor plucks the vial from his hand before Merlin can accept it. "The dosage?"
Mage Edwin blinks. "Same as the one this morning, Lord Balinor."
"Decrease it by about half."
Mage Edwin blinks again. Then, "Very well."
Merlin watches the mage's departure with consternation. He turns to his mentor with wide eyes. "You're really going to punish me for taking a short walk?"
Balinor stares at him, unmoved. "It's not a punishment. Merely a deterrent to you from taking another 'short walk'. The pain will be minimal but enough to remind you how foolish of an idea it is to get out of that bed."
With that, the Court Sorcerer returns to his documents. The other apprentices look between him and the sullen bedridden apprentice.
"You got yourself in trouble in the few hours we were away?" Mordred teases, a smirk curling the corners of his mouth.
"Where'd you go?" Theo asks.
"To Prince Arthur's quarters," Merlin confesses with a sigh. "I just wished to see if he's well enough so we can pick a time for him to muck the stables."
That earns him bursts of boisterous laughter from his companions.
Not long after, Mage Edwin comes back with another vial. It appears pretty much the same as the first one, but Merlin has not held onto the hope of it being of the same dosage. He drinks it in one gulp and gags once more at the foulness. Some kind soul hands him a goblet of fruit juice to wash it down.
"And another thing, Your Highness," Mage Edwin begins as he pockets the vial. He shifts his weight on his heels, a sheepish air upon his demeanor. "Your situation is an interesting one, and you're the first majorly injured patient we've had after the Apprentice Exam. Mage Gaius and I wish to conduct our lessons here in the morn with you. It will take no more than half an hour. Will that be permissible, Your Highness?"
Gilli straightens in his seat and practically begins vibrating with excitement.
"What do I have to do?" Merlin inquires, not hiding his dubiousness.
Mage Edwin waves a hand. "Nothing but merely lie there, Your Highness. We'll be teaching our apprentices how to detect blood flow in the veins, measure the patient's pain, trace a potion's effects, and the like — mostly non-intrusive and non-exhaustive spells. We will allow no apprentice to touch you, but Mage Gaius wishes to demonstrate some of the spells by performing them on you. He'll explain each enchantment before he performs it, of course."
The warlock leans back on the propped pillows and considers it. He is familiar with Gauis' magic, having been the recipient of the physician's rare use of enchantments. He has no qualms if Mage Gaius and only Mage Gaius performs magic on him.
A part of him is overflowing with curiosity. Mage Edwin mentions types of enchantments he never thought existed. Some of them may be useful when it comes to keeping a certain king and his friends back home in good health.
He glances over to Balinor. His mentor has voiced no protest at the suggestion. It must be well and truly safe then.
"I'll participate," Merlin accedes. "As long as I can refuse any spell whenever I wish."
Mage Edwin is already nodding even before Merlin has finished speaking. "Of course, Your Highness. We'll cease the moment you order us to." An unrestrained smile adorns the mage's face. "Thank you, Your Highness."
Merlin tries to return the smile but finds he's still not quite comfortable with this Edwin. The mage leaves not long after, bidding them a good night.
"Ooh, the morning lesson should be interesting." Excitement practically explodes out of Gilli's voice.
Gilli then proceeds to go on a tangent about his own mage lessons — the brews they've produced, the charms they've used, the potions they've analyzed. Surrounded by sorcerers and a sorceress, plenty of questions come his way.
Although Mordred, Morgana, Theo, and Gilli stay for hours, Merlin does get a few more passing visitors that night.
Cava, Fi, and Elise briefly pass by to check on him and share lighthearted gossip. They give him a fresh bouquet to freshen up the quarters and a basket of honeyed cakes. Merlin, sadly, has to entrust the second gift to the other apprentices under his mentor's watchful gaze.
More than a dozen apprentices that Merlin knows not by name but whose faces he does recognize politely bequeath their well-meaning greetings. Some of them simper in that bootlicking manner that has Merlin's skin crawling. A few even offer ostentatious endowments in the form of jewels heavily charmed with protection spells.
Merlin plasters on a diplomatic smile that he learned from watching Arthur. "I am grateful that you have kept me in your thoughts." An acknowledgment of their efforts. "But I believe the Court Sorcerer's protection will be enough for me, truly." Subtly point out the insult their gift may or may not imply when giving or accepting it. "But it is a unique gift indeed. I am regretful that I can't accept it." Additional flattery to sugarcoat the refusal.
The noble's eyes dart to the unobtrusive Court Sorcerer working in the corner. He immediately gathers his composure. "I only thought to offer additional protection just in case. But of course, the protection of Camelot's Court Sorcerer is unparalleled."
Balinor shoots Merlin an unamused look at being used to refuse the bribe disguised as a gift. The warlock sends him a sunny grin in return. Unlike with Agravaine, Balinor hasn't deemed to interfere with his interactions with these other nobles. Likely because their conversations are brief and blithe. And probably because they aren't asking the Court Sorcerer himself to leave the room.
When the nobleman departs, Mordred cocks an impressed brow at Merlin. "Are you sure you're not a noble yourself? Or . . . a prince?"
Merlin huffs. "When you've been dragged into several boring council meetings, you're bound to learn something."
Amusement lilts the corners of Morgana's lips. "If I had a servant as entertaining as you, Merlin, I would also no doubt drag you to every meeting I'm forced to attend."
A laugh escapes Merlin. "I'm no court jester."
Not long after the last simpering apprentice leaves, Balinor none-too-subtly hints about Merlin's need for an early night. Mordred, Morgana, Theo, and Gilli promptly clean up their dishes and, given the mild food stains adorning the bed linen, replace Merlin's sheets with new ones. Merlin bids them farewell, thanking them for their company and the books.
When the door closes behind the visiting apprentices, the Court Sorcerer swiftly turns to the remaining one on the bed. "Now then, Merlin." His voice lilts with a warning note. "Why exactly did you think walking around in your condition was a clever idea?"
"Er. . . I truly am quite tired, my lord."
Balinor gives him an unamused look.
Drat. Merlin thought he has escaped the lecture. His visitors have only been delaying it.
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After a scolding that left Merlin's ears ringing and one that has thoroughly discouraged him from leaving his quarters without permission, Balinor tasks Leon to guard the warlock in his sleep. No matter how much Merlin protested, he still found himself with a jittery Leon sitting by his bedside.
The pain-numbing potion is indeed working, and he's due for some good sleep tonight. With a lowered dosage, however, his knees buckle as soon as he puts the slightest weight on them. And he has tried.
Leon has to help him with his nightly ablutions, much to Merlin's unending mortification. He supposes he should be grateful Balinor has already left by then. On the other hand, Merlin is under no illusions as to who has been taking care of his unconscious body for the past ten days. He is, however, resolutely not thinking about that.
"You need not stay, Sir Leon," Merlin says with a sigh, back flat on the very soft mattress.
A blush glows upon Leon's cheeks. "I-I am no-no-no sir, nor lord or-or knight, Your H-Highness. M-M-Merely a guard." He rubs the back of his neck. "A-And I h-have to st-stay. It-It is m-my duty, Yo-Your Highness."
Merlin shifts to face him, curious. "You're not a noble?"
He regrets the question as soon as a discomfited expression crosses Leon's face. "O-Once, when I-I was a child, Y-Your Highness. B-B-But my house has fa-fallen, and I-I-I am no-no more th-than a c-c-commoner."
"Oh, I'm sorry," Merlin says in sympathy.
Leon gives a small smile. "It-It was a l-long time a-ago, Y-Your Highness."
In this realm, however, a noble name isn't required to be a knight. Sir Lancelot, Ris, and Isolde are evidence of that. Why aren't you a knight, Leon? He bites down the question. It isn't his business.
"You don't have to be so nervous when speaking with me, Leon," Merlin says before a jaw-cracking yawn comes unbidden. He murmurs, "I'm not really a prince."
"I-I-I am n-not ner-nervous, Your H-Highness. A-And why-why do y-you say y-you're not a p-p-prince?"
"You're stuttering a lot," Merlin points out, rubbing his eyes. He doesn't address Leon's question. Everyone in the castle will find out the truth soon enough once Prince Arthur agrees to help him.
An embarrassed flush claims Leon's cheeks. "I-It is an-an af-afflict-ion of mine, Y-Your H-Highness."
Merlin blinks slowly up at the guard. It's not an affliction that the Leon of his world has. Something different must have happened in this realm to have caused it.
"S'nothing to b' ashamed of," the warlock assures, wishing to remove that note of shame coloring Leon's tone and voice.
He falls into slumber before he can hear a reply.
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— Black ink swirling in his veins —
. . . erlin . . .
— Agony clawing its way across his limbs —
. . . were you ever going to tell me . . .
— His insides twisting and melting and burning —
Come back, Merlin. Come back to us.
Merlin gasps awake, irises brimming with never-ending gold. A pair of hands clasp his flailing wrists, and bright blue enters his blurry vision.
"Arthur," the warlock chokes out, instantly recognizing his best friend's voice and silhouette.
"Yes," the blur with two pinpricks of cerulean answers calmly. "Breathe slowly now, Merlin."
Arthur's placid demeanor soothes the warlock almost immediately. No one's in any immediate danger then.
The warlock tries his best to comply with the order, inhaling for three counts and exhaling for four. His breathing is shaky, but it eventually evens out after several slow inhales. When his heart has ceased thundering its way out of his chest, he blinks rapidly and finally clears the fog in his vision.
Prince Arthur's concerned visage fills his sight.
Merlin recoils, pulling himself out of the prince's hold and falling back against the soft pillows of his bed. Prince Arthur straightens, a nonplussed look upon his face.
"Wha —" Merlin rubs his eyes and opens them to find the prince still standing by his bed. "How did you get into my room?" he squeaks out.
"I knocked out the guards, of course," is the prince's deadpan reply.
Merlin gapes at him, still far too groggy to do anything else. He glances around; there is no knocked-out Leon on the floor, at least.
"You called my name, yet it wasn't me you were expecting," the prince muses out loud.
Merlin bristles for a short moment before forcing his sore muscles to relax. "Just never expected you to be here so early in the morning."
"Hmm." After a thoughtful pause, Prince Arthur hauls a red cushioned chair — Merlin is quite sure that it wasn't there yesterday — near the bed. "Breakfast will be brought to the room in an hour or so. You woke up too early. In the meantime, chess?" The prince holds up the wooden board of the game, pieces clacking against each other. As usual, his face belies nothing but a blank mask.
Merlin sighs and rubs his face, mentally dispersing the remnants of the half-remembered nightmare. He decides, "Why not. Help me sit up."
Merlin has to teach Prince Arthur how to properly plump the pillows against his back. The warlock's mind flashes to the moments he did the same thing for Arthur whenever the king lay injured in bed. The parallel almost makes him snort out loud.
After some maneuvering, they set up the chessboard on top of the small table Merlin used during his meals. The warlock, as usual, claims the chestnut pieces and makes the first move.
Merlin then recalls a promised discussion. "So, what did you wish to talk about?" he prompts before stifling a yawn.
Prince Arthur takes his turn, moving a knight. "I didn't bring it up last night because I know not how much time we had. But today, I know for a fact that Balinor won't be around until late morning."
Wariness trickles in, waking Merlin up some more. "Something you don't wish Lord Balinor to hear?"
"Oh, I would very much wish for Balinor to hear this. But I was under the impression that you have no desire to let your mentor in on the truth." From an outsider's perspective, Prince Arthur appears entirely focused on their game. Merlin, however, sees the anticipation rising from the prince's form.
Dread accompanies the wariness in Merlin's stomach. "And what truth is that?"
Prince Arthur lifts his gaze to meet his eyes. Merlin witnesses the prince flinch ever so slightly, still incapable of nonchalantly looking at his face. But the royal's determined gaze holds fast.
"If you are so eager to prove you are not of De Bois blood, why not present the blood-proof that you're Balinor's son?"
A bolt of realization ripples through Merlin's being. Horror rises in him like a wave about to drown him, making him nauseous. His palms begin to produce cold sweat, and the rook almost slips from his fingers.
He casually sets down the chess piece and forces out a laugh that he hopes doesn't sound as fake as it feels. "I don't think another pretend-father is going to help me in any way."
"Pretend-father?" Prince Arthur doesn't look at all impressed by Merlin's attempts to laugh it off. "What's 'pretend' about it when he's your actual father?"
Prince Arthur's voice brooks no argument. Surety wraps around every word, hitting Merlin with the realization that he cannot lie his way out of this one.
Laughter leaves the warlock facade, replaced by solid solemnity. His back straightens, his shoulders tensing unconsciously. "How did you come to this conclusion, Your Highness?"
Prince Arthur steeples his fingers and rests his chin on them, meeting Merlin's silent challenge. Their chess game lays forgotten, "You slipped up when you were drunk during Lancelot's nameday celebration. To confirm my theory, I stole a strand of hair from you both and had it tested. I have irrefutable proof that you are indeed Balinor's son."
Merlin's fists clench. So that's what he has rambled drunkenly about.
He pokes at the prince's logic and hopes he can instill doubt. "And how would you explain the fact that I have my dragonlord abilities while my father is still alive?"
Prince Arthur arches a brow. "I have witnessed you do several unusual and impossible things in your short stay here. What's one more?"
Merlin is unfathomable — that's what the prince is going with?
The warlock switches tactics. "Do you think Lord Balinor a dishonorable man that he would abandon and deny his son if he has one?"
A glare colors the blue of the prince's gaze. He clearly does not care for the implications of Merlin's question. "Obviously, he does not know you exist. Or that he has sired any child at all."
A lump suddenly blocks Merlin's throat. Despite a part of him desiring to swallow the question, he forges on and gives voice to it. "You think he has no idea that he has sired any child at all?"
"I know that he has no idea," Prince Arthur declares. "Balinor would not have kept them hidden like a guilty secret. His duties as a father come first before his duties to the court, and he would ensure that everyone in the castle knows that." The prince leans forward. When he speaks, there is a note meant to soothe in his tone, " I can say with confidence that he didn't knowingly abandon you, and he definitely won't renounce any part of you if you tell him now."
Instead of being consoled, Merlin finds himself feeling the opposite. Prince Arthur has confirmed one of his heart-wrenching suspicions. Balinor didn't know. Just like in my realm, he didn't know that —
No, he's getting ahead of himself. He has no evidence. Yet.
Merlin shakes his head and clears his throat. "So-So, if he didn't get the chance to know of his child's existence . . . do you think he is the kind of man to sleep carelessly with a woman and then desert her after their tryst?"
Merlin hopes his mother and father can forgive him for speaking so crudely about them. He shows none of his mortification in his face, maintaining a somber air.
A scowl nearly forms between the prince's brows. Merlin is unexpectedly riling up the royal like never before. The warlock hides his astonishment at the fact that questioning Balinor's honor puts Prince Arthur in a defensive demeanor.
"There must have been extenuating circumstances," is Prince Arthur's curt reply. "Perhaps it was the woman herself who left without a word."
"And now you're blaming my mother?" Merlin blurts out without thinking, indignation flaring in his breast.
Silence and stillness consume them both for a beat.
Prince Arthur blinks, brows rising.
Merlin smacks his forehead. Drat, he's such an idiot.
"Good of you admit it so easily." Amusement dances in Prince Arthur's countenance. Then, he sobers up. "Why won't you tell Balinor the truth? He deserves to know. Do you truly think he will deny you?"
Merlin releases a heavy sigh. He's not really this Balinor's son. "These are my affairs. I appreciate it if you don't meddle."
Anger glints in the prince's eyes. "Your affairs? I rather think this involves Balinor as well. The only reason I haven't told him is because I wished to know why you won't. But I see now that you have no good reason." With a righteous air, the prince declares, "I'll tell him myself as soon as he arrives."
The warlock's heart drops to his stomach. "I just need more time. I-I'll tell him myself."
Prince Arthur pins him with a knowing stare. "No, you won't. You have no plans to tell him at all."
"I do. I'll tell him soon. Just not today."
"Cease lying. I'm telling him today, and nothing you say will change that." Prince Arthur's tone is firm and unwavering. "Truly, Merlin, I rather think he'll be more than glad to know that you're his blood-borne son."
Merlin closes his eyes, dismay stabbing its way up his chest.
He genuinely thought he could run away for just a little bit longer.
He's still not ready to confront the epiphanies lingering in the depths. But when has his readiness ever mattered?
He steels himself and breathes out. When he opens his eyes, he meets Prince Arthur's stubborn gaze with a cool stare.
"He cannot know," Merlin says.
Prince Arthur's eyes narrow, sensing the change in Merlin's demeanor. "Why not?"
"Because Lily of Veelin was my twin sister," falls from Merlin's lips without hesitation.
The answer knocks the air out of Prince Arthur's lungs; his breath audibly hitches, and his mouth parts with shock.
However, it doesn't take long for absolute fury to slither in. "No, she wasn't," he bites out, looking a second away from strangling the warlock.
"You said that I look like Lily of Veelin." Merlin's eyes unwaveringly lock with the prince's stormy ones. He wants to look away, to hide from the wrathful gaze, but he musters his courage. "You said that you see in me the ghost of Lord Balinor's previous apprentice."
Prince Arthur visibly falters, astonishment and sorrow warring in his face. His ire wins him over once more just moments later. The knuckles of his hands are white as he grips the armrest of his chair. "You're not Lily's brother because she had none. If you think lying this badly —"
"Then how do you explain our resemblance?" Merlin cuts him off, half-hoping that the prince will invent an acceptable theory on his own.
Prince Arthur shoots out of his seat, his chair screeching against the floor. For a moment, Merlin tenses, preparing himself for the punch that is surely coming his way. Prince Arthur, however, merely strides away from the bed with a limping gait and claims the spot in front of the window.
The light of late dawn paints his hair a platinum shade and highlights the fury brimming in his dark blue eyes. He faces out the window, hands clenched tight upon his back.
Hostile silence swims in the air between them.
Merlin searches for something to push his narrative further. A twin brother is the only viable explanation that Prince Arthur will believe. In fact, Merlin has thought the prince will believe it right away; he has not expected this vehement denial.
Prince Arthur breaks the silence akin to taking a hammer to glass. "It's more than the appearance; you and Lily have the same exact magical signature."
Merlin tries and somewhat fails to hide his confusion. "The same magical signature?"
Prince Arthur assumes — correctly, that is — that the warlock needs further elaboration. "Each magic-user has their own unique magical signature. No two individuals, no matter how closely related, can have the exact same one. There should have been even a minuscule difference. But you and Lily, for unprecedented reasons, have the exact same signature."
The remark punches Merlin in the chest, leaving him breathless.
It's the irrefutable evidence he has been hoping not to find.
Different gender but of the same appearance. Of the same age, of the same parents.
Lily was, without a doubt, his counterpart in this realm.
His dead counterpart.
Merlin would have preferred that he never existed at all in this realm.
"You are not Lily's twin brother, and we both know that." Prince Arthur bestows him a glance so cold that it nearly brings winter into the room. "I don't know what you are, and I doubt you'll tell me even if I ask." Unexpected hurt slash across Merlin's chest. "But you have Balinor's blood running in your veins and he deserves to know."
"He-He cannot know." Merlin is properly panicking now. Grappling with the revelation he thought he can handle; he is quickly losing grip on the conversation. "You cannot tell him."
"I tire of your lies and excuses —"
"Lily was also his child!"
Prince Arthur's mouth clicks shut.
Bewilderment, disbelief, denial, distress — the emotions visibly swirl in the prince's usually blank facade. "I — What — How is that —" His eloquence abandons him as he absorbs the information and its implications.
It's a realization that clearly never crossed Prince Arthur's thoughts. It is, however, the first realization that crosses Merlin's.
Merlin pants, heart practically blocking his throat. The words are out now, and he can't take it back.
"We have the same magical signature," Merlin says, trying to make the prince understand.
He cannot fail here. He cannot let Prince Arthur tell Balinor the truth.
He cannot break Balinor's heart.
"We have the same blood running in our veins," Merlin says, voice unable to rise above a whisper. "Lily was his daughter and . . ." He lifts his gaze and meets Prince Arthur's shocked eyes. "He never knew, didn't he? You're right; he's not the kind of man who would knowingly abandon or hide his child if he knew of their existence. People had always referred to Lily as Lord Balinor's apprentice and never his daughter."
He closes his eyes, jaw clenching.
He's so immensely grateful that he didn't immediately follow Wracu's suggestion. He has been seriously considering it. After witnessing and experiencing how Balinor cares for him during this assassination debacle, he has been prepared to spill the truth and ask for his mentor's help.
But now, Merlin can never and will never tell Balinor of his origins.
His eyes flutter open as his resolve solidifies, his panic dissolving. When he locks gazes with the prince, there is nothing but determination gleaming in his countenance. "If Lord Balinor finds out I'm his son, he will eventually find out about Lily too. Our resemblance is undeniable, you said so yourself. And he—"
— a sword pierces his father's stomach and shoves its way out of his back —
— a father he thought died long ago, who he'd mourned as a child and whose absence he had long moved on from until Gaius told him —
— he cannot be losing his father just after he has him, he can't be, the fates cannot be this cruel —
— his father's eyes begin glazing over, his form slumping down in the trembling arms of the powerless and stupid son who cannot even save him —
Sometimes, Merlin wonders if it would have been more merciful if he never found out that the dragonlord living in that cave was his father. He will never know.
What he does know is that he will never inflict the grief he experienced then to anyone, especially not to the counterpart of his father in this realm.
His voice cracks, unbidden, when he finishes, "He will mourn her twice over. The daughter he never saw grow up and the daughter he outlived."
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
"One often meets his destiny on the road he takes to avoid it." – Master Oogway, Kung Fu Panda (2008)
Thank you so much RainandBlankets for the kofis!
SIKE. Sorry, sometimes Merlin makes not-so-clever decisions, but it all comes from a place of care and love 3.
I recently placed a disclaimer at the Prologue of this fic that it's not screen-reader friendly. Leon's speech is part of that (but a large part is because of my line breaks. I never really thought about how screen-reader unfriendly my line breaks are when I started this fic so I'm really thankful someone pointed it out!). When (If) AWW is finished, I promise I'll compile it into an ebook/pdf format that'll be much more readable. But you can also check out the amazing PODFIC of this fic (link in my profile) in the meanwhile :D
Wow, too many yet not enough things happen in this chapter. Well, I hope you enjoyed the Merlin and Prince Arthur banter at least because those will be prominent in the coming chapters.
Next up: A bit of Prince Arthur's POV (and it's a delicious POV, if I do say so myself). Merlin is torn between another hard decision and asks someone unlikely for advice.
I hope you get to make a funny face at a baby soon!
~ Vividpast