Chapter Summary: Merlin catches up to the ten days he missed and discusses strategy with a certain prince.
Warning/s: Brief use of ableist language.
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Chapter XIX: What My Worth Is
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Shortly after morning wanes, the servants clean up the remains of their lunch, and Theo and Gilli bid farewell. Their apprentice lessons with their respective mentors begin again in the afternoon. On that note, Merlin asks about Lord Balinor's apprentice lessons.
Mordred and Morgana had been given a day's rest after witnessing the sordid ordeal of that night. The schedule of sparring with the knights in the morning and reading tomes in the afternoon continued on without Merlin, much to their secret dismay.
"On the other hand, we did finally learn how to put armor on our own," Morgana cheerfully reveals.
"Yes . . . after a lot of painful hits," Mordred adds with a small wince.
Merlin can somewhat relate; Arthur really doesn't really hold back even when sparring with an inexperienced servant.
The warlock asks them to bring said books to him if they have the time. He won't be up for sword training for a while, but he doesn't want to miss out on any more book-reading sessions.
Mordred and Morgana happily acquiesce and promise to bring the tomes on their next visit.
Their mentor himself was rarely present during those lessons, they informed him. The Court Sorcerer was split between arranging documents for Jaren's trial, getting approval for the use of a minor truth spell (which passed easily, given the court and queen's collective anger), and taking care of the unconscious apprentice himself.
Merlin's cheeks heat upon hearing that last statement. He loathes to be a burden, but he cannot deny the ball of warmth blossoming in his chest at the information. He has only been Balinor's apprentice for a little more than two weeks, yet his mentor has cared for him so attentively.
"We visited you sometimes but — well." Mordred lets out a light chuckle. "Your magic keeps trying to keep both of us away. It seems your líhtinge isn't very effective, Merlin. You should increase your daily magic output."
Merlin forces out a laugh. Inwardly, he wonders what secrets he has inadvertently revealed while in his delusions. "Yes. I heard I destroyed a workroom." Then, a thought occurs to him, making him frown. "I didn't hurt anyone, did I?"
Mordred and Morgana trade significant looks.
"Please tell me the truth." Aside from a horde of malicious serkets, he doesn't recall lashing out at anyone while injured. This time, however, may be different.
"You left quite a bruise on me on my last visit," Morgana reveals with a forgiving smile. "But it's all healed up now. I heard you slapped Lord Edwin with a flying cloth quite hard."
"And you singed Lord Agravaine's hair when he tried to calm you," Mordred casually adds.
Merlin does not regret the last one, not even a bit. He does, however, regret the rest. "I'm sorry, Morgana."
Morgana Le Fay has been nothing but sweet and friendly to him. There has been no show of maliciousness or duplicity at all, just amused smiles and mischievous laughter. Merlin remembers another emerald-eyed girl like that once. Before he betrayed her in the worst possible manner and fed her poison.
"Wasn't your fault," Morgana says, still adorning that understanding smile. She pauses for a bit before forging on. "Your nightmares — If . . . If you ever need anyone to talk to, Merlin — about anything — know that we're here to listen."
The druid beside her nods in calm agreement. "A burden shared among friends is a burden lessened."
A lump forms in Merlin's throat, and he has a difficult time swallowing it. He doubts he'll ever make use of their offer, given his otherworldly status. He is, however, not unaffected by the gesture. "Th—Thank you."
Fortunately, Morgana switches to another subject soon after, letting Merlin compose himself and not pressing for anything more.
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"Oh!" Mordred exclaims abruptly amidst telling Merlin how their mentor almost killed Jaren right in the castle hallway while the assassin was being brought in.
Merlin doesn't know what could be so important that the druid would cease the very compelling narration.
"Lord Balinor might ask you to sign the Apprentice Contract again. I believe the old one broke."
Merlin supposes that's important enough.
"What!? Why—How did it break?" Ice floods through Merlin's veins. Is it because he willingly met with Wracu? Does Balinor know about it? Is it because Balinor thought he would have lost his magic after the curse afflicted him?
The strange empty space in his head — the space where the Apprentice Contract's spell once filled. He is so used to it softly humming at the back of his mind that its absence is a noticeable sign.
"It's not because of anything you did." When Morgana witnesses Merlin's paling complexion, she clasps his hand in assurance. "Rather, it's something Lord Balinor believed he didn't do."
Merlin blinks rapidly in bewilderment. "Something he didn't do?" What could Lord Balinor be lacking that breached the terms of the contract?
Mordred's lips purse into a thin line. "He thinks he has failed to provide you protection. Thus, the contract broke."
Merlin gawps. "What? Because I was attacked? That's not his fault."
"That's what we told him." Exasperation paints Morgana's face as she shakes her head. "He even told us that we can revoke our own contract if we felt like he's incapable of giving us ample protection after what happened."
"I've heard . . ." Mordred's azure gaze slides between his fellow apprentices, some unidentifiable emotion brimming in his irises. "There are whispers about what happened to his last apprentice. Of how she was found dead after missing for days. Everyone feared what Balinor might have done had he lost another one just four years after her death."
A band tightens around Merlin's chest. Unbidden, a statement sifts through his mind.
— Four years ago, my best friend was killed. Today, I saw her ghost walking the streets of the citadel —
Oh.
Shock and dismay widen Morgana's jade eyes. "Lily of Veelin died?"
"That's what I've heard." The druid gives a grim nod. "Just a week away from finishing her apprenticeship. People in the castle are averse to talking about her so I know not the exact details. But her death is likely why Lord Balinor is so . . . agitated after this incident."
The three of them sit in solemn and absorbed silence, each contemplating what this means for the three of them.
For one certain warlock, endless questions and possibilities unfold between the crevices of his mind. He is on the cusp of several important epiphanies; he only needs evidence of the conclusions he has drawn.
He sincerely and desperately hopes he doesn't find evidence.
Because his conclusions would break more hearts than his.
Morgana pops the bubble of quiet a few minutes later. "Are you going to sign the contract again, Merlin?"
The warlock startles out of his musings at the question. "O-Of course I will."
Relief etches itself upon Morgana's and Mordred's expressions.
"Lord Balinor thinks too lowly of himself and stretches himself too thin." Morgana gives a determined nod. "No one could have accounted for assassination attempts. It isn't his fault."
Merlin smiles despite it all. "Thank the gods he still has three of his apprentices to remind him of that."
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When Mordred and Morgana take their leave, the sun is in the midst of setting and a servant has lit the torches and candles of the chamber. The moment the door closes behind the two apprentices, Sir Lancelot pops in and drops into the seat he occupied before.
If Merlin doesn't know any better, he would have thought the knight had been standing guard outside all this time.
Merlin watches as the knight fetches the same book he has been browsing and picks up where he left off. He says nary a word nor spares Merlin a single cursory glance.
Several minutes pass with just the turning of pages breaking the silence.
A furrow makes its home between Merlin's brows. "Not that I don't enjoy your lovely presence, Sir Lancelot, but why are you here again?"
Sir Lancelot waves flippantly, not even looking up from his book. "You can't be left alone just in case there are sudden aftereffects from the curse."
"Huh."
Then, Merlin clears his throat.
When Mordred brought up the issue of the contract earlier, the warlock recalls a very important item he needs to keep track of.
"When I was stabbed, I had in my trouser pocket a parchment that —"
"A wordle parchment?" Sir Lancelot finishes. He stretches out a hand and pulls open the drawer pushed against the left side of the bed.
Merlin peers inside.
The sight of a silver brooch tangled together with a bronze castle talisman is the first article he sees. His hand flies to the center of his chest in alarm. He never even noticed its absence.
Immediately, he wears the sigil and talisman around his neck and sighs in relief at the familiar weight.
Flattened down by Merlin's pouch of coins, a heavily creased parchment flutters briefly from the soft breeze. He glances at Sir Lancelot, who's still deep into his reading, before ever so casually plucking the parchment from the drawer.
Smears of dried blood cake the top corners of it, making it look like the last letter of a fallen soldier in a glorious battle. Merlin supposes he should be thankful the whole thing isn't soaked in it.
Three lines of writing occupy the upper left side.
Getting inept at dodging daggers, are we?
Write back as soon as you wake. You will wake or I'll revive you from the dead myself.
I've discovered something of interest regarding portals that I wish to share with you.
Merlin stares at the words for an inordinate amount of time. Three significant observations immediately jump at him.
First: Wracu, if he indeed wrote this, has atrocious handwriting. The letters are barely legible, slopes and slant wobbly and overlapping. Merlin has nearly gone cross-eyed trying to comprehend it.
Second: If anyone other than Merlin reads it, they would think it's from a friend showing his concern through harsh words and not from a cold-faced enemy who likely meant every insult and threat implied.
Third: Concrete details of the assassination attempt have spread even further than the citadel. Before, only the castle residents and perhaps a few townspeople knew of Merlin as the 'second heir'. But this incident may have blown that information out to several more places. It's going to be difficult to disentangle himself from the regal title.
He inwardly curses Agravaine some more.
The note does encourage him to meet with Wracu as soon as possible.
His interest has certainly been piqued by that last line, which appears to be the purpose of the vague remark. After ten days, Wracu must have found something that'll progress their goal of getting Merlin home. Unrestrainable anticipation surges in his stomach, and Merlin has a hard time tamping down his impatience.
He has more issues to fix before he can meet with the so-called böggel-mann, unfortunately.
As much as Merlin wishes to write a reply to Wracu's curt remarks, to blatantly communicate with Camelot's foe under its knight's nose is just pushing his luck.
He sighs, folds the crinkled and bloodied parchment in half, and stashes it back in the drawer.
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After an hour of silent contemplation and detailed planning, Merlin asks, "How is Prince Arthur?"
Sir Lancelot's eyes flick to him before drifting back to his book. "He's unharmed, as I told you."
"Yes, but — Is he too busy to even spare a few minutes to visit his savior?" Merlin may have been awake for only a couple of hours but surely the prince, as one of the main reasons for his bedridden state, should have been one of his first visitors.
There's a beat of hesitation. Then, "He cannot leave his room."
Merlin's head snaps to the knight, concerned. "I thought he wasn't injured?"
The knight's whole countenance screams of his displeasure. "After the incident, the queen confiscated his impersonation totem and confined him to his quarters. He is to stay there until the investigation finishes and declares no further spies or assassins." As if to defend the prince, Sir Lancelot adds, "He did manage to visit you, once. But you were far from lucid."
Merlin blinks rapidly. The prince of Camelot, who's nearing twenty-seven years, has been locked in his room like a child.
After a few moments' thought, Merlin swings his feet to the side of the bed opposite the knight.
"What are you doing?" Sir Lancelot asks sharply, narrow eyes pinning Merlin in place.
"Well, if the prince can't visit me, I should come to him." Merlin gives the knight a sunny grin. "It's only fair, I think."
He places his weight on his legs and promptly collapses onto the furry rug as his knees buckled. He groans, ears burning with mortification.
Sir Lancelot abandons his book and hurries to the apprentice's sprawled form. "Idiot." He half-hauls, half-carries Merlin back on the bed.
"Not one of my best ideas, I admit," Merlin grunts out.
The dizziness has dissipated, and the throbbing of his limbs has decreased considerably; he thought he'll be able to stand. No matter how foul it may be, Mage Gaius' tincture to numb the pain is frighteningly effective.
He sighs, leaning back against the goose-feathered pillows. "I just wish to see for myself how the prince fares." Merlin has never been far from Arthur's side whenever a life-threatening situation passes them by.
"The prince is fine," Sir Lancelot repeats for the third time. "You, however, are far from it. So, rest up and gather more of your strength."
Perhaps Merlin is being too impatient. But there is another urgent problem he must discuss with the prince.
Merlin breathes out. Then, he lifts his chin and meets Sir Lancelot's gaze with determined eyes. "I know how to put an end to the conspiracies threatening his standing."
Astonishment flicks through the knight's mien.
"I'll need His Highness' help, of course." Merlin runs a hand through his hair, showing his upset. "The longer this goes on, the worse the rumors will get. I can shout that I'm not Lord Agravaine's son all I want but, as long as Lord Agravaine perpetuates these intrigues, I will garner nothing but disbelief."
If nothing else, Merlin knows Sir Lancelot's loyalty to Prince Arthur will make the knight consider his words.
He sets his shoulders in a stubborn line, showing the knight that he's not stepping down from this. "Let me speak to the prince. I promise it'll be quick."
For one long moment, Sir Lancelot observes his adamant demeanor, expression blank.
Then, the knight blows out a heavy breath and rubs his face. "Lord Balinor is going to kill me."
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After Sir Lancelot has thrown a thicker overcoat over Merlin, the knight drags the apprentice out the door.
There are two guards stationed outside Merlin's room, which shouldn't surprise him given his supposed position as the second heir, but it does.
Because Merlin recognizes one of the faces underneath the helmet as Leon's.
This counterpart has a scragglier beard and shorter curls. But the structure of his nose and the shape of his jaw makes his identity instantly clear to the warlock.
Merlin wonders if Leon has been around all this time, and he just never noticed.
In his realm, he usually makes an effort to befriend the guards. They're underappreciated enough as it is; they put their lives on the line like knights do but with less coin to show for it. Plus, potential assassins usually apply to be new guards in the castle so it's better to take note of new faces.
In this realm, amidst so many other concerns, Merlin has yet to develop this habit. He mentally vows to do so just in case.
Leon's not a knight?
Sir Lancelot, who Merlin knows to have no noble blood, is a knight while Leon, whose lineage is as noble as they come, is merely a guard.
"E-Er, Sir L-Lancelot, wha-what are you-you doing?" Leon stutters out, his eyes darting between the knight and his burden.
Merlin's brows lift in further surprise. Gone is Leon's whole and confident voice, replaced by a small and slightly squeaky one.
"We'll be back shortly," is Sir Lancelot's curt reply.
"L-Lord Balinor wo-won't be plea-pleased." Leon doesn't look that nervous. Yet he stutters as if Sir Lancelot is a troll readying to eat him.
"Then, it would be in everyone's best interest if this matter doesn't reach his ears, wouldn't it?" Sir Lancelot shoots Leon and the other guard a pointed look.
Both of them visibly swallow before nodding in acquiescence.
"How frightening," Merlin mock-whispers.
"Shut it," Sir Lancelot grunts back and proceeds to practically lug Merlin around the hallway.
Merlin huffs at the treatment but doesn't complain. He favors Leon's counterpart with another brief look before forcing himself to focus on the task at hand.
With Merlin occupying one of the royal rooms, Prince Arthur's quarters are merely ten steps away. With a skinny knight and an enfeebled apprentice, the count of twenty steps is more than a generous estimate.
The three guards outside the prince's chambers eye them with suspicion. If they didn't know Merlin by face, they would have seen which chambers he stumbled out of and figured out his identity.
Merlin slightly pulls away from the knight's hold and tries to put more weight onto his own feet. His knees tremble with effort but they don't buckle this time. Sir Lancelot tenses, ready to support him should he fall again.
"We wish to see Prince Arthur," Merlin says, projecting a steadfast countenance.
The guards exchange meaningful glances. After a beat, one of them knocks on the door they're guarding. Prince Arthur's muffled voice beckons them to enter.
The guard only opens the door partway before peeking in. "Sire, Prince Merlin and Sir Lancelot wish to see you."
Merlin grimaces at his title while Sir Lancelot scoffs at it.
There's a pregnant pause before, "Let them in."
They enter the prince's room under the scrutinizing gazes of the guards.
Prince Arthur's room is exactly the same room as Arthur's when the latter was still a prince. The size of the chamber and of the furniture are no different. The only significant discrepancies are the various magical artifacts and tools scattered throughout shelves and in between tomes. Upon closer inspection, half of the tomes themselves seem to be about magic.
Huh. Merlin never thought to see the day any whiff of magic carelessly occupying Camelot's royal rooms. Surreal doesn't begin to describe it.
Fire crackles in the fireplace and torches send flickering shadows upon the stone walls. Twilight is at its peak, engulfing the room with an inexplicably gloomy air.
Merlin's drifting gaze catches on to the owner of the room himself.
A small circular table stands in front of the faceted window, framed by two cushioned chairs. Atop it, a wooden chess game lays in progress, pieces scattered across the tiles.
Prince Arthur sits in one of the chairs, his cerulean gaze down on the board. An intricately carved brown rook rolls in the palm of his right hand.
Merlin is quite familiar with the pose. Sometimes, when a particular problem consumes Arthur's thoughts and he desires to stimulate his mind in order to solve it, the king will bring out his dusty chess set out of the wardrobe and arrange the pieces.
He will then wrangle his innocent manservant — who has more important things to do, by the way — into several rounds of the game.
"Who're you playing with?" are the first words out of Merlin's mouth. He takes another quick glance around and still finds the prince as the only occupant.
"Myself," the prince answers before putting down the rook in the fourth row of the last column.
"Where do you want me to place him, Sire?" Sir Lancelot asks as if Merlin's a useless mathom to be dumped atop a cabinet.
The warlock rolls his eyes and fully detaches himself from the knight's hold. He staggers towards the empty seat opposite the prince and only makes it there through sheer luck. Sir Lancelot hovers with each step because he has apparently turned into a mothering hen while Merlin's asleep.
"I have something of import to discuss with you," Merlin declares before consequently making himself comfortable on the soft cushions, relaxing against their plumpness.
Sir Lancelot glances between them. Then, much to Merlin's surprise, he heads for the exit and leaves the room as quietly as he can.
"Do you, now?" Even after Merlin's noisy stumbling and Sir Lancelot's departure, Prince Arthur has yet to look up from the board.
Merlin peers closer to the prince, eyes narrowing. The prince's appearance has changed little since their last undisguised encounter. No new scars or injuries that Merlin could see afflict him. At first glance, he truly seems to be hale and healthy.
But there is something different in the air he now emits.
The prince looks smaller, shoulders hunched in a rather uncharacteristic manner. It makes him look defeated, in a way. Humbled, even.
Even if his face remains blank, it is less cold now. Merlin can see the cracks at the edges of his facade, belying the turmoil inside.
What happened?
Has the assassination attempt truly shaken him? Surely as a prince of a large kingdom, he has experienced far worse attacks. Or, as a prince living in a kingdom filled with many protective spells, was that actually the first time someone got close to killing him?
His mind filled with questions, Merlin absentmindedly picks up a crimson-colored pawn and moves it one tile forward. Its new position threatens a brown-hued knight and another pawn.
Prince Arthur moves the knight back.
Millions of inquiries and assumptions eager to be given voice battle to be in the forefront of Merlin's mind. He knows that, unless he stays at the prince's room until morning and manages to suddenly gain the prince's complete trust, he won't get all the answers. But at the very least, he will garner some clues.
"How are you faring?" Merlin asks first and foremost. He kills off the chestnut pawn without hesitation. "After the attack?"
"Shouldn't I be asking you that?" The prince puts forward a pawn of his own. "I'm not the one who got stabbed."
"No, but you were the target." Merlin's rook skids its way onward three tiles. "I reckon that's still a frightening fact."
Prince Arthur doesn't reply verbally, and Merlin concludes little by way of his gestures. The prince's focus seems to be mostly on the board as his eyes barely lift up from it. Should Merlin feel offended to be ignored? He knows not. Right now, Prince Arthur appears more distant than ever before. One would think that the prince would have warmed up ever so slightly towards the person who saved his life.
Prince Arthur captures one of Merlin's pawns with his rook. Merlin grabs another piece for an offensive move and then realizes he doesn't actually recognize it.
He lifts the reddish piece to take a closer look. The head depicts womanly features and a distinctive circlet upon her temples.
"What's this? I don't know how this one moves," he confesses.
Prince Arthur's darkened eyes flick to Merlin's hand before darting down just as quickly. "It's the queen piece. It can move forward, backward, left, right, and diagonally as long as no piece is blocking her way — like a rook and a priestess combined."
"Priestess?"
Prince Arthur points to the sculpture engulfed in druidic robes with long curls braided with flowers. Four of them in total scatter on the table, two per participant. Merlin has already lost one of his priestesses. Meanwhile, there are only two queens on the board.
Even chess is different in this realm. This chess set replaces the advisor piece with the queen, the priests with the priestesses.
In the game Merlin is used to playing, the advisor can only move one square diagonally at a time — abilities less than the king's. The priest pieces, on the other hand, are allowed to move two spaces diagonally.
In this one, the queen stands more powerful than the king, and the priestesses can advance up to seven tiles diagonally.
Merlin studies the board with this new information and relocates his queen several tiles back to protect her.
For a couple of minutes, they play in relative silence. For every chess game the warlock has played, he has never once won against a prince or a king; a certain prat always gloats obnoxiously in the aftermath. With the way this game is progressing, Merlin doesn't think his losing streak would end anytime soon.
Merlin abruptly comes to his senses. He's not here to polish his chess skills.
"I have a plan to disperse the conspiracies Lord Agravaine is spreading," Merlin bluntly puts out. He positions his crimson knight away again from the chestnut queen that keeps chasing it. "It'll prove that I'm not Lord Agravaine's son."
Surprise flickers blatantly across the prince's face. "You need the results of the test then? Did Lancelot tell you about it?"
Confusion pinches Merlin's brows. "Test? What test?"
Prince Arthur opens his mouth. Then, he shuts it with a click. After a long moment, the prince speaks once more. "I feel we are speaking of two different things. What plan are you referring to?" The prince then traps Merlin's knight between his queen and two other pawns. Drat.
Merlin observes the prince for a couple of seconds, wondering if he should pry on this 'test'. Then, he shakes his head and decides to focus on bigger issues. "I need your help for it. It's not anything arduous," Merlin assures him. He gives up on his knight and focuses on defending a priestess in peril. "But it may be a bit troublesome and uncomfortable for you." He rubs the back of his neck. "This all stemmed from my carelessness, and I wish to make amends."
"You saved my life while risking your own," Prince Arthur says. "One would argue that no amends need to be made." He begins lifting his head before halting abruptly, unnaturally. His gaze lowers even further. "Besides, my uncle is rather enjoying his prank. I'd hate to ruin it."
Merlin gawks unbecomingly. For a split second, the warlock wishes to grab the prince by the shoulders and shake him until he sees sense. "You still think this is all a prank? Whatever assertions Agravaine is proclaiming is harming you."
"Hmm. Doubtful. His words may sway some minds, but it is a short-term effect. Eventually, as the investigation comes to a close, those same people will see reason," Prince Arthur replies, his tone dismissive and unworried. He captures Merlin's exposed queen and thereby traps the red king. "Uncle Agravaine merely wishes to stir up a commotion to tease my mother and Uncle Tristan."
The attitude reminds Merlin of Arthur's response whenever the warlock brings up Agravaine's potentially suspicious behavior before. The king has given little credence to Merlin's concerns and continued to give his uncle the benefit of his trust until the man brought Saxons upon the citadel.
So, Merlin breathes out a frustrated breath and tries a different tactic. "Fine. But I wish to play no part in this 'prank' anymore. So, help me prove to the court and residents of the castle that I am no royalty." Merlin knocks off his king to signal defeat and then he begins resetting the board. "Treat it as a favor from me, and I'll owe you."
"You'll owe me?" A sound akin to a sigh escapes Prince Arthur's lips. "Balinor was right. Merlin, you truly are an insufferable idiot."
Indignation sparks in Merlin's chest because he has done nothing to warrant the remark. He accidentally topples a pawn off the table. The piece falls to the carpeted ground and rolls near Prince Arthur's boots.
Merlin gingerly bends down to retrieve it, mindful not to overestimate his current abilities once more. His gaze flicks up, wondering if he can just ask the prince to get it. He's just in time to catch Prince Arthur's wide-eyed stare.
Undeniable agony wreathes its way across the prince's facade before he hastily turns his head to gaze out the window.
Merlin carefully returns to his seat, the fallen pawn in hand and a nonplussed expression on his face.
Tentatively, he asks, "Why won't you look at me?"
Indeed, it's something Merlin should have noticed earlier. Since Merlin's entrance to the chambers, Prince Arthur has never once raised his head to meet the warlock's eyes.
The prince clenches his jaw, his gaze steadfastly on the glimmering lights emitting from the townspeople's homes.
After several seconds, Prince Arthur finally deigns to reply. "As a prince, my life is valued above most. It isn't the first time someone made an attempt on my life, and it isn't the first time someone stepped in to shield me from it. But none had resulted in such a life-threatening injury such as yours." The prince closes his eyes. "When I look at you, all I can see is you writhing in pain, blackened eyes and blackened veins. All I could remember is the helplessness I felt as I watched the curse that was meant for me poison you from the inside."
The need to comfort the prince surges in Merlin's chest, and he tamps it down. He stays silent, unable to say anything in consolation.
Prince Arthur opens his eyes, but his gaze remains out the window. "Tell me, Merlin. Why did you save my life?"
"Do I need a reason?" Merlin replies, his voice pitching a soft and quiet tone. His own eyes lift to Prince Arthur's face.
There's an unidentifiable tension brimming in the edges of the prince's countenance. "I've not been exactly amicable towards you."
Merlin lets out an amused huff. What an understatement. "That doesn't mean I'll let you come to harm if I can do something to prevent it."
"Do you think my life is worth more than yours?"
The question makes Merlin pause, a swirl of emotions grappling in his chest.
Arthur is a good man, a great king. His life is worth a hundred of mine, Merlin has once claimed, and he still believes it to this day. Merlin believes it because he has personally witnessed the man Arthur was and the king Arthur can be.
The warlock knows little about Prince Arthur to claim the same with surety.
When Merlin shoved Prince Arthur out of the dagger's way, he honestly hadn't been thinking. His mind had flashed to that eventful banquet seven years ago, and his only instinct was to save the man in danger.
"No," Merlin eventually answers, reluctant to admit it but certain of its truthfulness. "You may be a prince but neither of our lives is worth less than the other's."
The answer must have surprised Prince Arthur beyond belief because the prince's head finally snaps in the warlock's direction. "Then, why?" He demands, fury coloring his words and the blue of his eyes. "Why the hell would you do something so foolish?"
Irritation swells in the warlock, and he lets it show in his scowl. "How was I to know I'd be risking my life when I pushed you out of the way?"
"I'd have thought that obvious."
"I'll have you know that I had planned for both of us to come out unscathed." Merlin glares straight at the prince, not appreciating his accusing and demanding tone. "You know, at times like these, a 'thank you' would suffice, Your Highness."
Prince Arthur visibly grits his teeth before looking away once more.
Great. They've both annoyed each other.
Merlin sighs and finishes resetting the chessboard. Then, he flips it around, claiming the chestnut pieces this time and making the first move. The prince makes no attempt to restart their game.
The warlock opens his mouth, about to return to the topic of getting out of Agravaine's 'prank'.
Prince Arthur speaks before he could. "Are you familiar with how the curse of Forrotian Cwealm works?" His previous vexation has abated, making way for a casual and nonchalant mien.
Merlin blinks rapidly, taken aback by the irrelevant question. "Lord Balinor told me it corrupts the victim's innate magic."
"Yes," the prince confirms blithely. "I've been interested in such hexes for years now. Specifically, I'm interested as to whether it will have any effect on me — a person born with nary a drop of innate magic."
"Are you saying my sacrifice was in vain?" the warlock drawls dryly. Really, would it kill the prince to say a simple 'thank you for saving a prat like me'?
"The dagger headed for my heart would have killed me instantly, make no mistake about that," Prince Arthur replies without missing a beat. "And it's just a theory that the curse wouldn't have affected me. I'm not foolish enough to experiment with it and confirm."
Unable to fight down his curiosity, Merlin ventures, "Why would the first princess of Tir Mor use such a curse to target you, knowing you're not a magic-user?"
"Everyone has innate magic, even non-magic-users." Prince Arthur's gaze drops to the board, and he finally pushes a red pawn forward. "It's very rare for someone to be born without a hint of it. In the whole of Camelot, only Sir Ris and I have been discovered to be completely without. But with the matter of Princess Seren . . ."
The moue of the prince's lips twists into a wry line, amusement mixed with bitterness flashing by his face.
"My best friend and I played a trick on her five years ago at a banquet. The princess may or may not think that I am a powerful magic-user hiding my abilities so that my enemies will underestimate me. She likely thought the Forrotian Cwealm is the surest way to get rid of me."
Merlin stills. Your best friend—Lily of Veelin. Lord Balinor's previous apprentice. The words tempt the warlock's tongue. He bites them down.
With all that has happened, Merlin doesn't think bringing up the prince's dead best friend will be welcomed. It's a sore enough subject, and Merlin will not carelessly poke at it.
He can, however, admit to himself that that's not the only reason the words are stuck in his throat.
Mostly, Merlin doesn't think he's prepared to confirm his epiphanies — to find proof of the heartrending truths waiting in the shadows.
Merlin has never thought himself a coward. In this, however, his courage has deserted him.
He buries that line of thinking at the back of his mind and decides to focus on another part of Prince Arthur's statement. "Why would the princess want to get rid of you?" Princess Seren doesn't exist in Merlin's realm, so he has no clue at all as to her reasoning.
"If I were to hazard a guess," Prince Arthur begins, voice quieting with contemplation and solemnity. "Her father's old, and she's set to inherit the throne soon. She thought me weak, a cripple and one without magic. And perhaps bendable to manipulations. Thus, when I become the king, she can easily control Camelot through me. But I showed her that I'm no puppet to be trifled with. She has no use for an heir she cannot control, and she would rather weaken Camelot by killing off the first-in-line."
Merlin absorbs the information, aghast. A part of him also desires to seek the mentioned princess and show her the capabilities of the man that received her dagger in Prince Arthur's stead.
The warlock has personally witnessed the cruelty of court politics before, but he will never be unsurprised by it. He thanks every deity that he hasn't been born into royalty or nobility.
Merlin's lips set into a grim line. "And she didn't think she'd get caught?" It has, after all, been all too easy to catch the spy-assassin she has sent and for the said man to spill her name as the one behind it all.
"I suppose she never expected the assassin to be caught alive. Jaren failed to ingest the poison that was meant to keep him silent; he likely thought he could truly escape." Prince Arthur lets out a breath that could have been a sigh. "Perhaps, if the assassination was a success, Jaren would have been 'accidentally' killed in the skirmish and everything would have gone according to Princess Seren's scheme."
"I am an expert at ruining schemes," Merlin can't help but quip.
"That, I can believe," Prince Arthur shoots back, surprising the warlock slightly. After a beat, the tension drains from the prince's shoulders, and he says with pursed lips, "All right. Tell me how I can help you get out of my uncle's prank."
Merlin perks up. "You'll do it?"
After the roundabout conversation, Merlin has been on the verge of giving up on asking for the prince's cooperation. He has settled for merely enjoying the game and discussion.
He does have a second plan, which involves kicking Agravaine in the gut and getting himself banished for attacking his 'father'. It may be less effective than the first, but it will be infinitely more satisfying.
"Let me hear the plan." Prince Arthur still won't glance in Merlin's general direction. At the very least, however, the lines of his shoulders have relaxed ever so slightly. Merlin doesn't know the catalyst, but he has no complaints. "And I'll decide whether I'll involve myself."
Merlin resists the urge to roll his eyes. Without further delay, he proceeds to unfold his first plan to the prince.
❤•°o.O`•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´ ◇ⓛⓞⓥⓔ◇ `•.¸¸.•´´¯`••.¸¸.•´´¯`•´O.o°•❤
A/N:
"I move mountains,
I move churches,
And I glow 'cause I know what my worth is" – Luisa Madrigal, Encanto (2021)
Fun fact: The chess in OG!Camelot (one that Merlin knows) is the real rules of chess back in 5th century. The powerful queen and bishop (renamed priestess here) wasn't introduced until 1000s. It just fits so well with magic!Camelot's realm.
A banquet, 5 years ago.
Arthur (22 years): This princess just insulted me and called me a cripple.
Lily (19 years): What a bitch. Wanna play a prank on her?
Arthur: And risk war between our kingdoms?
Lily: Yeah, why not, lol.
Arthur: . . . All right, let's do it!
Balinor ([REDACTED] years): *watches from the sidelines with wine and hors d'oeuvre*
Next up: Some more banter interrupted by a pissed-off individual discovering Merlin's little trip. Will Merlin be able to convince the court that he's not Agravaine's son? Will all go according to Merlin's plan?
Keep staying safe and taking those precautions!
~ Vividpast