So, any of those who have been watching this (or any of my other stories) will know this already, but an FYI for the rest of you is: Don't get used to frequent updates. It's rare that they last long. My inspiration is a fleeting thing; quick to come and quick to go.

Chapter 5

"Merlin, can you use a slingshot?"

Merlin blinked at Arthur's not-greeting on his first morning back at work, "Um, yes?"

"Good. If you don't have one, get one, and start bringing it with you everywhere you go."

"All right, then… Arthur, what is this about?" Merlin set the tray in front of Arthur where he sat at his desk, practically lounging in the wooden chair despite the fact it looked in no way comfortable.

"Thinking back on it, the last time we encountered bandits in the forest, a lot of them seemed suspiciously clumsy and a broken branch clocked one in the head. I saw several dropped swords and more than one trip—even bandits aren't stupid enough to drop a sword in a fight. I understand that you managed to avoid direct notice—but if you use a slingshot from behind cover the effects would be much the same and if you simply… sped up the stone, maybe altered direction a little… you'd be much less likely to get yourself into trouble."

Huh. Merlin thought that one over, "That never occurred to me. I'll have to get back in practice; I haven't used a proper slingshot in few months…" and that it was Arthur making the suggestion…

The prince shrugged lazily, "Well, I'd rather not be seen as leaving you completely helpless, and you're still barely more than hopeless with a sword. Have you any experience with a bow or crossbow?"

"None with a crossbow, and I'm not even halfway decent with a bow. I can't hit a moving target at all, but there were only three bows in Ealdor when I left and no bowyers. I can fletch an arrow—most of the village boys can—but the bows were usually only used by the older men. We couldn't risk inexperience breaking one except shortly before the summer traders came through, and even then only if we'd managed some good pelts to trade with."

Arthur hadn't thought about the limitations of small-village life before, but that made sense. "There's a similar issue with swords, I assume?"

"Arthur, it's very rare you'll find a village with even one sword. In a small village, a blacksmith making a sword would be a waste of metal, nothing else. You cannot plow a field or hunt with one. The only thing they're good for is killing, and then only close-up. Frankly, swords are made for killing people. You won't find them in a village."

Merlin caught Arthur's grimace, "It's not wrong to use one. You can defend something with a sword," he stated, deliberately not looking at the prince, "but only by harming something else."

And, gods, Arthur realized, that was true, wasn't it? Even if the some(one)thing else was what had attacked first, a sword really was made only to kill.

"Of course," Merlin continued, "The same is true of bows and spears and maces—any weapon is made to kill. Even slingshots. Just because slingshots and bows are used more often against animals than people doesn't make them any less designed to kill."

Arthur shook his head slightly, "I have… never thought of it like that."

Merlin shrugged, "I'll hunt for food. I'll protect myself and my mother and friends when I have to. That's why weapons are made, after all—because we need them. For food or our own safety."

And, yes, that was true, too.

"Only you have a whole kingdom to protect and many people who would harm those within it—to you, a sword is necessary. Don't forget that."

Arthur huffed out a breath, shaking his head, "Merlin…"

"What?"

Arthur heard the soft 'flump' of a pillow being fluffed as he rolled a plum in his hand, staring at the bright sheen of the tray his breakfast plate rested on. "You… no, nevermind, I don't even know."

"What?" Merlin asked again, sounding a bit put out, "What did I do now?"

Arthur huffed again, half-laugh this time. "Nothing, really, you just… don't make sense to me."

The prince abruptly dropped the uneaten plum back on the tray and stood, moving over to the door with a purposeful stride—only to lock it instead of leave. He hadn't asked, not while Merlin was still recovering, but the manservant seemed fine, now, and the curiosity had gone from 'mild' to 'burning' somewhere along the line. Still, he didn't want to make it an order—Merlin seemed fine, Gaius had let him come back to work, but… Arthur knew almost nothing of magic and what Gaius had said about that (terrifying) night was a constant worry at the edge of his mind.

"Would you… show me?"

Merlin blinked, a pillow still in hand, then shook himself and smiled.

Not his ridiculous grin, either, but an actual happy smile that made his eyes light up in a way Arthur hadn't seen before—and then his eyes flashed silently gold.

Arthur almost laughed when he realized what Merlin was doing—all his remaining morning in-chamber duties, all at once, without a word or even a gesture, and if it had been anyone but Merlin, Arthur would have found the display worrying, no matter the harmless use. All at once, silent and still—Arthur had never even heard of that kind of power. Most sorcerers could be rendered all but helpless by simply gagging them, some even by tying their hands without a gag.

And it was a paradoxical relief that that simple, common tactic would not stop Merlin.

He felt his own lips quirk upwards, "Do you often cheat on your chores?"

Merlin gave him the strangest look he'd ever seen, a cross between scowl and grin, "Do you even realize how many chores I have? You alone give me more work than any other two castle servants would be able to manage and I work for Gaius. How on earth would I get everything done without 'cheating', as you call it?"

Arthur blinked and ran through a mental list of the duties he had assigned Merlin, then compared it to the list he'd commonly given his former servants. And, all right, Merlin was annoying and always seemed to have time, so the list had expanded to things he normally would have left to non-personal servants like the stable-boys and laundry-maids. Even his armor would usually simply be assigned to a random squire and he had always taken care of his weapons himself before, not willing to trust a servant with them.

He trained with Merlin, too, and not in the way he would ever train with another servant.

"I've been treating you like a squire and a manservant," Arthur realized aloud, baffled at himself.

Merlin gaped at him, "A squire?"

Arthur shrugged, "I train with you, I let you care for my weapons, armor, and horses… I'm surprised Father hasn't called me to task on this."

"Maybe he just hasn't noticed," Merlin muttered, still looking a little stunned.

Arthur didn't blame him, but he also didn't want to stop treating Merlin as his squire. Not because he thought Merlin would ever be knight-material, but because he knew (now more than ever before) that Merlin would never sabotage his equipment.

"By the way, Merlin… you haven't done anything to my armor, have you?"

Merlin rocked back, looking hurt, and Arthur immediately realized how that had sounded.

"I don't want any unfair advantages, especially in a tournament," he added casually, and breathed out in relief when the hurt turned to mild offense.

"I wouldn't do anything that I know you'd be against, Arthur," Merlin frowned at him, suddenly more considering than offended, "Although…"

Arthur eyed him warily, "'Although' ?"

"Well, it wouldn't be unfair if I put a little, well... I don't know how, but I know it's possible… but probably better to be a pendant than armor…"

"Merlin, what are you talking about?"

"If I could figure out how, I might be able to make you something that would blunt the force of hostile magic. I mean, it wouldn't stop everything, I don't think, but…"

"That… might not be a bad idea," Arthur admitted, well aware of how many magic-users would seek revenge on him and his father through him.

"I don't know how, though," Merlin warned, "I don't even have a clue how long it will take to learn, either, especially considering the extremely limited research materials that are available here."

Arthur nodded his understanding, wondering why he wasn't more concerned with everything. He knew that seeing magic—even benign, frivolous magic like Merlin had shown him—would have made him uneasy if it had been anyone else. He would never even consider agreeing to wearing something made with magic if anyone else offered it, no matter what the 'something' was supposed to do.

So why was Merlin so different?

He knew his father would cry enchantment, and the thought had flitted through his mind—but he had known of Merlin's power days before Merlin had learned of his knowledge and he'd already had that unwavering belief that Merlin was safety.

"So, Merlin," he asked casually, picking the plum back up off the tray and tossing it lightly to the warlock (that was the right term, wasn't it?) "How many times have you saved my life?"

Merlin caught the plum and stared at him for a moment.

"And eat that, you're much too thin."

"I, uh… directly? Three? Maybe four…"

"Gods, Merlin, you've been here… what, a little over a month? None of the knights have that kind of record for me or my father, at least not on an individual basis. Let me see if I can figure this out…"

Merlin took the opportunity to bite into the plum and Arthur nodded slightly, pleased with the compliance.

"So… the sorceress who impersonated Lady Helen…"

"Mary Collins," Merlin informed, "Thomas' mother. Though she had no right to take her grief out on you, and I'm sure she killed both Lady Helen and the serving girl they found in her quarters."

"I'll ask about that in a moment," Arthur decided, "So… the Afnac, I'm sure, and Valiant—it was you who warned me and I don't doubt you tampered with his shield somehow to make it so he couldn't corner me with those snakes…" the last one he didn't want to say aloud, because it was the one where Merlin had lain his own life on the line with no expectation of recovery. "The chalice."

"I actually wasn't counting the Afnac," Merlin mused, "The 'maybe' was for the bandits."

"We'll go with 'at least four', then," Arthur said dryly, "and against magic-related threats all of the 'certain' times." He shook his head, barely able to believe the truth as it was laid before him, and why was Merlin so insistent on protecting him against enemies of his own family's making? Why was Merlin so determined when those he stood against would have gladly taken him in?

"The dragon said it's my destiny."

Arthur blinked—he hadn't realized he'd asked that aloud.

Merlin shrugged, "Maybe he's right. I didn't think much of you after we first met, you know. I even told the dragon that if anyone wanted to kill you, they could go right ahead—that I'd even help them. Then I saw that woman moving towards you and I—panicked. I dropped the chandelier on her and when she threw that dagger… I used magic in front of the entire court, no matter how dazed they still were from that enchantment, because I could not let you die. I killed a bitter, grieving mother without any hesitation because I saw you were in danger and I still thought I hated you, then."

Something clicked, "Dragon? What dragon?"

"The one under the citadel," Merlin sighed, dropping back to sit on the edge of Arthur's bed, "He said—he said I was born to protect you, that the reason I exist is to see you safe. Ever since that time with the dagger… it feels like that's true."

Arthur wasn't quite sure what to ask, but decided to go for the less stressful topic first, "There's a dragon under the citadel?"

"Chained, yes. Uther's had him down there for twenty years."

"And it—he… tells you things? How did you even find him?"

"He called me, my first two nights in Camelot, until I went looking for what was talking in my head."

Arthur rubbed his forehead, "Right," he sighed, "Fine, and—what? He's cursed you to protect me?" And that—that was a horrifying prospect even if it didn't make sense, that Merlin might be here against what would have been his own will, his loyalty forced by some ancient power.

"No," Merlin shook his head, "No, not a curse. An… old prophesy. You—you're more important than you know, Arthur, and… if you die, what might be will never come. I was… made for you, by the Old Gods, if half of what I think is true. I can't—I can't not be that. I can't not protect you, not as long as I still breathe. And this may sound mad, but… I'd rather die than see you hurt. I'd rather—I'd rather watch this world burn than see you fall."

And Merlin was admitting things to Arthur that he'd been afraid to admit even to himself, things that—by all normal human rights—should not be but were. Things his mind had shied away from no matter what the dragon had said and what the power within him had been straining to prove.

And that might be worse, Arthur reflected, than the belief that it had been a dragon-laid curse. Because curses laid by creatures could be broken, even if only by the death of the caster or some elaborate ritual.

A geas laid by the gods? Nothing could break that.

"Arthur…"

"What would happen if I sent you away?" the prince demanded, suddenly unsure.

Merlin swallowed, "I don't know," he choked on his own breath for a moment, "Please, Arthur, don't."

Arthur rolled his eyes heavenward in an exaggeratedly visual prayer for patience, "I wasn't planning on it, Merlin," he drawled out, covering his own alarm at the reaction, "Stop panicking." Although the moment of Merlin choking on fear pretty much answered the question. It may not have been the younger male's choice to be here, to be so unwaveringly devoted to Arthur, but he was and it was apparently so deeply entrenched in his very being that to ask him to leave would be cruel.

And, if he were honest with himself, Arthur didn't want Merlin to leave. The thought (NoMerlinGone) was distressing.

… This geas was apparently not entirely one-way.