VI.

APRIL

The painting was almost finished. Every moment in the studio became shorter and shorter and sometimes Arthur didn't even lift the brush. It had been four months. Much faster than any of the man's earlier paintings. Sometimes he lingered at them for years before letting them go and then wouldn't speak of them ever again – he was that kind of man; once he'd released his grip, he turned away completely. Maybe this particular one was just hurting and causing so much unease, he wanted it done as soon as possible.

Four months - but it felt like forever.

Will was going to marry him in four days. He yet had to face his mistress about it, about being let go. The family would be disappointed probably; he'd served them for a year now. Almost a permanent part of the household; they were used to having him work and have the chores being done like the flood of a river, life going on a little easier for them. Would they demand him to stay, would they not let him go?

Or maybe they would be relieved. He wasn't the perfect servant. There was the clumsiness and the unwanted attention from sir Cenred and the silence and stares from people whenever he was around. There were Sophia's scornful glares and silent pranks and the case with the stolen jewellery. There was the need to pay him for his work. There was the painting. When it was done and sold and hanging in one of sir Cenred's halls, would Arthur still look at him that piercing way or would he become a shadow?

"Cenred will come to fetch it in eight days," Arthur said and allowed Merlin to unfreeze from the pose for a final time. "My Father and Mother will not be in the house at the time. I shall order Guinevere to take my sisters and brother on a walk to the market or whatever they wish, and not be back until nightfall."

Merlin sealed his lips, pulled up his jacket and tigthened the loose neckerchief again, the material itching against his skin.

"And me?"

"You shouldn't be here. Go visit your mother, or follow Guinevere to the market."

At least he wouldn't have to face the man.

He cast a final look at the uncovered easel, from the angle unable to see the painting itself, before leaving the room.

()()()

It was a quiet afternoon and the lady was sitting in the parley drinking tea with her husband, their conversation about recent news from the North where another conflict had arisen. People were starting to murmur about battles and sons being sent to war and thus harvest and trade being heavily affected, and the talks had reached the household. They might be nobles, but if demanded, Arthur would be sent to fight. It was something the Pendragons highly wanted to avoid. He was one of their greatest sources of income and their security and their oldest son. If he died on the battlefield, the effect on the family would be enormous.

Their voices carried down the hall and Merlin was cautions when he approached, but he had to: he'd waited long enough.

"What is it, boy?" Uther asked impatiently, his gaze more focused on the letter on the table (it had a red insignia at the bottom, Merlin spotted, a significant dangerous colour, like a warning).

"Master, I need to ask for permission to be excused from work both on Saturday and Sunday."

The man looked up fully and the lady asked, "Why is that?

"My wedding ceremony is to take place."

They exchanged a look. "Ah," the lord said with a grunt. "Well then. It's understandable. But will you seek another occupation afterward or continue your services for our family?"

"I," Merlin hesitated, remembering Will's promises, "I'm not sure, mistress."

"You can continue to work for us," lady Ygraine said and turned to him with this soft look on her face, a feminine shadow of her son's familiar expression, her eyes warm. "Unless you are to leave Camelot?"

"No, I doubt we'll leave the city, mistress." Or would Will want to? Perhaps he would: the man felt constricted by the town where he had grown up, with all its ties and expectations, and he constantly longed for freedom. Maybe he wished to seek it in nearby villages and towns. It would demand money, but if they worked for it, it surely was possible. "At least not yet," Merlin added quietly.

She seemed to understand what he meant. "I offer my congratulations upon your upcoming marriage."

()()()

When he met his mother that day, earlier than usual, Hunith was skittish and in full haste with preparations; naturally, the neighbours knew all about the event and offered both best wishes and blessings and help, all accepted. Hunith insisted that he'd bathe, eat and rest and not lift a finger: this was his day, and just for today, he wouldn't be a servant. It felt incredibly strange to settle on his mother's blankets to the sound of his mother's voice and close his eyes: he couldn't recall falling asleep, but when he was shaken awake by Freya the candle had melted an inch. The girl was full of energy, bouncing on her heels, her hair put up and she was dressed in the finest dress she had. She could smell the celebration coming.

"Merlin! Merlin!" she cried. "Hurry, William's here and there are lots of guest with him too and he really wants to see you!"

He smiled broadly at her and patted her head, at which she made a displeased sound because now she was a big girl, not a child to constantly be coddled. He let her lead him outside after dressing in freshly cleaned clothes, the newest and best things he had, but he felt terribly underdressed when seeing Will's polished shoes and fine buttoned jacket. It wasn't quite like the gaud embroidered things he'd seen lords wear, but detailed and rich enough for him to wonder how many weeks of work had been necessary to pay for the garment.

The wedding was a beautiful affair. He knew he should be happy: and he was, though it felt almost wrong to allow himself to be glad. Half of the people invited where faces he hadn't seen before. Will's brother Thomas, sharing his father's name, had come to the city just the week before after a long trip to the North. He was older than Will by two years, but had chosen the military career rather than follow his father's footsteps. The outspoken friendly man was accompanied by his wife and daughter. There were several cousins and in-laws too, and it was strange to think of them as family now and address Thomas, the older, as 'father'. Merlin always stumbled over the word.

Rather than having it take place inside the city walls, they had gathered outside in a meadow near the river's crook. The gentle sound of water drowned in voices and laughter and clapping hands. So many songs were sung and dances danced that later, Merlin couldn't recall half of them.

Momentarily his mother pulled him aside and embraced him hard and it was the last firm embrace he'd share with her; and quietly he whispered, "I'm going to tell him about my gift."

Hunith grew pale at the words. "Merlin, you shouldn't." What if he turns you in? were the underlying heavy words. What if he lets have you burned?

Merlin's eyes glowed in earnest as he said: "I don't want to lie to the man I love."

The man I love. He'd never openly said such words before, but it was time now. Because though his heart beat so hard and warm in Arthur's presence, he loved Will dearly as well, and though he had those childish naïve dreams he still felt pleasure at Will's touch and wouldn't not have him as his husband.

His mother laid hands on either sides of his face and looked at him solemnly. "It is your choice, but I want you to be careful."

"I will be. Mother, please, don't worry about me anymore."

Freya was there of course, dressed in blue and white, and she sobbed a little when he hugged her. She had finally understood that he wouldn't leave the Pendragons and come home with her and live happily forever with their mother. "Please don't leave me," she said, looking up at him with worried eyes. "Can't mother and I live with you and Will?"

And he smiled and said, "I'm sorry Freya, but I don't know."

The girl's lower lip trembled. "Oh. But…you'll visit us right? You won't just leave me forever right?"

"Of course. I won't turn my back on you."

The vows were exchanged and a red band tied around his and Will's wrists, hands joined and people cheered and bestowed them with blessings and gifts; Will was glowing with happiness and pride and Merlin looked at him sharing a warm smile. He wouldn't take this moment away from him. This would have to be an untainted joyful memory, blissfully free from any secrets.

(He still hadn't told Will about his magic. How could he speak of it? He didn't know if he dared, even though he wanted to.)

The feast continued all through the evening, the sky growing a darker shade of orange and the shadows longer, the wind gradually became colder. Will draped his coat over Merlin's shoulders and kissed him for the hundredth time that day.

Night came and the festivity was carried through the city gates which were being closed at this hour. The guards by the wall smiled and congratulated at seeing the procession. When reaching the butcher's home, the newlyweds were left alone, and though they had eloped in that alley three months earlier, Merlin still was incredibly nervous and a bit afraid.

It felt sinfully wonderful despite the initial pain and Will whispered sweet words as they touched; skin pressing against skin and hitching warm breath against his cheek, moans of satisfaction and hot hardened flesh; a hand entwining with his own. He let himself sink into the bare feeling and enjoy Will's dedicated attention, closing his eyes with the man's name on his lips. The candles on the nightstand flickered and their bodies covered in a thin sheen of sweat as they moved together as one, forgetting all else but each other.

It took a long time for morning to come.

()()()

He awoke wrapped in Will's arms and enveloped in a sense of safety he hadn't had since...forever.

()()()

"Will… There is something I must talk with you about."

The man looked up from the food. The whole little house smelled of the remnants of the feast: the table was littered with wooden bowls of fruit and vegetables and thick stew and bread and meat. It was just the two of them now, Thomas the butcher having left for work (or so he claimed: in reality, the man probably just wanted to give them some privacy).

"What is it, my love?"

To be called such words would take awhile to get used to.

"I…" he tried to form some kind of coherent, straight-forward phrase. He had no idea how to say it, but he needed to, he couldn't keep lying. "Will, I…"

Will put an arm around his waist and pulled him down to sit next to him, hastily kissing his cheek. "Is something wrong?"

"No…No, I. There's…It's difficult to explain," Merlin babbled, voice dropping and in his mind he was silently praying for Will's understanding and kindness. And he realized that if he told him now, either he'd be free or Will would hate him, would accuse him of bewitching him and he'd be thrown into the city dungeons and spat upon, and he was so scared and unconsciously clung harder onto Will's jacket like trying to find some comfort, a lifeline. No one could understand his gift. No one. Not his mother, even his sister or Arthur Pendragon even if they all kept his secret - they never understood and would never do so. They never had the power which was flowing in his blood, they'd never tasted it and never felt its glow burn and never understood why.

"Merlin?" the man asked, confused, a rough but gentle hand stroking his cheek. "Merlin?"

"…I…I'm sorry," he whispered, averting his eyes. "I can't explain. I can't … I'm sorry."

Will stroke his arm and murmured something near to "You can trust me, Merlin," but he continued to choke on the words and they couldn't make it past his throat. Instead, he settled for saying; "It was nothing, just a silly thought."

()()()

It all went downhill from there.

But Merlin didn't know until it was too late.

He came back to the Pendragon household on early Monday morning, quietly entering the kitchen through the back door and beginning to prepare breakfast, still glowing with remembrance of the feast and joyous voices and Will's husky scent. Gwen's face broke in a smile at seeing him, and though she tried to lower her voice so not to wake the occupants of the house, she was talking very fast and enthusiastically.

"Merlin! Congratulations! I heard it was quite a feast. You know how well-spoken of Thomas' son is; have you visited the market yet and heard the talks?"

He shook his head but smiled. "Thanks, Gwen. And no, I haven't heard - nothing bad, I hope?"

"Nothing of the sort, I can assure you, but you know what juicy details the women share when buying turnips." The woman looked just a little bit embarrassed, cheeks reddening. "I can't believe you didn't tell me beforehand."

"I'm sorry, Gwen."

"Oh, but it's all right, of course," she quickly said and placed a pot on the stove, filling it with some fresh fuel wood and lighting it. "I imagine there must've been so many preparations going on, you must have been distracted. Besides, I must say the butcher's son is quite handsome. I know I'd be distracted by knowing I'd have such a husband."

Merlin almost asked why she had never married, but stopped himself. It was a stupid, rude and naïve question.

"But I thought it'd mean you'll leave the house?" Gwen asked.

"I don't know…not yet," he said sounding as tentative as he felt. "Will's wants to open his own business rather than work for his father, so maybe later."

"Ah. Well, then he's going to need a pair of extra hands. It'll be a pity to see you leave, you've been more of a help than any previous servants here. Have I told you about Cedric?"

She had, she liked to talk about gossip and such stories: he had been a conceited young man, but seemed like the perfect obedient servant. Then one day he was gone along with several of the lady's precious pearls. The guards were sent to search for him, but he was never found: he had probably bought himself a new, better life someplace far away. He was one of the reasons lord Uther had waited so long before hiring a new servant to aid Gwen with her many duties.

"I'm glad you're not like him," Gwen said and smiled again before turning to work and Merlin tried to return the gesture. It was hollow. He was a deceiver just like Cedric: lying and hiding and keeping secrets, sneaking behind his master and mistress' backs. Even though he had made the unbreakable vows, he still hadn't told Will the whole truth.

He was so scared that Will was going to hate him.

"I'll set the table," Merlin murmured and slipped out of the kitchen to the dining room.

The morning went by at a slow pace and he found himself longing to be back at the butcher's house, blissfully uncaring of the passing time, back in Will's arms and their little haven.

()()()

The order came not much later after breakfast when they were putting away the dishes. Merlin heard Gwen's surprise and then how she called for the youngest ones down the stairs, including an unruly grumpy Mordred, and bustle in the hall: coats being put on and shoes being laced. Gwen didn't question master Arthur's demand for solitude in the house. Both Uther and lady Ygraine were to leave in less than an hour by horse for a visit to von Bayard across town.

"Merlin," Gwen said, a bit out of breath, "have you seen Morgause's red shoes anywhere? I can't find them."

It took some long stressful minutes to herd them out of the house. Merlin managed to find the shoes and help put them on and the little girls stomped their feet impatiently and talked endlessly without listening to the other and Mordred muttered about not wanting to go; Arthur kept watching from the doorway to the study all the while, now and then casting a glance at the window, and though the man looked calm Merlin could sense his apprehension. Today everything was about timing. If the Pendragons left a bit late or if sir Cenred's company arrived too early, everything would come crashing down.

Merlin knew he should have left with Gwen but found himself lingering in the house, idly tidying up the kitchen and smoothing out curtains and dusting off shelves in the living room, waiting for a sign of a door opening and closing. Each chore took him closer and closer to the studio, up a stair and left down the hall and he was sorting the linen cupboard when lord Uther appeared in front of the door to the studio where Arthur had barricaded himself for the last hour. There was no sign of sir Cenred yet.

As he passed by the man glared at him with such ferocity Merlin tripped backwards, bumping into the wall.

"Arthur," Uther was saying, rapping at the aged wood, "open up." He was wearing an intimidating expression: Merlin could recall seeing it that time when he was accused of stealing, half a lifetime ago.

Lady Ygraine appeared next, rushing up the stairs her hair slightly wild like by wind. Merlin had never seen such a look of distress on her face before, and the fur on her shoulders was a bit ruffled. She put a hand on Uther's left shoulder, saying, "Don't, you know we're not allowed to—"

The man ignored her, his voice rising in strength. "Arthur, I'm warning you!"

And Merlin suddenly felt a bit sick as a dreaded sense of realization came hurling into his stomach. Had Uther heard about the painting? Had one of the children or Gwen seen and notified the man? Hadn't they been careful enough? Was it the many hours in the studio and his stress with doing all the other chores and the smell of linseed oil embedded in his clothing?

He heard a key in the lock and the door slid open an inch, two, three, before opening fully. Broad white daylight fell through the windows and onto the floor of the hall. "Yes, father?"

"Don't try to play innocent with me!" Uther growled and, ignoring the lady's pleads and Arthur's angry protests, crossed the threshold, his dark polished shoes clicking loudly against the floorboards. From where he was standing, frozen by fear, Merlin could see into the room easily and the corner had been stripped down, the chair gone, and the easel stood in the center, covered by black cloth.

"I know what you've been doing!"

"Then you should also know why," Arthur retorted angrily, tone low and warning and a full impact even as it was quiet.

"You are aware of what happened last time! Do you wish to bring more shame upon our family? Do you not recall at all? I won't allow this." The man took a step closer. "Where is the painting? Where is the painting?"

"It doesn't matter, you don't have to see it," Arthur said. "Cenred will take it and we won't have to bother."

Now the lady was beginning to lose her calm composure as well, the hand on her husband's shoulder falling away. From this angle, Merlin couldn't see her expression, but her voice trembled slightly and revealed everything. "Arthur, show us the painting."

"No."

Uther moved toward the easel and gripped the edge of the cloth forcefully, attempting to rip it off but Arthur shouted at him and leaped over to stop him, eyes blazing, and the lady had lost her calmness fully now:

"Arthur," she said again. "Show us it."

Arthur looked at them for a long while judgingly and his shoulders and neck were tense, and when he gave in his hands moved calmly, carefully removing the cloth: he wouldn't let the painting be harmed by anyone else's furious hands.

Breath was knocked out of Merlin's lungs as light fell onto the canvas. It was eerie and frightening to look at his own face, because he'd never seen himself in a mirror and never really cared – there, he looked so unfamiliar, so strangely beautiful and with parted lips and wide eyes, blue and silver and golden, he looked wanton and vulnerable and so fragile. It was unlike any portrait he had ever seen, and Merlin felt dizzy and ill and wanted to run away. How could Arthur have painted him like that and then be able to look at it, at him, be able give it away and let Cenred gaze at it unhindered? How could he? How could he?

Arthur's face was like a statue, carved by a steady skilled hand and immobile and betraying nothing but the shadow of a feeling, one that was difficult to read.

"It's…it's vulgar," the lord spat. "I want it out of my house. I want that servant out of my house!"

Uther raged like a storm and Merlin dropped the cloths he was holding, as the lady practically wailed. "Husband, please see sense…"

"The servant is getting out of my house this instant!"

"Father," Arthur said, but Uther gave him a poisonous look. Undeterred, the son continued: "Sir Cenred will arrive any moment now. Spare the boy. The painting will be sold and no one needs to know."

"Can you even hear yourself?" the lord growled, there was disappointment branding the reciewer of his glare and the son winced. "Have you no shame?"

Then Arthur's eyes widened as he spotted the servant leaning against the further wall, pale and trembling, and he took a careful step closer making Merlin wince and the lady turned his way too.

"Fetch your things," lady Ygraine said quietly, an order, and Merlin's eyes watered. "Go."

Arthur's face cracked and he looked so terribly broken. For the first time he openly protested against the lady's demands, but the woman didn't listen, looking at the servant unwaveringly. "Mother, don't," the son said, a plead, and Merlin didn't dare look at him because he suddenly realized that every time Arthur had looked at him the man really had meant so much more than he should have, and he hadn't been an object sitting there on the chair and Arthur was just human, having his childish silly dreams, just like him, and maybe what he had felt hadn't been onesided. They weren't that different; both weak simple humans and Arthur, who had always appeared so mysterious distant and strong never truly had been. Grasping at the knowledge what the fire behind Arthur's eyes meant hurt; hurt so badly.

Merlin took a trembling step forward; the words falling across his lips were feeble and couldn't convey anything of importance. Just... "Arthur," he murmured, "I..."

"Go," the lady cut across, no chance for redemption or goodbyes. "Leave. Do not come back."

If Arthur answered, Merlin couldn't hear.

()()()

Merlin rushed down the stairs, stumbling and gasping for breath. The outer doors slammed shut behind him a final time, heavy oak draped with memories. He almost fell but managed to catch himself against a stone pillar and stood there then, like in shock, rooted on the spot. The pack in his hands had been hurriedly put together and he almost dropped it, his grip of it feeble. He cast a painful longing glance back at the stony cold house, faintly able to hear the lord's furious yelling and Arthur's pleads for his clemency, and people passing by looked at him oddly just like the first day he arrived here; standing there lost in the haze, unable to move.

He didn't want to go. Oh gods, he didn't want to leave, not now, he wasn't ready. If he took a single step now he would never see Arthur ever again and he'd be so terribly alone.

It wasn't meant to be this way, he thought, knuckles whitening as he clung to his pack and held it close to his chest, tears burning his eyes. What cruel fate made me fall in love with you?

()()()

When Will came home that afternoon after a long day's work, the small house was silent and still and the man was half-way inside when he noticed the pale figure sitting by the table. No candles were lit and if not for the silent breathing betraying the young man's presence, Will could have thought the place abandoned.

"Merlin?" he asked, not gaining any reply. "What's happened?"

Merlin drew a sharp breath. "I..."

No words wanted to come. Whenever he tried to say what he really wanted to say, the only thoughts he had were of an artist's hands and an unbidden kiss and that damned portrait, but there was no way to tell them without being misunderstood. He lifted his gaze.

"I... I am not working for them anymore. I'm not working for them anymore …" He looked up at the man he loved and tried to smile, failing horribly. However he refused to cry. All tears had been spilled dry already while he'd run through the city half-blinded, not knowing where to go but his feet had led him here; to home.

Will looked startled and reached to light the nearest candle. "Merlin..." he said, almost like he was about to ask What have they done to you? - unlike last time, Merlin didn't shrug and avoid his gaze.

He took the man's hand, fitting his palm against the other. "We can have our freedom now."