turn to me like I turn to you

Magic, as it turns out, is harder to master than Arthur had thought.

Whilst the old sorcerer from the nearby village had taught him exactly how to save Merlin and repel the guards, unlock the door – he hadn't explained how to truly control the power now simmering inside him, how to pull it out and use it as and when he needed it. And now, with the law banning magic gone, it was something that he'd have to get used to.

So he'd spent all of five minutes persuading Merlin to teach him how to use magic, and really the manservant was pretty easy to persuade, though he tended to put up an admirable fight for a short while. But once he had agreed, he had thrown himself into it quite wholeheartedly (though he did insist that they practice in Gaius' chambers). He even had a book.

Arthur sits at Gaius' table whilst the elderly physician brews concoctions on the other side of the room, the occasional faint bang punctuated by fizzing and the whispers of the more infrequent spells. Every now and then, Merlin pauses in his instructions to ask the older man a question, and Arthur remembers that they've been comfortable with each other's magic for a while now. It's still something that he needs to get used to.

"No, no, you're pronouncing it wrong, it's áflíeh."

Arthur blinks, and stares at the apple where it sits resolutely on the table. He frowns.

"That's what I was saying."

"No you weren't, you were saying áflíah. Which is something completely different. Try again."

"But I was saying it right, and nothing was happening!"

"No, you weren't," Merlin repeats patiently, and Arthur knows that he's a terrible student but the last few days haven't been particularly successful and he's beginning to get annoyed with himself. He could do magic before, but now he can't? He can't even manage a simple levitating spell.

"Well, I think that's enough practice for today," he decides shortly and swipes the apple from the table with his hand, biting into it. Merlin's eyes narrow, and he whispers something too quietly for the Prince to hear but he can pretty much guess, because the apple is wrenched from his hand and soars across the table to land in front of Merlin. The warlock picks it up and takes a bite himself, glaring at Arthur.

"You were the one that wanted me to train you, so don't just give in and walk off whenever you feel like it!" he grumbles, glowering over the fruit, and Arthur scowls back just as fiercely. He thinks he hears Gaius mutter something at them as he passes them on his way out, but he ignores him.

And then Merlin tilts his head to the side slightly and his eyes slip out of focus, and Arthur feels a flush spreading up his own cheeks because he knows exactly what Merlin is doing – he's utilising his magic, in the way that Arthur can't, and it searching down the strange bond that they've forged between themselves to see what the Prince is feeling. To try and understand why he's behaving like this.

"You're invading my privacy," he hisses, and Merlin's eyes focus again as he shakes his head.

"You're annoyed with yourself. It's understandable," he replies slowly, and shrugs. "Magic doesn't come naturally to you; it's something that you have to work at. There's nothing wrong with that."

"Don't presume to know what I'm feeling," he snarls and stands abruptly, knocking a goblet of water to the floor, and makes for the door.

"Arthur!" Merlin bites out, standing and grabbing the Prince's hand as he tries to stalk past him and there's a spark of magic between their skin, but they're used to it now and ignore it, though he knows that Merlin's searching his emotions again. He doesn't stop him.

"Get off me, Merlin," he says, his voice low, but he can feel Merlin's resolve building even as his own wavers.

"You've never not been good at something before. You've always succeeded, no matter what it is – you're the best swordsman, best hunter, best everything. You're not used to failing at something."

"Shut up," Arthur whispers, and he can feel his voice cracking even as he says it and hates himself for it. Merlin doesn't obey him. He never has.

"Well, it doesn't matter if you don't get it first time. Most people don't manage things straight away but they keep trying anyway. I mean, look at me!" he exclaims, and Arthur does, though it was only figurative. Merlin's still holding onto his hand, keeping him grounded here. "I was a pretty useless manservant when I first started, wasn't I? But I kept at it. I stayed with you, and I reckon I'm getting pretty good at it to be honest."

And of course Arthur agrees, but he's not going to say it.

"But magic… you don't even have to think. You just do it," he murmurs, his shoulders drooping as he turns back to the table. Merlin lets go of his hand, and his lips quirk up slightly.

"You honestly think that?" he asks, and Arthur can feel the undercurrent of amusement coming from the other man. He sits back down, prepared to hear this out. "The night before your fight with Valiant, when the snakes came out of his shield? I spent nearly eight hours that night repeating the same spell over and over, trying to bring a stone dog to life, and it failed every time. And I don't know what made it work in the end – I honestly have no idea – but something clicked, and I got to you in time. And when Lancelot killed the griffin? It took me a long time to get that spell to work too."

"What are you trying to say?" Arthur asks him, staring at this admission that Merlin spent all night trying desperately to save him (but hadn't he known that already, deep in his consciousness?) and the warlock shrugs.

"I'm saying that I was born magical, and I still have trouble with it sometimes. Nobody's expecting you to get this straight away, Arthur. It's not something that you've had to ever do before. Your expectations of yourself are too high – you're doing really well. You should be proud of yourself."

"But I can't even move an apple!" he bursts out, and there's a hint of a smile on Merlin's face as he sets the half-eaten apple back on the table and moves to stand behind Arthur.

"Try it again. Just once more, and if you can't get it, we'll stop for today," he offers, and Arthur decides that it's a pretty good deal really. He sighs and leans forward, eyes fixed on the fruit.

"Áflíeh."

"Again."

"You said only once more."

"I said again."

Arthur wonders vaguely how it came to this, that Merlin can give him an order and more often than not now he follows it, usually without questioning. He closes his eyes briefly, feels Merlin's hands settle on his shoulders, and when he opens them again they're shining.

"Áflíeh."

And finally – finally – the apple rises slowly into the air, wobbling and juddering, but it's rising nonetheless. He feels a burst of pride from Merlin and knows that warlock will be feeling exactly from same from himself.

"I told you so," he says, and Arthur knows that he's grinning though he can't see him. And the grin might just be a little cheeky, so he reaches a hand over his own head to whack Merlin in the stomach and the warlock laughs, hands slipping off his shoulders as he steps away and the apple drops back to the table.

"Don't be such a know-it-all, Merlin," he says disapprovingly, and stands. "We wouldn't want your delusions of grandeur to give you ideas above your station, would we?"

"Of course, I am just a lowly manservant," Merlin shoots back, a mocking tone to his voice, and something occurs to Arthur. A possibility. He regards Merlin for possibly a second too long then stores his idea away for further consideration later on in the evening.

"Same time tomorrow then?" he asks as he manoeuvres his way around Gaius' tables and equipment towards the door, and Merlin nods, following him.

"What do you need doing tonight?" he asks, and Arthur considers the question before turning back to him.

"Nothing."

"Nothing?"

"Nothing that I can't do myself."

And Merlin really does look at him then with something crossed between incredulity and gratitude, because in between teaching Arthur and assisting Gaius he's also had to keep his jobs as a manservant and act as an advisor to the people on all things magical, and he's looking slightly more tired than normal. Arthur realises that now, this may seem like a favour, but it's a prelude to something more.

"Get some sleep. I'll be fine by myself."

Merlin doesn't really seem to know what to say to that – but Arthur can feel the other man's eyes burning into him as he leaves, shutting the door quietly. He takes a moment in the corridor to compose himself, then sets off towards his own chambers.

In the morning, he's going to have a talk with Uther.

Where would I be? What would I do?
If you'd never helped me through