Author's note: Thank you everyone who have read! Below there are some replies to reviews (that is if you've sent anon reviews: if you've sent a recent review and are a member of this site you should have received a PM from me) – I know I haven't replied to any comments in a while so I'll try to make up for it. If I've missed anyone, please let me know.
Review responses:
Neutrino (part 14): Thank you for reading! I'm happy you like my story and I'm working on the next few chapters whenever I am able.
T.P.A (part 14): Thank you for reading my story! Yes, I'm still writing (though I'm struggling to keep up with both writing and 'real life'). The story hasn't been abandoned!
princess (part 14): Thank you!
()()()
I Am the Embers of You Fire - You Are the Breaking of My Dawn
Part 15
()()()
A guest chamber has been prepared in the eastern wing of the castle. Merlin had carried all of Edwin's belongings there earlier, but then not all of it had been unpacked. As he goes to the man's chambers now, he finds the packs have been emptied and put away. A few candles are burning. The curtains are half-way drawn, as if the man prefers the gloom over the sharp sunlight.
The room is filled with furniture fit for royalty, as visiting dignitaries have been given this room in the past. The bed has been neatly made and the room already looks rather lived in. In the centre of the chamber, there's a table that doesn't quite fit in – it must've been brought up from some storage. The surface is rough and worn.
The table is filled with both familiar and unfamiliar objects. Some he's seen similar to in Gaius' rooms; others are completely new to him. Curiously he pokes at the nearest item, some kind of wheel with weights on it; it looks to be metallic, but it's really not as heavy as he'd expected it to be and it turns forward on its axis easily at the small touch, bumping into a nearby time-glass with a sharp clink. Sharply Merlin draws back his hand. He doesn't want to break anything and make the scarred man angry with him.
"It was originally designed for alchemy," Edwin intones behind him, smiling slightly at the servant's curiousity. Merlin turns around, bowing his head to him like one ought to do before one's elders and those of higher position (he doesn't want to give a bad impression), somewhat startled that he hasn't heard the man approach.
The word clicks in Merlin's mind; he must've heard Gaius say it before or perhaps read it in a book. "Making gold?" he asks.
He's never been sure such a thing is possible, but, then again, he's magic – a contradiction in itself – so the possibility can't simply be discarded. If he were able, he'd happily transform worthless objects into gold, but he's tried foolish things like that in the past to feed him and his mother in the cold winters, and never succeeded.
The man raises an eyebrow. "You have an interest in science?"
"Well, science is knowledge."
"Indeed. It has the answers to everything."
"Maybe. But it can't explain love," Merlin blurts, and then bites his tongue. He hadn't meant to say that out loud!
The man merely looks amused. "So you are in love, boy?"
"Err, no, I meant – I meant feelings, emotions," he says quickly, averting his eyes for a moment in embarrassment. Surely he sounds like some scatter-brained fool. "Science can't explain that."
"You seem quite bright for a servant," Edwin remarks.
"Oh, don't be fooled, I'm not that bright," Merlin quips, shaking his head.
"Oh? Something tells me otherwise."
The man fixes him suddenly with a stare and Merlin feels like rooted to the ground, as the man searches him with his eyes. What's he thinking? That he's a too-open-mouthed-fool for his own good? That he really is clever? Or something else entirely? Slightly uncomfortable, Merlin shifts from one foot to the other.
"What's your name, boy?" Edwin asks.
"Merlin. My name's Merlin." Hesitantly he adds (as if the man already wasn't aware); "Um, I was sent here by the Prince to assist you, I'm a servant - so if there's anything you need anything - need something to be fetched or something, I could fix that."
"Of course, of course," Edwin says and nods, and the spell is broken. "I need some ingredients for a tonic I am making. There's an apothecary in town, I suppose?" Merlin nods, remembering all the trips he's taken down there for Gaius; the little house is filled with the musky scent of herbs and the ever-burning hearth keeping the room dry, and the slightly hunchback old man behind the desk. "Well then, I shall write a list. I want you to go down and buy what I need."
The man reaches for a piece of parchment resting on the nearby table and scribbles down a few words. When given the list, Merlin recognizes some words like hawthorn but some are unfamiliar. He shrugs; it's probably some medicine things he doesn't understand yet.
"And here are some coins." A small pouch is put in his hand. There's a lot of money in there! Briefly Merlin wonders if the man would notice if he were to grab a penny for his own and buy some sweets at the marketplace. (Gaius never lets him do that.)
"Is there anything else, sir?" Merlin asks politely.
"Not at the moment. Off you go."
()()()
He returns (a handful of paper-wrapped caramels hiding in his pocket) to find Edwin's room to find it empty. A few candles are burning, and the curtains are half-closed, letting in only some pale shafts of sunlight; the rest of the chamber lies in shadows. The items on the table haven't been stirred since last he was here, except for one thing – a small wooden box, previous hidden, is now lying atop of an open book. Unable to help his curiousity, Merlin approaches, setting down the ingredients from the apothecary on the nearest available spot; then he reaches out a hand toward the box. It is as if beckoning him. The wood is entirely usual – cold, smooth apart from some knots within the wood; there's nothing usual about it at all. Yet, there's something...
There are some inscriptions atop of it. Looking more closely, Merlin's eyes widen – that's the language of the Old Religion! He knows some of Gaius' books are written in that tongue, since it's an ancient language, spoken not only by magic folk but by healers and other wise people as well. He trails a finger over the words, brows furrowing in concentration as he translates them.
Suddenly there's a noise behind him – a door opening, footsteps. Startled Merlin drops the box before he's able to translate the whole sentence; the lid remains tightly closed. The box clatters onto the worktop table. Quickly he turns around, coming face to face with Edwin.
"Oh – I – um, sorry, I was just –" he starts but the man holds up a hand.
"It's quite all right. I understand you must be curious."
Merlin quietly breathes a sigh of relief that the man isn't furious at him – Gaius certainly wouldn't have been happy to find his ward's hands pawing at his medical instruments! "Sorry, sir," he says again.
The scarred man sends him a short, sharp look – a warning: don't stick your nose into things you oughn't – but then his face smoothens and he walks over to the table. He nods pleased when seeing the herbs Merlin has brought. "No harm has been done. I hear you have been helping the court physician in the past. Do you know anything about medicine?"
"A little, what Gaius has taught me," Merlin responds.
"Of course," the man nods. "He is your mentor, correct? I have heard much about him. He is indeed renowned for his knowledge and skills as a physician."
"He's the best physician I know," Merlin says at once, but then remembers that the man standing before him is the one who cured Lady Morgana – not Gaius. However, the man just smiles without being angry.
"Perhaps I could teach you some more. I am sure your mind is sharper than most people give you credit for, and if you are to be my assistant I need someone knowledgeable by my side."
"Really? You'll teach me?"
Edwin pulls out one of his books, and though Merlin has been instructed by Gaius and old tomes before, something makes him a lot more curious now than usually. "Here, let me show you …"
()()()
It's nightfall, and Merlin returns home. Gaius has prepared dinner and the beckoning of warm food is irresistible. "So how is working for Edwin?" the old man asks rather casually as they settle by the table, bowls filled with warm broth.
"Great!" Merlin responds enthusiastically and grins. "He's been showing me how to make some concoctions to drive off fevers and stuff, and letting me read in some of his books."
"I can't remember you being so keen about medicine before, despite the numerous times I have tried to tell you about it," his uncle says seriously and for a moment Merlin blushes, slightly ashamed (it's not his fault that his head drops when his uncle starts talking about bloodletting and the basics on the human anatomy!), until he realizes Gaius is struggling to hide an amused smile.
"Well, you'd shoo me away whenever I got too close to the cauldron," the warlock murmurs and the old man raises an eyebrow.
"I am aware you are rather clumsy, Merlin, and not all of my medicines are easy or cheap to produce."
"Did you know Edwin has books written in the language of the Old Religion? At least half a dozen."
"Really? I wonder where he got his hands on those," Gaius muses. "The King would hardly allow it, if he knew." Convincing the King to let the court physician keep his old tomes had been difficult, and Gaius doubts that Uther would let a stranger keep such books, even if they've saved Lady Morgana's life: after all, even if not having anything to do with magic, simply having a text writing in the old language is suspicious.
Merlin bites his lip, his eagerness to tell his mentor everything he's learned today momentarily stalled. "Well, I told him that, when I saw the books ... Edwin said he's not showed them to anyone else, that's he's been careful ... I promised I'd not tell anyone. Gaius, you won't—will you? Please, he helped Morgana, those books can't possibly cause any harm to anybody."
"No, my lad," Gaius says with a sigh – there's a shadow on the old face, flickering past but it might just be the gloomy eve, and it smoothens over before Merlin can ask. "But I'd preferred it if you did not know about them either," the old man murmurs concernedly.
"They're really interesting though. There's a lot about uncommon sicknesses or old cures. There are no spells though; I don't think they're magic..." Merlin chews his bottom lip. "He'd hardly use magic right under the King's nose!"
Besides, he hasn't felt that aura that he's felt around every other magic person he's met – maybe it's possible for a person to hide it, Merlin doesn't know. If Edwin has magic the warlock cannot tell. Part of him hopes the man doesn't. The King would be furious, not caring that the man saved the Lady: he'd be sent to the pyre at once.
The scar ... it looks like an old burn, his mind quietly supplies against his will. He doesn't want to get second thought, doesn't want to start doubting, but – Can he have met the fire before?
Shaking his head to chase away the unwanted thoughts, he looks at his mentor. "Anyway, he's asked me to gather some supplies tomorrow morning; I need to get to bed early."
"Of course," Gaius says mildly. There's still that slight frown lingering on his brow. Merlin wonders what's going through his mind. Maybe he's still displeased that he wasn't allowed to be there when Edwin cured Morgana, to observe and learn from him. Hmm, maybe I could talk with Edwin about it, Merlin thinks, ask if he'd spend some time with Gaius, I'm sure being able to have intricate medical discussions will sheer my uncle up some!
"I'll wake you up at sunrise. It wouldn't do to be late."
()()()
Morgana is a lot better now. Her old energy is back, and so are her jibes. Arthur is naturally grateful albeit annoyed about the latter, and has taken to visiting her for a short while every day; as pestering as she is, he's concerned about her for she's the closest to a sister he has.
While Merlin is assisting Edwin, helping the scarred man settling in, Arthur has called for his old manservant to work for him in the days. Morris works in quiet, without complaint, and for the first time in months Arthur gets called 'sire' more times a day than he gets by his name. It's startlingly disconcerting.
Despite hating having to admit it, Arthur misses his manservant's prattle and bad jokes, those mischievous smiles revealing how young the servant really is – by the gods, it's only been two days and he's run into the boy in the corridors at times even, and giving him some pointless chores merely for the amusement of seeing his annoyed spluttering; he's spotted him from afar helping Edwin, walking to and fro with supplies, and yet ... yet Arthur's days have never felt this empty.
"Do you require your armour today, sire?" Morris inquires in a perfect servantly tone. No haughtiness, no trace of sarcasm. There are no jibes about the thick-headedness of knights.
"I have training later today," Arthur says, reaching for the over-filled plate resting on the tray placed on the table. Lunch is so overly extravagant than what he's gotten used to: there's wine, not water, and the honeyed bread lying beside it suddenly does not look as tempting as it used to.
Arthur's hand hovers for a moment above the cup of wine without grasping it.
"Sire?" asks the servant quizzically. "Is anything wrong, sire?"
"No. Fetch me some water."
Morris looks utterly befuddled, never having received such an order from a dining royal before. "Water, sire?"
"Yes – don't just stand there! I don't wish for this wine. And this honeyed bread doesn't appetite me; get rid of it."
Eyes comically wide, the servant struts up to the table and takes the cup and the bread. "I shall be back shortly, sire." Still wearing that confused expression, Morris takes his leave. As the door closes, Arthur draws a sigh, rubbing at his temples.
What is wrong with him? He's never felt like this before. Just because his usual manservant isn't here to serve him it doesn't mean he has to lose his appetite! And prefer water over wine! He's never before...
The Prince heaves a sigh. He's pushed away all such notions – they are but the thoughts of a naive boy; an unattainable desire – for weeks and weeks; why must he grow so weak now and give in?! It's not possible, the yearning growing in his gut, his heart – it's not just a matter of lust. Such a thing can be remedied quickly. Lust is swift and passionate, but it passes and he could just order his servant to his bed.
But Arthur knows he hasn't the heart to do so. He can't bear the thought of using his manservant in that way, probably forcing him into something he does not want – if he ever did that, Merlin would hate him forever.
A Prince shouldn't be bothered by that. A mere servant's hate means nothing. Nothing! And yet – if Merlin were to hate him, or worse, become frightened of him ... (those blue eyes staring up at him hurtfully) ... No. He cannot let that happen. No.
This is different. This craving, this hunger making him ache, making his thoughts stray to paths they haven't before. He finds himself staring far too often, losing control of his mind and one day he fears he shall also lose control of his body. What then? What should he do?
"Damn it," Arthur mutters on his breath, along with a few more foul words, echoing coldly in the empty room.
He could go down to the lower town. Tonight even. Sneak past the guards and disguise himself, find some girl in an alleyway and give her a silver coin for her services and her silence. He could. He's the Prince, so he cannot do it in the open, but still, if say his men would find out they would not resent him - surely they wouldn't! – for he is a man, and men are able to do such things. Yet, why does his chest twinge at the thought?
It's almost like … almost like unfaithfulness.
How utterly ridiculous!
How can it be infidelity? There's no commitment between then, no promises; and there cannot be, because they are master and servant, and stories like theirs rarely have happy endings. Arthur isn't naïve; he can't keep dreaming any longer. He cannot afford it. It's distracting him and could prove to be fatal.
I shouldn't let this go on!
"Sire?" The door opens. "Sire, I brought you water." A pitcher is placed on the table along with a new goblet.
Arthur stares for a moment, like confused, at the pitcher and then glances at the servant who has taken position by the foot of the table, waiting expectantly for new orders. Then, remembering abruptly where he is and when he is, he reaches for the freshly filled goblet, mechanically, and takes one large gulp after the other.
Maybe I'd sack him, he thinks briefly. Let him remain Edwin's assistant permanently! Let him run errands for him across the castle and smile at other people while I do my own duties and never mentions his name again. Father would be pleased. He thinks Merlin is but a fool, constantly bumbling and in the way …
… but …
"Sire, is there anything you require?" Morris asks quietly, in that unobtrusive way a perfect servant should; not in that sarcastic, exasperating way that Merlin would – and he dips his head slightly in respect and enquiry.
"No," Arthur answers shortly.
Abruptly, he wants to be alone; even if the servant cannot hear his thoughts, it feels as if he could, and it makes shame rise clenching in his chest hot and fierce. It's fear, he realizes, fear that the servant will hear the betrayal of his mind and heart and somehow rely word to his father, even if that is completely impossible.
The servant cannot read his thoughts. Still, Arthur's heart has begun thundering and he cannot stop it. He can't let the servant see; can't let his weakness betray him.
So the Prince gestures toward the door, directing the servant towards it. "No," he says again. "I'll not require you anymore today. You may go."
()()()
"It can't be easy," Edwin speaks up suddenly, when the servant is sorting some bottles for him, and Merlin nearly drops the vial he's carrying, whipping his head around in shock. His hand tightens instinctively around the glass.
"How … What do you mean?" he asks, shaken. He'd not expected to be acknowledged, and the words hit a chord inside him with such bitterness, it almost makes him choke. The man can't know, can he?
Or can Edwin see? See his differences? Sense his magic? Or is there something else, something he's said or done that's given either of his secrets away? He's been so careful, and Edwin's only been at the castle for a few mere hours, there's no possible way –
"I couldn't help but notice how you do not seem quite alike the other servants, Merlin," the scarred man continues and takes the box from Merlin's hands, placing it on the table. His voice is like oil, smooth and cool. "I've observed you for some time. You do not follow the other servants in the corridors, but neither do you walk where the noblemen and royalty do. You clear your own path. There's something about you … something …" There it is again, the slight smile, just barely perceptive. "I think one could say that you are - unique."
(Nobody but his mother has called him that before … also Gaius has called him special; he's heard murmurs of strange and various other insults as well; yes, Arthur especially tends to use such adjectives – but not unique.)
Edwin looks interested, in a manner which no nobleman or important person has ever paid him heed before; it both chills and warms Merlin and he wonders if this how it feels to be important.
"Is anything ailing you, Merlin?"
The answer rests on the tip of his tongue but, then, something makes him pause, tugging at his insides and his face starts burning. He cannot tell, not to a stranger, even if they're a physician. He'd barely been able to tell Gaius! It had hurt so much, even if there'd been comfort and relief after the secret was off his chest – he's not sure if he can take another wave of shame and pity so soon.
And does he really want anyone else to find out? Oughtn't he first tell Gwen and Arthur…? Those that he calls his friends, do they not deserve to know the truth before anyone else?
Conscience gnaws at his heart like a leech, tenacious and coarse. Friends … Arthur may not see him as such, but Merlin has this tiny hope of the Prince and him one day not just being master and servant, that sharp line resting between them; and sometimes Arthur had even glanced at him as if …
If he ever is to make Arthur trust him as his friend, shouldn't he be told before this stranger gets to know?
Merlin bites his lip. But if … if Edwin could cure it … if there'd be no such secret …
The man's cold irises are fixed on his face. "So there is, then," Edwin says calmly.
"Is it true?" Merlin can't stop himself from asking. "That you can cure anything?"
The man looks at him and smiles, and Merlin, who is apprehensive and overjoyed and scared at the thought of it being true, is too distracted at what this would mean to notice the gleam in Edwin's eyes.
"Anything, Merlin. Anything."
()()()
It's what he's wanted all along, isn't it? A normal body – a normal life. A body like that of a normal boy, not this in-between, not this abnormal skin.
What about his magic then? He lives and breathes and is magic – could it too just be taken away, gotten rid of…? If that happened, then what and who would he be? A nobody? His heart pounds wildly and blood rushes loudly past his ears at this thought. If there was no magic, would there be no heavy burden on his shoulders, would there be a destiny if it disappeared?
Such a thought is both haunting and relieving. He shouldn't speak of it, it's so close to his heart and he doesn't want it to go away. He wants it to stay … Like he'd told Gaius several months ago, when he arrived.
Without my magic I'm nothing.
If only it wasn't so… If only he didn't feel so dependent on it … then perhaps he could get used to the thought of not having the power flowing through his veins. His strange body on the other hand – if it could just be moulded into a better shape, something acceptable, then things would work out. He wouldn't have to hide anymore, sneak into dark corners.
He shouldn't mention it at all to Edwin, shouldn't make him suspicious. It couldn't just get ripped away from him – no, it seems impossible. Unless Edwin's cure could do that … however it doesn't matter, he won't mention it and he'll keep it because he wants it.
But his body, it's his body that he wants to change and if he does that, everything will be so much simpler.
He wonders if changing his body will hurt. Surely it must hurt - he's seen Gaius curing or trying to cure people enough to know there's more to it that ill-tasting medicines; there are knives and blood. Somehow that's not what he's frightened of, not the pain, but changeitself. If it really is possible … his whole life might take a different turn.
But. It would be worth it. He'd embrace it. Normality.
No more hiding or mortification or sneaking away, no more glances over his shoulder, no more shame.
One secret less. One lie less.
()()()
"Oh, hello Merlin!" Gwen rushes up to him. Her hands are full of laundry, but she appears mindless of it; some of the cloth is slowly but steadily starting to slip from the pile. Merlin catches one right before it falls. "Oh, thank you. I haven't seen you all day."
"I know, I've been busy helping Edwin, finding him supplies. I think he means to follow Gaius on one of his rounds in the lower town today."
The maidservant nods. But she doesn't smile; rather, she looks apprehensive, and she glances up and down the corridor before speaking – there is just one or two other busy servants passing by and none of them stops to listen.
"There's something about him, Merlin," Gwen whispers, "about Edwin. I can't say why, but I just don't trust him."
The warlock bites his lip. "He healed Morgana. Surely –"
"There was no blood in her ear. I know it. Please, you have to trust me! Gaius saw it too, didn't he? Edwin put that blood there."
That is also what he had feared: the doubt. What if it's a lie and Edwin really cannot cure anything? What if he didn't actually heal Morgana, but managed to fake it somehow? What if – what if?
"Maybe the blood was some consequence of him healing the lady," Merlin says hesitantly. He doesn't want to believe Edwin to be fraud, not now, but he trusts Gwen and he knows in his heart that she would never lie to him.
Why does he have to start doubting now?
"But how?" Gwen presses on.
Merlin looks away, ashamed. "…I don't know."
He can cure anything. Anything, a small voice echoes in his mind, squeezing about his heart, and he wants to believe it too so, so badly. Anything. Anything -
Gwen briefly touches his arm. "Maybe you should let Prince Arthur know. He'd listen to you, surely …"
"Maybe," he agrees quietly, "but I'm not sure he'd believe me. The lady has been cured after all."
A pained frown crosses the maidservant's face. "Oh. All right. But Merlin, please be careful around Edwin. He makes me … uneasy. And you're so often all alone with him and, well." Gwen bites her lip. Suddenly Merlin doesn't want to hear anymore, the prospect of her words frightening. "Just be careful, all right?"
()()()
Please be careful.
Oh, what should he do? He couldn't afford doubting now! Edwin said … Edwin said …
And he wants to be normal! This might be his one chance, since his magic won't work and Gaius refuses to try anything. After this there might not be another opportunity. What's he got to lose anyway? Either he gains a new life or this one goes on; there is no third alternative.
Gwen wouldn't lie, the voice reminds him, but then also; not as you lie to her and everybody else.
It would stop all the lies. The lies …
The scarred man is fiddling with his instruments as the servant opens the door, closing it firmly behind him; the healer looks up at him inquiringly.
"I want you to cure me," Merlin says, no traces of doubt in his voice (he hopes).
"So there is an illness that's befallen you, Merlin," the man says, the faint shadow of a raised eyebrow.
"N-no," he mutters, gaze flickering. He's skipped duties for Arthur to look for Edwin which he knows he'll be in trouble for later, but now that he stands here, he hesitates with fear, embarrassment. Part of him yells at him to turn and run and forget that stupid dream. But – but.
"I mean yes," Merlin says. "It's, it's complicated. It's – my body. It's not normal. I want to be normal."
The man studies him with a scrutinizing gaze and Merlin squirms a bit, uncomfortable under the glazed eyes. "I'll need to examine you, of course," Edwin says next.
Merlin swallows hard at the prospect, of standing naked and having the man's foreign hands on his body. But – normality. And despite the feelings of wrong wrong wrong rising in his throat and he feels a bit ill, he stands still and lets the man approach, lay a hand on his shoulder. It should've been warning enough. But he pushes it away and lets the hand linger (the grip is unfamiliar; nothing like Arthur's strong presence which is somewhat comforting, nothing like Gaius' supportive concern or Gwen's soft gentleness).
"Come to my chambers right at sunset," Edwin says. "I am certain we can come to an arrangement."
()()()
"You're very quiet, Merlin. Is anything amiss?" his mentor asks that afternoon, when Merlin drops by for a late dinner; the old man is pouring over some old books, searching for something. Merlin is too preoccupied to really pay heed or ask what, and finds no appetite, fiddling restlessly with the bread.
It takes a moment for the warlock to react. "No," he says then. "It's fine."
Gaius hums and turns open another tome. It's an endless cycle, the rasping of parchment as he turns the pages, scanning them relentlessly - but for what Merlin doesn't know and he cannot bring himself to care right now. "If anything's bothering you Merlin, you know you can tell me, anytime," the physician says gently.
He nods, not really listening – the voice seems like echoing from far off, he can't quite reach it.
Just a few hours left.
"You better get back to work, Merlin," Gaius says. "You still haven't finished polishing Arthur's armour."
Armour. He could get it done within the blink of an eye, with a snap of his fingers. He could do it quickly within the shadows of his own chamber, or he could go to the armoury where he wouldn't be disturbed. But the room is so cold and dank and dark, like a prison, walls cramping around him, so he gathers up the metal pieces and with intent carries them to the Prince's chambers.
Arthur is sitting by the desk and barely reacts as he enters. His old manservant, who's come back to do those chores that Merlin hasn't the time to do now when he's helping Edwin, isn't present, but the room is entirely spotless. The warlock wonders briefly if Arthur has noticed that and will sack him now he realizes that Merlin can be clumsy and break things and be inefficient.
Pulling up a stool in front of the dimly lit fireplace, Merlin sets to work quietly, breathing in the warm air of the chamber, relishing it. It's comforting somehow, up here, the candle-lights flickering warmly, with the Prince's presence nearby. It's familiar.
He's missed it.
Merlin lingers there for over an hour, silent as he works but occasionally he glances toward the windows. Each tiny link has been polished to perfection and he can see his own reflection in the gauntlets – for some reason, it's unusually pale and gaunt –and his hands are sore and covered with oil.
When placing the items in fine rows on the table, ready to be use tomorrow morning, he – for the third time or so – nearly cuts open his hand on the sword but doesn't make a noise even as he flinches, the blade so near his skin. He works in complete silence, not like usual when he prattles and jibes, unable to stand the quietness – usually Arthur joins in talking and his retorts are as sharp as a knife. But now, the Prince completely forgets he's even there until he places the last leg-guard on the table and asks if he can leave.
"You're done? Finally! What took so long? You're usually slow but not like this," Arthur says and mutters something on his breath to hide how startled he is at Merlin's soft voice, words that are out of the warlock's hearing range. Then the man clears his throat and puts down the quill. "Never mind. I need to change. Find me a nightshirt and prepare my bed."
Merlin upturns the thick duvet covers and pulls the requested garment from the wardrobe, laying it on the bed. "Well? Can I go now?" he asks impatiently. Outside, it's rapidly getting dark. Nearly sunset.
"First you're slow and then you're in a hurry," Arthur mutters displeased as he signs a letter before closing the envelope with his seal, which has been heated over the nearest candle. The smell of wax fill Merlin's nostrils. "You're difficult to predict you know; how bad a trait that is, however, I'm not yet certain."
It's sunset now, he needs to hurry to Edwin's guest chambers across the wing, without alerting suspicion. He hates having to look people in the eye and tell lies, even if he's been raised to do so all of his life, but this one is important and maybe, after this, he won't have to lie as much in the future.
"I – I promised to help out Gaius," Merlin murmurs eventually, glancing at the door.
"You're also my servant, not his," the prince says in that displeased tone Merlin's always found a bit befuddling. Arthur twiddles the quill between his forefinger and thumb, frowning. He still hasn't changed into a nightshirt. Weren't he so otherwise preoccupied, Merlin would've remarked at it, and there'd be bantering and maybe he'd even smile a bit, but Arthur is still rattled, as if not quite convinced Lady Morgana is all right – he's been strangely quiet ever since Edwin healed her.
"Very well. You may go – but you better be on time tomorrow morning!"
His smile at the prince is looped and there's nothing hindering his thundering heart. By the way Arthur looks at him, it might even be audible, echoing wetly in the chamber, the anxiety clawing at his throat. "Of course. I shall. Sleep well, sire."
The door closes soundly behind him. Arthur stares after the disappearing servant, pondering his offbeat silence, then shakes his head and heads toward the wardrobe to change.
()()()
There's a heavy smell in the room of herbs and candle-wax – odd, it wasn't like that before and the chamber was lighter before too - much deeper than in Gaius' chambers, and something else Merlin cannot place. Some herb or concoction. It's intoxicating and for a moment, he's dizzy; something flickers across his eyelids. Then he blinks, his sight clears and Edwin is standing before him. The door clicks shut.
The scarred man smiles. "You're here. Very good, Merlin." He stretches out a hand in friendly gesture and motions him further inside. "Come with me."
There's a table, somewhat like the one in Gaius' rooms where he put the dead bodies for examination, empty save for a handful of knives and other medical devices. Unwillingly Merlin shivers at the sight. He forces himself to move forward, taking deep breaths. The windows are covered by shutters and curtains. A few candles flicker in the dark.
There's … there's nothing to be scared off, he thinks trying to convince himself, after this everything will be so much better. Everything will be solved. You will have nothing to be ashamed of…
Edwin pushes him toward the table. "Lie down. Let me have a look at you."
Merlin does. He swallows harshly. Why is his pulse so rapid? It shouldn't be. He shouldn't be this uneasy. This is what he wants, isn't it?
Isn't it?
Isn't it…?
"You said that your body bothers you?" Edwin asks, softly, like oil dripping across parchment.
"Y-yes."
"Let me see, then." The words are so short and brisk. The man turns, reaching for something out of Merlin's sight.
The room suddenly feels like it's shrinking around him – growing smaller and smaller trapping him like in a cage, as if he were an animal. But slowly, Merlin reaches up to grasp the lacings of his shirt, breaths rattling tremulously against his ribcage – this is what I want, that dubious voice echoing inside; this is what I want.
"Is is … How are you going to do it?" Merlin whispers, hands cold, control wavering – why's he whispering? He doesn't want to whisper; doesn't want to seem weak or scared ...
But the knives lying beside the table, the man's slowly nearing hands and the towering dark of the night is making him shiver again. The thought of Edwin looking at him, or his hands … his hands …
He swallows, gripping the lacings harshly, eyes fixed on the scarred man's face. It is as if an invisible force has reached out to stop him, because he can't bring himself to pull the garments off of his body.
"It's very simple. Straightforward," Edwin says and smiles again, but now Merlin doesn't find it at all soothing. The man picks up that box, which Merlin had helped carrying and nearly dropped to the floor just the earlier day, and the healer places it onto the table in an angle which makes it hard for Merlin to see what's inside when it's opened.
And then Edwin's murmuring in words that Merlin, even if he's never heard them before, can place with startling clarity. There's a sudden noise, hissing and scratching.
He flinches and stares up at the man, who remains entirely calm and indifferent as if he isn't practicing illegal arts at the very heart of Camelot.
"You're using magic!"
"Yes. Magic." The man looks him in the eye, gaze calm and gleaming. Controlled. Cold.
Merlin's heart pounds so hard.
Magic… he just used magic right in front of me – as if…as if he's not scared I'll run to the king and turn him in. Magic!
They're the same.
For a moment he makes no sound, can't answer. His throat is parched. Magic ... So it was magic that healed Morgana and magic that can cure anything.
He doesn't know what kind of magic or spells that could do that; whenever he's asked such questions he's been given no clear answers. Gaius has always been so vague on magic and what its limits are. Telling him neither what it can and can't do. And he's not found anything in his magic book yet, and asking the dragon is useless. He can't do it himself, he's not strong enough …
"Does that bother you, Merlin?"
He shakes his head silently in reply. If magic is the answer ... then he'll let Edwin use it.
"Relax," Edwin says, entrancingly. The warlock clings to the word as if to a final comfort. There's a rustling noise and right before Merlin's eyes slides shut as if by an enchantment, he spots something small and black slipping from the man's open palm. "In just a moment, everything will be all right."
()()()