One thing the two, royal and warlock, had in common was their ever present lack of certainty. They kept up strong facades, but to any who knew one or the other personally, knew it was an act.
Arthur kept his normal duties but was often caught off guard, distracted. He frequently kept to his chambers attending to paperwork. When one of the knights would try in approach him, he would behave in a cold and detached manner, or simply wave them off, virtually unconcerned about the turmoil running through his kingdom.
After the known sorcerer had returned, the royal's step seemed more steady, confident. His harsh demeanor lightened and once again greeted the opinions of those in his counsel. He felt determined to punish those responsible for the outlaw's injuries.
But was that just?
He had yet to discuss the issue with anyone apart from Guinevere, and Gaius indirectly. To anyone he seemed more himself, more certain. When in truth he was unsure now more then ever.
He had Merlin back, which made him feel better to have the servant under his protection, while he was the one that initially put the man in this, wounded position. This merciful action did not go unnoticed by his court, who had, and would continue to give their views on the matter even after he had asked not to discuss it, finally he gave in and resolving to regular checks on the magic user by the king himself and put under constant guard to have temporary peace on the idea.
While matters of court were a primary concern, he could not ignore his own thoughts on the situation.
At first he was stunned into silence, later developing his unbridled rage. When he had cornered the sorcerer, he had barely recognized himself pointing his sword, given to him by his best friend, at Merlin with the intent to kill. He watched as the stricken man sat crumpled on the ground, simply overcome. Locking his gaze once again with something he had never seen in the man's eyes as he disappeared in the heavy night air; hopelessness. Mindlessly, he ordered a search that he knew was in vain, making his way back to the castle.
Gaius had informed him that the queen needed rest and he could do little else for her. He had wanted to rant and rave, order a reward for the sorcerer's head that had forged so many lies. In the end he simply conceded to a fitful sleep.
Gaius had yielded to tell the king of Merlin's many deeds as a sorcerer. The servant, in reality, had always been a servant, keeping the kingdom and it's rulers safe from harm.
After some reflection, he still had wanted to lock the man up, or at least hit him. The magic was one thing, but lying while earning and betraying his trust was another. The man had saved his father time and time again, the person that would see him and all his kind burned. Not to mention he had saved himself, the then prince, and the whole of Camelot inside of a week by performing subtle along with greater magical acts. As of late he had saved Gwen, all without seeking a reward, or so much as a thank you. But why? Surely no one was that giving, selfless. He had to have his own plans.
When he thought of it though, analyzing each situation, every battle, and could not find one that Merlin had acted in that would account for the king's identifying factor of a sorcerer, evil. He decided he needed to speak with the magic user himself, to find the core of the man's determination, why he fought.
He was face to face once more with the one person he had considered a close friend, and all the anger and bottled up confusion vanished. All he could see was a desperate, terrified, underfed, defenseless, injured man. After the man had lost consciousness, he had been surprised to discover that he himself was so relieved to find the skinny man was alive, he was shaking, discerning the thought of this man dead was incomprehensible.
Speaking to this man again, and referring to him as Merlin tasted odd on his tongue. Merlin was not so untrusting, so skinny, so fragile. Yet he felt more at ease with this person within his walls.
When he visited the physician's chambers yet again, he paused as the sight before his sky blue eyes slammed into him al at once. Merlin was awake, out of bed even, but this was not the person he had come to aspect. This man sat rigid in his seat, lowering his head without turning, not an obvious show of pride. He came around to see his face, still pale, his eyes flashing between doubt, and wariness, not annoying cheerfulness, and boundless confidence. He caught himself from breaking down completely and begging the servant's forgiveness, but only just, reminding himself of all the years of lies, ending up making him sheepish, and bitter.
After this, his mood would fluctuate between thinly veiled contempt, and embarrassed guilt.
Merlin's nervous behavior did not change. He was acting stronger, relaxing more around Gaius and some with Gwaine, but his mentor knew better. His ward was growing sturdier physically but was not yet himself, becoming tired easily and having to rest more often, then normal after being out of his bed for too long. The physician would go to wake him for breakfast to find he was already conscious, but very far away. Sometimes it was difficult to shake him from his reverie, coming back to the present with a jolt.
Truth be told, the warlock was more anxious back in Camelot. There was something tranquil about the forest and the life outside of his destiny. He felt comfortable enough back in his old room, noticing that as he became stronger, and his magic was not used, it started acting of it's own accord while he rested or felt stressed. It started out with small movements, hardy anything noticeable, until he woke one morning to find Gaius shaking him awake. Later hearing that the city had come by a nasty storm in the night. The physician recognized the slight tone of magic, tracing the familiar source back to a distressed, erratically sleeping warlock surrounded by an air of magic. Once awoken, the servant immediately reined his power back in, the storm only ceasing when he was able to calm himself from yet another nightmare.
Gwaine would check in from time to time trying to make him feel more welcome and comfortable, telling him stories from his many trips to the tavern. As would Gwen, when she could obtain a break from her duties, to give him news of the castle's proceedings. He continually made progress, while remaining on edge.
He could not decide what he was when in the presence of the king. He was comfortable playing the incompetent servant, but his moods would change often from resentment and mistrust, to desperate acceptance and hardened sorrow, that he was not often confident.
Merlin was becoming exhausted. He had to put up with the royal for years, letting him criticize, mock, and think him a fool. When he did finally learn the truth, and he had reacted the way he did, hunting him and bringing him back, the warlock couldn't help but feel frustrated, tired. He was for all intensive prepossesses locked away, while the king took his time entertaining the idea of what his fate should be.
When together, they made an effort to smooth things over, both missing the times when things were outwardly less complicated. Their banter came back slowly, replacing harmless joking with underlying spiteful tones, becoming far more ruthless then before. Arthur had slipped up a few times in mentioning the warlock's leg letting some of his scorned anger seep through. His response was a silent irate Merlin, feeling a particular nasty retort rise in his throat, which could have three results; hurting the king, the warlock either asking Arthur not to return to the physician's chambers, or have the servant storm off and risk hurting himself even further. Fortunately this happened few times, ending with the servant's frustrated, curt dismissal of the king. Realizing his mistake, most of the time, the knight would invent an excuse or find himself backtracking and stumbling for words around an apology, without of course, actually apologizing.
Because how could you forgive someone who's every explanation, every other word had been a lie?
How could you forgive a man whom you had devoted years of your life to serving, and have the same man turn on you, and hate you for everything you were?
During a handful of these times, Gaius had lent his ward some old walking sticks that spilt at the top, to give him more support, some feeling of dignity, and independence. With these tools, Merlin had been allowed to accompany the king around the inner castle and, when he felt up to it, out to watch the knight's train.
On his first venture out to the training yards, it was like he was finally able to breathe again. He would sit on a bench out of the way, close his eyes, simply to feel the light breeze and sun's rays welcome him back. Being so connected to the elements of the world, this may not have entirely been his imagination. Gwaine had stayed close to the warlock, opting to 'study' the training from a far to sit with his friend.
The knight had noticed the glares coming from some of the other knights in Merlin's direction, but when he turned to see if the servant had realized this, he would find him sitting peacefully on the bench next to him, simply enjoying the feeling of being outside the castle, completely oblivious.
Merlin had been back little more than two weeks and had not willingly used his gift for some time. He had refused to use any kind of magic, even to heal himself or relieve his pain, much to the physician's irritation, along with the knight's and even the king's subconscious annoyance. It felt good for the warlock to assist Gaius, Gwen or Arthur, normal, when he felt he could.
The second time he went out to watch the knights' train, and was welcomed back by the king's most trusted soldiers, Percival, Gwaine, and even Leon.
"Come on Gwaine! You're starting to look flabby!" Arthur called over to the roguish knight standing up from his vigilant spot on the bench beside Merlin.
"Look who's talking? I could have sworn that belt was beginning to crack under its laborious job!" Gwaine taunted back, striding over and picking up a sword from the rack. They began to spar, Merlin tensing slightly when he noticed his companion had left his side, but tried to take his mind off it by keeping his ever watchful eye closely on the turn of the battle.
But this peace was not to last. When suddenly a spear was flung from one of the younger knights, speeding directly towards the warlock's head. Merlin dodged instinctively, moving his head at the last possible moment, leaving inches between himself blade as it passed. The servant followed the weapon to predict it's path, watching as it was about to rip through another man's arm. Merlin's innate nature succeeded his conscious thought, eyes flashing gold, and the weapon stopped in mid air, a breath away from the older knight's arm.
When snapped to attention and realized what he had done, the weapon stopped hovering and clattered to the ground.
"Damn sorcerer!" the young knight yelled as the guards restrained him and Leon had, all too willingly, ordered him to be confined in a holding cell.
Arthur had seen most of the magic that occurred, looking back to the warlock, watching his scared, stunned eyes clouding over and rushed over to him. Gwaine was a few feet behind him, pausing to shout threats at the man being dragged away.
Arthur knelt down in front of the servant while Percival took up a watchful guard around them, and Gwaine began to, in not so many words, challenge anyone to try anything like that again.
"Merlin." Arthur called after he reached the warlock sitting on the bench waiting for a reaction, but Merlin's eyes had hazed over, unresponsive as he clutched at his head with both hands, bending over slightly.
Gwaine came and knelt beside his friend, offering small reassurances to calm him.
The older knight who had escaped a terrible wound walked up to the group, a younger man trailing after him. He stood to Merlin's left next to where Arthur had knelt, and cleared his throat, the king rising to meet him.
"Thank you, Merlin." He muttered through his thick mustache. The small group stared up at the man, the warlock having perked up at his words. The young man who had been the knight's sparing partner appeared next to him.
"That was amazing!" he hurried on enthusiastically. "If it hadn't been for you, Sir Terrance would have lost use of that arm! That was incredible!"
Merlin looked up, surprised at the knight and young man as the small group turned back to their friend smiling, with the exception of Arthur, who stood back, looking to be deep in thought.
"Y-you're welcome." replied the warlock.
The sorcerer was confined to Gaius's chambers after that, and put under an additional guard.
Arthur sat, leaning back in his seat behind the table inside his chambers, taking a break from going over some paper work. He closed his eyes, replaying the events of the day in his mind's eye. Had Merlin even said a word when he stopped the spear? Had he only looked at it? Willed it? Gaius had relayed Merlin's decisions and accomplishments to him but he did not know much of what magic he possessed. He wasn't sure what the servant could do exactly, or how much he knew on the subject. How powerful was he? He couldn't be nearly as powerful as Morgana… Could he? Had Gaius really told him everything?
Merlin's return to the kingdom had brought a measure of calm over the people of Camelot. But now they were becoming restless again, and the servant's actions today were bound to get around in everyone's gossip and travel fast. His only concern was what effect it would have, and it could go in either direction, well, or horrific.
The way he had treated the sorcerer, and his men was however, having an effect. Disquiet had settled with the lords and ladies, his men were beginning to doubt him, and the common people were growing fearful, while others, began to side with Merlin and saw the king as a compassionate person.
I cannot run a kingdom like this. My first priority is to the lords, ladies, and the council. Maybe if I can ease their minds, the rest will fall into place.
But one thing was for certain.
Merlin cannot be above the law.
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