Author's note: If anyone is wondering why I keep referring to Merlin as "him" (and not "her" or other variation) it's mainly because I don't know of any better or gender-neutral word in English. If I'd been writing in my mother tongue Swedish then I'd have used the word 'hen' (which can't be directly translated into English) rather than 'han' ("him") or 'henne' ("her"); but now I can't. Anyway Merlin sees himself firstly as male as he didn't directly discover anything different until he was twelve as mentioned in the prologue. Also, since he dresses and acts as a male and hides all female traits, everyone surrounding him believes he's fully male and addresses him thusly.
()()()
I Am the Embers of Your Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 2
()()()
"What did your mother tell you about your gifts?"
The words are almost casual but rather careful across the table as they eat their evening meal, and Merlin looks up from the bowl surprised: Gaius seems so tight-lipped about these kinds of things, always telling him to be careful, he's pleasantly startled to speak of them.
"That I was - special," Merlin says coyly and adds; "But she didn't know anything about my magic, other than that I can use it, and I don't either – how it's possible … or why."
"Well, you certainly are special. I've never seen the likes before," Gaius remarks and it's difficult to determine whether the man is glad about this statement. Merlin returns to the stew with little enthusiasm. He'd expected the physician to say something more – he did know of his magic before he even arrived at Camelot, and surely he must have heard and read things Merlin never had.
He'd hoped …
"Did you ever study magic?" he asks curiously.
The old man pauses as if thinking before answering, and Merlin is sure he's only speaking half the truth. But he doesn't press for more explanations, not yet, because he knows the value of secrets.
"Uther banned such practices twenty years ago; people were using magic wrongly at the time, to satisfy selfish needs. The King made it his goal to eradicate it completely from the kingdom. Even the dragons were killed."
"Dragons?" Merlin has heard stories of the creatures as a child, of course, and he'd loved hearing of them: those magnificent fire-breathing beasts, sparking curiousity and awe to his heart. And he'd always known them to have been real, once, but never seen one with his own eyes. They were spoken of only as legends, myth; creatures of old times that were no more, long before the Purge or even the Pendragon rule. "All of them?"
"There was one in the land that he chose not to kill. He had it imprisoned, kept as an example."
Merlin stares. "How could anyone just do that? Dragons can't be easy just to … to kill and imprison like that."
Again, the answer is vague: "Briefly, he allied with the Dragonlords to fulfill this task. But, since the Dragonlords' craft is magical as well, the alliance was quickly disrupted."
The warlock shudders. How many people had died by Uther's axe?
His mentor suddenly reaches over the table and puts a hand on his shoulder, before standing, having finished his meal. There's a strange look on Gaius' face and in his eyes; pained by some distant memory, and Merlin wishes the man would tell him more even if the answers might be frightening.
"Try not to linger on it, Merlin," Gaius says softly, almost as if he's remembering those years. "It was a long time ago."
()()()
… MERLIN. MERLIN.
Startled, Merlin sits, blankets pooling around his lap. The voice sounds so close, vibrating in his mind, almost like he could reach out to touch it. He looks around but the room is empty, all candles unlit. There's no one – nothing – but then where … ?
"Hello?"
A pull, like a tug of the sleeve just more powerful: come, follow, but without words. Quietly, Merlin slips out of bed, putting on a jacket, and he creeps out of the rooms as silently as possible so not to wake the old physician; his magic responds instinctually, making his footsteps inaudible and he can walks through the corridors unhindered, like he's invisible yet he's not. There's no map and no instructions, but he's pulled in the proper direction, he's sure: he follows the tingle of magic, curious.
MERLIN.
He slips past the guards, through the corridors and across the courtyard, into some part of the castle he hasn't been before, to a pair of locked, heavy oak doors. They swing open soundlessly.
MERLIN.
Padding down long darkened stairs, only a tiny flame in his palm lighting his way: he doesn't falter, the way dwindling and darkening with each step, and if not for the steady call in his mind (a bit like someone's wrapped magic string around his wrist and is pulling relentlessly) he'd probably be lost in the maze, unable to get out and up again.
It's a cave.
He's not imagined a cave as massive as this before in his life, and to think that it's situated right beneath Camelot is astonishing: does people know of its existence? He marvels at the great walls of stone, the height of the ceiling, and dares not guess just how high it is. There's a faint glimmer in the rock, bouncing back onto the flame in his open hand. Looking around, it's difficult to determine how far the cave stretches - where it ends and where it begins – if there is a beginning and an end.
"Hello?" he calls out, his voice echoing seemingly for miles and miles and miles. "Is anyone there?"
Merlin expects a human being, a man to morph into sight from the shadows; someone taking form and shedding light on the strange voice which has called him here, tugging on his senses so relentlessly. A sorcerer. Maybe a druid, because he's heard about them being magic folk and appearing suddenly, swiftly, and sneaking about in the woods like shadow: the elderly in the village always warned the children not to wander too far lest they'd be bewitched and taken away.
What he doesn't expect is a dragon.
It must be it: the dragon Gaius spoke of just hours before, Merlin realizes in astonishment, as it makes to land before him. Imprisoned right underneath the castle.
Does the city's inhabitants even know? No – it's just not possible that they do, there'd be panic for sure … but Merlin isn't so sure. The dragon's presence explains the guards and locked doors.
The creature is huge and it flutters its gigantic leathery wings for a moment before lowering itself down onto a rock outcropping to look straight at him, wings folding neatly against the murkily green body. And then, its mouth opens – but for some reason, Merlin isn't afraid and he doesn't back away even if the creature could simply bend down and eat him in one single chew, or turn him to ashes with a single fiery breath. He's confused, startled, awed, but not afraid. It's almost like – but it's an absurd notion – like he knows the dragon and has met it before.
"How small you are," it says, tinges of amusement in its voice which Merlin now recognizes as the one which called for him in his mind; "for such a great destiny."
"…Destiny? What do you mean? How do you know me?" The questions stumble over his tongue before he can stop them.
"Your name has been written for ages. Long have I waited for you to appear! Do you not know, young warlock? Has none ever told you who you are?"
"What …? What do you mean, 'who I am'?" Merlin says, confused, staring up at the dragon. "I'm – I'm just Merlin. Why would my name have been written for ages? That doesn't make any sense! I don't understand!"
"You are Emrys," the dragon says, almost a purr, dark and powerful and Merlin feels a rush of something at the name (Emrys? What does it mean?), tremors running through him, but can't pinpoint what exactly it is, if it's a good or bad feeling and that makes him only more confused. "And your destiny is finally beginning to unravel."
"Destiny?"
"Yes," the beast confirms, nodding a giant head, fixing him with yellow eyes: "Arthur is the Once and Future King, the one who shall unite Albion. But he cannot do it alone. Without you, this can never happen. Without you, there will be no Albion."
"… But, but Arthur is a stupid, self-conceited, arrogant ass! It makes no sense!" Merlin exclaims, wide-eyed, not believing what he's hearing even if he can't really understand what this whole Destiny business means. It sounds totally crazy. Uniting Albion; Once and Future King…! Arthur is haughty and stupid and – yes, a total a prat and Merlin sure doesn't want anything to do with him now or ever in the future and why the hell is he even listening to a bloody dragon anyway. "There must be some other Arthur because this one is an idiot!"
The dragon sounds amused, a chuckle deep in its throat: "Is he? Well, he may be now, but he shall, in time, grow to a great King. It is, after all, his destiny."
"And … what exactly do I have to do with that?" It just doesn't sound plausible that he, a boy from a tiny farming village, a nobody, should affect the crown prince of Camelot.
"Everything!" the breast exclaims heatedly. "You are two sides of the same coin; neither can be without the other! Without you Arthur will never realize the goodness of magic. Without you Albion will never be."
"…Magic?" Merlin whispers, like it's important to keep silent (it's a secret) even if no one can hear them down here, beneath layers and layers of rock and old, dark dust and stone. "But it's forbidden." A silent wear wraps around his chest, at the same time as a thrill, quickly rushing down his spine: does the dragon know of his magic?
"Yes," murmurs the dragon, sounding pleased; "Magic."
()()()
Stumbling back to his chambers many, many candle-marks later, Merlin's mind is swirling with questions. So many questions and barely any answers at all. Destiny? Arthur? King? Emrys?
He wants to know so much more. The dragon, though speaking riddles, talked like it knows him. And about his gift - it had said things about his gift, his magic, about him – not like his mother's sweet but thinly veiled assurances; "It's going to be all right, it's going to be fine." Not like Will's comments of the goodness of magic, his solid belief that Merlin can't possibly be evil. Those words had always been warm, but they explained nothing, gave no answers.
But the dragon spoke of his gift like it mattered. Like there's a reason. And a reason is what Merlin has been searching for all of his life.
There might be an answer. No, there is an answer. It thrills him, scares him deep down and gladdens him and warms him to the core, everything at once. There's a reason, and he will find out what it all entails.
Even if, for some inexplicable reason, he has to do so while ensuring Arthur successfully becomes King, so he might unite Albion, despite the man being the biggest prat ever.
Unsurprisingly, he cannot fall asleep that night, throwing himself onto the small cot with a tired sigh, torn between wanting to dismiss it as a dream and rushing back down and demand more answers.
Fate just seems to love throwing difficult things in his way and force him to overcome them. It is while probably sitting on a cloud far above right now looking down at the ant-like world of men, and laughing at clumsy silly little Merlin trying to make his way through life.
()()()
Morning comes far too bright and far too early. Breakfast is sitting on the table and the physician is reading a book when Merlin comes stumbling down the stairs, sleep lingering in his eyes. He tries rubbing it away.
"Morning, Gaius."
"Good morning, Merlin. I need you to run some errands for me today."
Work, work, work. Well, to make a living … Hopefully he won't run head-first into trouble today. "All right."
"Are you familiar with any herbs?"
"Some. I used to collect them for my mother."
"Good. I have a list of things I need. You can start by going to lady Morgana's chambers with this potion – poor girl suffers from nightmares. And then I need some hawthorn collected from the forest, fresh. I assume you know how to find it?" Merlin nods. Recognizing herbs and plants is always a useful skill, no matter of one's living. "Good," Gaius says, again, nodding in approval. "Once you're done with that, you can go down to the apothecary's. Just show him this list, say it's on my order and he'll give you the supplies I need."
The old man presents him with a small piece of parchment with a scribbled roll of words and names (half of which are unfamiliar and then there are some strange things too in there like frog legs and bone dust) and a small pouch with coins. The thing is surprisingly heavy. Merlin can't recall having held that much money all at once before.
"All right."
Gaius turns and leaves the room before Merlin has the chance to ask where on earth he'll find the apothecary.
()()()
Apparently, fate seems to do everything it can to make life difficult for him. First, when collecting the herbs in the forest, he trips on a root and falls into a bush, leaving his hands smudged with soil and grass and he dropped the basket, full of hawthorn, and Merlin's glad no one is around to hear him cursing (his mother would be so embarrassed).
With fresh dirt stains on his jacket, Merlin collects what herbs he can salvage and walks back to the city and within five minutes he finds he's lost in the network of unfamiliar streets. There are so many people, no recognizable faces and he stands there feeling more stupid than ever. He should have asked Gaius for a tour of the city or a guide or a map or anything to help him now!
"Hello. Can I help you? You look a bit lost," a voice suddenly startles him and Merlin nearly drops the basket a second time, swirling around to face the speaker. It's a young woman, very pretty with dark curls falling around her softly tanned face, and she smiles nervously at him when seeing his reaction. Her dress is simple and her hands worn by labour.
"Oh! I'm so sorry!" she exclaims. "I didn't mean to startle you!"
"It's alright," Merlin assures her with a smile. "I just wasn't expecting it."
"Oh, that's – that's good. That it's all right, I mean. I'm Guinevere," the woman introduces herself. "Most people call me Gwen, though. I'm the Lady Morgana's maid."
The lady's name was unfamiliar but then again, he wasn't from around here and wouldn't know about anyone of greater importance lest they acted like asses.
"I'm Merlin - but most people just call me idiot," he says causing the woman to laugh. Undoubtedly she must've seen or heard of the peasant challenging the prince and how the former ended up in the stocks. "Who's the Lady Morgana?" he asks, curiously.
The woman looks at him as if he's suddenly sprouted a second head. "You don't know about her?" she asks incredulously and it takes a moment for her to come back to herself, and the following words rush out at the normal rather quick pace, as if she's timid and uncertain of how to put them.
"She's the king's ward; her father was an old friend of King Uther's and at his death, the king took her in and adopted her. She's been living in Camelot since childhood though, I got appointed as her maid years ago, when she was very young. Once you've seen her you'll know it's her, she's absolutely stunning!" A small giggle escapes Gwen's lips. "And she's quite fiery - not in a nasty way of course! But everyone knows that Prince Arthur is rather the bully and the Lady Morgana is the only one who dares challenge him. Not, you know, in a bad way, or that anyone gets hurt, of course," the woman adds quickly and takes a deep breath. "So that's who she is. I'm very honoured of serving her."
Merlin just smiles kindly at her, she seems very nice even if she appears to tend to babble (albeit Merlin also has tendencies to prattle so he can't blame her).
"She sounds wonderful."
Plus she also seems like the perfect sibling the prince would need to counter his pratliness. Had he the chance, Merlin would like getting to know her, but internally laughs at the thought. What are the chances even meeting the King's ward?
"Yes, yes, she is." Gwen seems to come back to herself and indicates the street with her free hand. "Do you need any help?"
"Yes, actually…I'm kind of lost. Do you have any idea where to find the apothecary?"
()()()
All of the way back Gwen chatters about anything between the heavens and the earth – no, that's no quite true, but it feels like it, and Merlin hasn't felt so soothed and relaxed in days. There's no one in Camelot but Gaius that he knows, but the old man is stern and has quickly adopted a guardian's role. Gwen is very open and kind and Merlin really would like getting to know her better. He doesn't want to spend his time in Camelot without any friends his own age.
Apparently, Gwen has been a servant since she was only ten years old. It's the structure of her life, the base of everything she knows: Merlin's curious of how it's like. In Ealdor he used to help with the harvesting, but he's always been quite sickly as a child and people have assumed him as frail, and many times not let him help with the hardest work; instead he'd aid his mother with everyday chores, washing and cooking and cleaning (and ignoring Will's jibes about that). Maybe Gwen and I have some things in common, Merlin muses, we both want to help.
Upon reaching Gaius' chambers he thanks and takes goodbye of her, but not before asking whether they could meet again sometime, and Gwen says they'll probably meet at the market – she visits it almost daily.
"Who knows, maybe I could even introduce you to Lady Morgana!" she exclaims excitedly. "She likes walking through the city. You know, to look at the market sometimes when there are traders from afar, and to see how the people fare."
"Maybe," Merlin agrees, smiling but internally he just shakes his head. Him, meeting the King's ward? If he ever does it'll probably end like when he met Prince Prat – in the stocks.
()()()
He's crossing the marketplace trying to recall where to find the apothecary again, when an unwelcome voice makes him halt, momentarily.
"How's your knee-walking coming along?"
"Oh no, not again," Merlin groans to himself when realizing exactly who has addressed him, and keeps walking hoping the man then will ignore him. But he has no such luck.
"Ohh, don't run away!" the Prince whines and Merlin reluctantly turns around.
"Run away? From you? Hardly."
"Good, I thought you were deaf as well as dumb."
Merlin sighs. "Look, I've told you: you're an ass. I just didn't realize you were a royal one."
The man raises his eyebrows at him as if he's just said the most ridiculous thing. Like yesterday he's wearing an armguard, and there's a sword in his belt. Three similarly clad men are standing behind him, smirking haughtily.
"Oh, what are you going to do?" Merlin taunts. "Have your bodyguards protecting you?"
The Prince scowls darkly. "I could take you apart with one blow."
He thinks of his magic and smirks. "I could take you apart with less than that."
"Ha! I've been training to kill since birth," the man boasts (if it is to be proud of; Merlin knows he wouldn't be proud of such a brutal thing).
"And how long have been training to be a prat?" he counters.
Arthur snorts. "You cannot address me like that."
"Oh, I'm sorry. How long have you been training to be a prat, milord?"
Somehow, Merlin finds himself with a mace in his hand and the Prince standing in front of him swinging another, and it goes downhill from there. It's by some sheer dumb luck (and a little bit of magic) that he (nearly) beats Arthur in the fight than ensues, spurred on by the jeers of the crowd that's gathered.
But then he stumbles and Arthur's standing above him smirking at the victory and guards grabs his shoulders, hauling him to his feet. Not the stocks again, Merlin thinks in despair, I just got out of them!
"Wait," the Prince suddenly says, stepping up to them. "Let him go. He's a fool, but a brave one."
The guards release him with a slight wrench, like they're shaking a misbehaving puppy, and Merlin suppresses a groan when it triggers a flash of pain in his shoulder. His side and back are sore as well: he must've hit something when falling but in the heat he's completely forgotten what or how. His breathing is still fast and harsh, and his blood sings with adrenaline.
Arthur regards him for a moment with blue eyes and his expression soften slightly, as if in thought; Merlin looks back at him trying to figure out what he's thinking. He struggles not to squirm under the Prince's scrutiny.
"There's something about you, Merlin …" he murmurs then. "I can't quite put my finger on it."
Admittedly he gets out of it easily this time and Merlin has a gut feeling this isn't going to be his last run-in with the Prince of Camelot. The Dragon's words ring foreboding in his mind. Can he really help change this arrogant man into the greatest King Albion has ever known?
… He has his doubts.
()()()
Gaius is more than furious when he storms down onto the square and more or less drags him away by the ear, ignoring his protests. The door to his room slams shut behind him, and the physician's ears practically have steam coming out of them. "Merlin, I've told you to be careful!"
"He needed to be taught a lesson!"
"By using magic?" his guardian hisses.
Merlin squeaks. "You saw that?"
"As I suspected, then. You're lucky no one else noticed. Magic is to be studied and mastered with care, not used for foolish pranks!"
Something in his chest stings and he twists to look at Gaius angrily. "What's there to master?" he exclaims. "I could move things like that before I could talk."
"Then by now you should know how to control yourself!"
"But I don't want to control myself!" Merlin is nearly yelling now, but it hurts having to suppress the emotions raging inside him. The words form on his tongue before he can restrain them and he can't even explain where they come from. He's always felt attached to his magic, but this feeling is new and surprisingly strong, this sudden need to defend it. Even at Will's questioning or his mother's reprimands he never got this angry.
"If I can't use magic, what do I have? I'm a useless nobody. Without my magic I'm nothing."
He storms up into the antechamber, his guardian worriedly staring after his back.
()()()
Later that evening someone softly knocks on the door announcing that they'll come in now, and Merlin untangles himself from the blankets. He's not been able to sleep. His body aches and he thinks he's torn the skin of his left shoulder – he must've fallen during the fight - it itches terribly and he can't stop himself from scratching it. But he's been unwilling to go down and ask for help, to come down and face the old man, still not entirely calm from his outburst. Facing him too early would just cause the emotions to resurface and he might do something stupid, possibly use magic unintentionally.
Gaius takes seat by the bedside and puts a water-filled bucket on the floor.
"Take your shirt off. Let's see what we've got," the old man hums and dips a piece of cloth in the warm water, turning away for a moment.
Merlin shivers from the chilly evening air as he pulls the garment off and presses it against his chest. When coming to face him again, Gaius doesn't seem to notice how his tightly hands are knotted as he clings to the fabric.
Since finding out about his different body, nobody but himself and his mother has seen him naked. When he was about fourteen, he noticed how his chest had started to swell just a bit, giving the illusion of a cleavage, and it made him even more self-conscious. It wasn't that prominent unless you really looked, or during his periods, then they'd sometimes swell a bit and grow tender to the touch. He's always avoided having to remove his shirt and it's the reason why he always makes sure to wear loose-fitting clothing. He doesn't like being stared at.
(So many times, Hunith had told him to be proud of himself and not so ashamed, but it's a constant struggle with his mind that he often loses.)
A hiss passes his lips when the wet cloth is pressed against the injury on his shoulder. "It might feel bad, but it's just shallow scrapes. It'll heal in no time," Gaius informs him.
"You don't know why I was born like this, do you?" Merlin asks, quietly, addressing the issue of his magic.
The physician pauses and shakes his head. "No."
He twists his head to look at the old man, pleading -"But why am I like this? Please, I need to know."
"I have no answers, Merlin. I am sorry."
His shoulders drop in disappointment, and he thinks of his mother's sorrowful eyes and the dragon's cryptic messages. "If you can't answer then nobody can."
As if amused, Gaius chuckles. "I am not all-knowing, Merlin, albeit I'm flattered you think so. There might be others who do have an answer and I am sure that one day, you'll find out." A small cup is placed in the warlock's hands. "Here, drink this. It'll help with the pain."
()()()
The next day doesn't go as planned, either. Then again … nothing ever seems to.
Apparently, Gaius is allowed on the royal feasts and as his ward, Merlin is also invited. He has a minor panic attack when finding that out. Because a royal feast means the King is there - the (rather terrifying) King who beheads magical beings - and his son, Arthur, is probably there too and the Prince might find his presence so offensive that he's thrown in the stocks again. It's an encounter he doesn't want to repeat.
"Do not be so downtrodden," Gaius says and smiles. "It will be fun."
"Fun? With that prat there?!" Either the Prince will ignore him or, more likely, he'll taunt him in a manner that is just asking for a fight or maybe he'll have him thrown out of the hall straight away. Merlin doesn't know what option he prefers.
"Yes. I'd like having an assistant there in case any accidents happen, given I am the court physician." Gaius gives him a thoughtful look. "Maybe you could begin learning the art of healing - I have no apprentice at the moment and I'm starting to get old. That way you would have an occupation, I might even persuade the Chief of Staff to give you a small salary."
"Yeah, maybe," Merlin agrees. His mother is somewhat of a healer and he's always been fascinated by it, after all, he might've picked up some. And living with Gaius this would only prove to be an advantage.
"It's a pity there's no finery for you to wear. I fear none of mine will be your size." Merlin is rather thankful of that fact. "Now clean up and stop being difficult, Merlin. I doubt we'll come close enough to the royal table anyway for Prince Arthur to order your head off."
"I wouldn't be so sure of that," the warlock mutters under his breath, but concedes.
()()()
Though Gaius says it isn't that big a feast compared to others this hall has seen, there are so many people and swirling colours and voices - Merlin has never been at such an event before and can't make any comparisons other than with the Beltane feasts back the village.
Those had become smaller and smaller each year. He recalls colours and songs and dancing from when he was very young, but then, as of late, some villagers even had refused to attend. "They fear it will attract attention," his mother had said once, "that the witch-hunters and knights shall come and arrest them for magic." If there was any time magic had openly been used at the village, it was then, at the Beltane feast. Sometimes travelling jugglers and theatre companies came and with them, there was often an exile sorcerer who did small tricks before eager children's eyes. But such activities had ceased three or four years ago.
There's no magic here, no sparkling lights flashing in the dark sky thanks to it, but the bright colours and mixed variety of the nobles' dresses and the hundreds of candles might just make up for it. Not to mention the food: the tables are overloaded with all kinds of meats and fruits and sweets – it's enough to feed the whole of Ealdor.
Merlin doesn't know where to look. He wants to see and hear and taste it all, inhale every impression and take part of this great event – even if he feels as if he's double-crossing himself and other magic-wielders like him, for this is a feast in reminder of the Purge. It celebrates the King's decision the eradicate magic from this land forever, marking twenty successful years in the fight against magic. No, Merlin shouldn't be happy and definitely not celebrate. But even Gaius doesn't look as serious as usual and he can't help smiling himself.
When a tall and dark-haired lady walks past, wearing the most revealing dress he's ever seen in his life, his mentor quietly reminds him he's here to work, not gawk at the ladies and Merlin reluctantly averts his eyes. Is that lady Morgana? he wonders because the lady is truly stunning. If it is then Gwen should be around here.
He's made to help with the final arrangements on the tables when he stumbles into said maidservant and her face lights up in surprise. "Merlin! What are you doing here? Not," she backtracks quickly, face flushing, "not that you're not welcome, or I'm not glad to see you, because I am! Just, you're not a servant at the castle, right?"
Merlin grins. "No, but I'm Gaius' ward and he wants an assistant nearby, in case anything happens." He glances toward the head table, where the dark-haired lady is having her hand kissed by the King in greeting, before moving on toward a group of knights. Only, it's not just unfamiliar knights: Merlin remembers a few faces from the incident in the market, and Arthur is there as well.
The prince is mock-hitting one of his friends in the stomach, feigning a brawl, smirking smugly and his friends laugh. The prat's probably talking about our fight, the warlock thinks and grimaces, ears burning. Bragging about his greatness … What a dollophead.
He speaks up again trying to stop thinking of the prince. He shouldn't – he's not gone here to get distracted by egoistical prats. But when he turns his head away he feels, momentarily, someone stare back at him from across the hall. He doesn't check to make sure.
"Is that Lady Morgana?" he asks.
Gwen nods enthusiastically. "She looks great, doesn't she?"
"Yeah."
"Well, some people are just born to be Queen," Gwen continues and pours some wine into a dozen glasses standing on the tray before her.
Before he can hinder himself, Merlin exclaims: "No!"
His eyes linger like glued on the lady, who approaches the Prince momentarily. He kisses her hand in a courtly, exchanging swift words and something Morgana says makes him scowl, before that air of pleasantness returns. Merlin drags his eyes away from them, focusing on Gwen's words instead.
"Well, I think so. She and Arthur are close, and they would have the people's support. And the prince hasn't taken up courting anyone yet, what I know of – nothing official at least," she says and blushes, probably thinking of some palace gossip that Merlin is glad he's not heard and hopefully never will hear. "He's a good man, inside," she adds, sounding hopeful – perhaps she's one of those people who always think the best of others; "even if on the outside he's a bully. What you did was brave."
"You heard about that?"
She nods again. "No peasant has ever challenged him before, not that I can recall."
"Oh well," Merlin mutters and looks away, ears burning, "it needed to be done. He's a total prat and a bully."
The maid gapes at him. "You can't call him that!"
"Of course I can," he says and grins, "on the risk of being sent to the stocks, naturally."
Frowning slightly the girl shakes her head. "You're so daring. But I like you. Not like like you, of course. Well, I mean," she corrects awkwardly when she realizes what she's said and that he might take offence; "I like you, like a friend sort of liking …"
"It's all right," he assures but can't help but gently tease her: "So what kind of men do you like? The rough, tough save the world kind of men?"
"No, I prefer much more ordinary men like you."
He almost starts laughing at the irony of it all. "Believe me Gwen," he says, "I'm far from ordinary."
"I mean – not you, you but like you …"
Clearly flustered, she averts her eyes but Merlin doesn't take offence, knowing full well what she meant and that the words weren't to do harm.
He nearly stumbles on his tongue, though, on his way to agree with her on how he too prefers much more ordinary men but shuts his mouth with the words resting on the tip of his tongue. To say such a thing would be stupid – she'd probably think ill of him, or worse, someone else might hear and spread it around.
To save him from the awkward silence that's rising between them like a wall, Gaius gestures for his attention and he excuses himself and walks over to his mentor somewhat relieved, standing near a pillar close to the royalty's table. Briefly he glances over his shoulder to see Gwen also being occupied by filling some nobleman's goblet of wine.
"I want you to be my eyes tonight, Merlin," Gaius instructs him. "If any of the guests goes ill or the like, you must alert me at once."
"So I must stand here all night?" he asks, aghast. "But that'll be hours!"
Gaius grins. "You're young! And there shall be entertainment, music, song. You can also drink and eat some from the servants' trays; you have my permission to do that. I'm sure you will enjoy yourself."
()()()
Then the witch enters the hall disguised as Lady Helen with a knife hidden underneath the folds of her dress, and everything quickly steeps downhill.
Merlin still feels so sorry for her. Her son might just have been doing magic innocently, to light a fire or heal someone, to do good – he might have been just like him, is the dreadful echo. But her revenge would be so bloody and if anyone should pay, it's the King, who's so ignorant and cold, not his son, who has nothing to do with it even if he is arrogant and self-centered. (Merlin remembers what she said though, at the courtyard: A tooth for a tooth. A son for a son. And if there was something he could've done before to hinder this, he would've done it.)
A scream cuts through the hall as the chandelier falls, and then her breath turns ragged, her young face twisting to become old and fragile again. And then as the crowd slowly starts waking, the witch throws the knife in a last desperate attempt, aiming at Arthur's chest.
Without thinking Merlin lunges forward.
By a stroke of luck no one has come to their senses enough to see his golden irises as he pulls the Prince out of the knife's path, time momentarily coming to a stand-still, and the hall lies in complete silence.
They land with a heavy thud, the man's chainmail sharp against Merlin's hands and it takes a moment for them to break apart. He quickly moves to his feet and, despite a nearby servant's offers, the Prince refuses any help and stands by himself, staring all the while at the warlock.
It's rather unnerving.
"You … you saved my boy's life." King Uther stares at him in disbelief and bewilderment, just like the Prince and Merlin avoids looking at the blonde, whose blue eyes are fixed upon him. The whole room seems to hold its breath in anticipation.
"You must be rewarded," the King says, ignoring Merlin's feeble protests, and faces the crowd tall and proud: "You will be given a place in the royal household. You shall be my son's manservant!"
The crowd claps their hands, first hesitantly, then cheering and Merlin wants to sink into the earth forever and hide.
"Father…!" cries the Prince in protest, flushing with anger.
Merlin feels like he's stuck in a haze, a bizarre dream, a nightmare - it can't possibly be real. Standing in a great hall next to the King who beheads magical beings, who's claiming he's going to be the Prince's manservant. The Prince's servant! Just because he doesn't want to see Arthur ruthlessly killed, it doesn't mean he wants to be near the arrogant prat always and serve him all day round and please his every whim and, and, and … !
He glances to his side, where the Prince is standing. Arthur senses his look and grimaces and Merlin looks away.
()()()
"Seems that you're a hero now," Gaius remarks later the same evening, giving him a strange shadowed look. Half-amused, half-guarded. Merlin wonders what's going through his head.
"Unbelievable isn't it?" Merlin muses, lips quirking.
The physician shakes his head. "No. From the moment I met you I knew there was something special about you, Merlin."
He raises an eyebrow: he hasn't expected that. Coming from Gaius that might even be praise. "Really?"
"Yes. It's not every day one saves the life of a Prince." Merlin can't stop the colour rising to his cheeks. "Truly, I have a feeling life has something extraordinary in store for you." With a secretive smile, the old man reveals something he's kept hidden beneath the table, wrapped in red cloth.
"This was given to me when I was your age, but I have a feeling you'll find it more useful than I did …"
Carefully Merlin accepts it; it's oddly heavy and smells of dust and mystery. Unwrapping it, he finds it's a book, decades old, maybe even older, bound in thick dark leather. Opening it, he sees the pages are full of signs he can't ever recall seeing before, a language he has never heard or learned – yet, something about it feels familiar. Like he's known it before, for a long, long time, and now it's finally time for it to surface. Each page is vigilantly made, each word written with a careful but firm hand, each colourful drawing made by a very talented artist's precise brush. Merlin marvels at their texture beneath his fingertips.
His mother never had any real books in her home and only owned a few rough parchments; nothing of this quality. As a little boy he used to repeat the letters of the alphabet attentively in the dirt. What Hunith knew of the world and had taught him, she had learned verbally from her mother and father, and they from their grandparents before them, mostly verbally. To own a book was something extraordinary. It was a sign of wealth as well as knowledge.
"…This book, is it -?" he asks quietly, looking up at Gaius wide-eyed. Is this the same man who just a few hours ago warned him not to use magic?
"A book of enchantment, yes."
Merlin stares between him and the book in awe. "It's beautiful."
"And dangerous. I know it is a great risk to give you this, but your magic is strong and wild. It needs taming, and I cannot promise to have the time to teach you, nor the skill to do so. This book will provide a very much needed guide."
"But, I can't read it." Merlin glances up at the old man. His reading skills are limited, even if his mother did her best trying to teach him; there were more urgent things to do and learn in a tiny farming village on the border between two kingdoms not at ease with each other, than to read and write. And as he opens the first pages he's greeted by unfamiliar script, the signs not the usual ones he's been taught. He places a finger on the parchment, tracing a string of foreign letters. "No one has taught me this language…I don't recognize it."
Gaius' lips twitch in bemusement and Merlin wonders how he can be so sure when he says, "Oh, I think you do." With that, he stands, starting to clear off the table; the conversation clearly over. "Hide it in a safe place."
Keep it secret.
Do not let anyone know.
(Merlin stays awake late into the night, turning the pages of the book, tracing the words. He can't fall asleep when presented with all this new thrilling knowledge, knowing that perhaps one day, he'll be able to use all of these spells, make sense of them. One day, he'll have the control to do so - and maybe one day he'll even become that great warlock that the dragon claims that he must be.)
()()()