Short chapter, I know. But, hey—it's a chapter! Also, confrontation-time… sort-of.

Chapter 4

As soon as Merlin was well enough to stay awake for more than an hour at a time—meaning reliably awake for more than a few minutes while Arthur had the time away from his duties to visit—Arthur helped bundle the boy (he seemed so young, though Arthur knew the difference between their ages couldn't be more than a few years) into his own room.

He'd looked over that room before hand, of course, and acquired a thick fleece-lined blanket for the narrow bed as well as a fleece to cover the cot-like mattress. Merlin's health was still a concern, and it wasn't as though Arthur couldn't afford it.

As soon as Gaius was gone and there were two doors shut and locked between the hallway and the two of them, Arthur could no longer hold back the question that had been burning in his mind since the physician had admitted to his ward using sorcery.

"What are you thinking, Merlin!?" he hissed, because two doors or not, the risk of his father finding out was real and terrifying and a shout might still be heard.

Merlin blinked at him, propped up on one elbow and clearly confused. "Sorry?" he offered weakly.

The realization that Merlin probably didn't have a clue to what exactly Arthur was referring to prompted the prince to elaborate. "You're using sorcery in Camelot!"

Merlin went dangerously pale, arm giving out to drop him the rest of the way to the fleece-covered mattress, but Arthur had gotten far too worked up to completely stop his mini-rant no matter how alarmed Merlin was. "If my father ever hears of this, he'll kill you!"

Something seemed to click and Merlin got a little color back, "Wait… you're not going to tell him?"

And that shouldn't hurt as much as it did, Arthur reflected as he staggered slightly before dropping to one knee to be on eye-level with his servant, all the rage evaporating with the tone of scared, hopeful confusion. "No, Merlin, I'm not. But, damn it all, why are you even here? You're from Cenred's kingdom! Magic isn't illegal there, you wouldn't be killed if you were found out in his castle—why did you come here?"

Merlin scoffed, "Not on sorcery charges, maybe, but if Cenred had ever found me out, he'd have me his pet weapon or dead. Frankly, Camelot is less terrifying—at least your father won't want me to kill for him."

Oh. That—that was something Arthur had not thought of. "You're… powerful, then?" a few tricks wouldn't be worth the bother of finding a way to insure obedience, after all.

"Powerful enough," Merlin admitted, "or Gaius says so."

"Why did you learn, if you're so afraid of being used?"

"Learn?" Merlin snorted, derisive at the thought, "I never learned magic, Arthur. You think I would have chosen this? No, I was moving objects and making lights with magic before I could walk or talk. According to my mother, I nearly set the house ablaze the day I was born."

That—was an entirely different kind of staggering, and if Arthur hadn't already been on his knees (strange thought, for all that it only leveled their eyes with Merlin lying on the low cot) he would have dropped to them to keep from falling entirely. He'd always been taught that sorcerers chose magic, that they had to learn, that they always, always sought out that corrupting power.

"You mean—"

"I've—asked a lot of questions and done a lot of research since I came here, since I had someone to ask and books to look through. There are different kinds of magic-users; the most powerful are witches and warlocks. The ones who have magic whether they want it or not. Most—most don't start showing signs until they're at least fifteen summers, though Gaius says some show as young as ten, but only sorcerers and magicians choose."

"You said—the day you were born?"

Merlin closed his eyes and rolled onto his back, "Even warlocks are supposed to have to learn how to use their power, or at least how to restrain it. Magic is supposed to only work through spells besides maybe knocking small objects back or prophetic dreams—nothing that has much influence on the physical world. I—I never needed spells. I'd never even heard a spell until I came here, much less cast one, but—things happen. I'm getting better at controlling it—learning spells has helped with that—but if I want to move something or slow time or freeze an object mid-air it just happens."

Arthur tried to wrap his head around that, around 'no choice', and wondered how many his father had sentenced to death for something they didn't even want, much less ask for. How many young people had died on a pyre for an accidental flash of golden eyes they hadn't even known they'd had?

He had to think, to try and decide what (if anything) he could do. And the fact that Merlin (and maybe others like him) chose risking death over being forced to kill—how many had never deserved the death his father's orders meted out?

At least most of the young ones were given the headsman's axe instead of the pyre, and, gods, what did it say about the kingdom that that was a mercy?

He didn't realize how long the silence had stretched or that Merlin had twisted to face him again—or even that he'd closed his eyes—until Merlin's voice got him to redirect his attention back to his (pale, weakened) servant. "Arthur, it's not your fault."

"I've killed people for using magic, Merlin," he couldn't spare the effort to even his voice, "Gods, how many were innocent?"

"I don't know," Merlin stated, matter-of-fact, "We'll probably never know. And—that's not your fault. You've been raised to believe that magic is a choice made by those seeking power—and sometimes that's true. I don't know what happened to make your father hate magic so much, only that the ban was set twenty years ago. I don't think he knew much about magic when he set it, and I doubt he knows much more now. But you cannot be blamed for ignorance when you've been denied all chance to learn, and you can't be blamed for fear when the only magic-users you see are those seeking revenge. The ones who want to be left in peace hide, usually far away from the cities, and they won't step forward to denounce the ones who don't. We're all afraid of each other."

"If most hide far from the cities and you can barely keep your magic from showing—why are you here?"

"Um, Gaius is my uncle. Mother knew he knows a fair amount about magic, and it was getting harder and harder for me to hide—she hoped he'd be able to help."

"Gaius is your uncle? Really?" and that was an easy topic, one that didn't hurt, but he needed to think of something that didn't hurt, if only for a while.

"Well, he's my mother's older half-brother."

"Why don't you call him 'Uncle', then?"

Merlin shrugged one shoulder, eyes half-closed, "I'd never met him before I came here. It just felt odd to call him 'Uncle' when I didn't even know him, and since—I guess it's more a habit, now, than anything."

Arthur sighed, "Get some rest, Merlin. You're still recovering."

"Hmm," the boy let himself curl against the fleece beneath him and Arthur found himself drawing the blanket up over thin shoulders.

"Merlin?" he asked on a whim, waiting a moment until a single blue eye peered up at him, "How old are you?"

"Almost seventeen," Merlin replied, closing the eye again, "Why?"

"It occurred to me that I'd never asked," Arthur stood, "Rest. I'll come by again later to see how you're doing."

He was had the door half-open when Merlin called his name and he paused.

"Thank you."

Arthur bowed his head, gaze fixing on his fingers curling around the doorknob, "No, Merlin. Thank you."

Because no matter what his father had done, no matter what he had done, Merlin laid no blame. And that, that was a gift he'd never deserve.

xxxx

So… anyone read anything good lately (fanfiction-wise)? I'll happily take suggestions for any of the fandoms I have fics up for—I need to get some inspiration back up. (And I just got a lovely present of S1 Merlin, which helps on this one, but not so much for the others.)