Author's note: This chapter is a crossover with the Chronicles of Narnia.
()()()
Things That Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)
29: Walk Through Magical Wardrobes
This, Merlin concludes, is the most vexing duty he's had this week. Or this month. Or ever. Either Arthur is running out of things for his manservant to do, or the prat just wants to annoy him. Merlin can't for his life find anything wrong with the prince's current wardrobe. It's the perfect size for all of the prince's clothes and shoes, there's even room for more. It's not too heavy, so with some help (say magic) Merlin can move the piece of furniture around at the prince's odd whims. What need does he have of a new one?
Arthur had, of course, just waved a hand at the servant's complaints and ordered that he'd get a move on.
So, here he is, in one of the castle's many underground stores, pulling a sheet off an old, large, heavy wardrobe. It's oak, Merlin thinks, knocking at the wood, but he's not fully certain. He's never been sure of those things anyway. The wood is dark and covered with carvings, of trees and animals and strange possibly magical creatures (though they're probably not – the king would have a royal fit if his son's wardrobe, or any wardrobe in his kingdom, was adorned by images of magical creatures). Actually they're kind of pretty and fascinating. But not so pretty that it can take his mind off his worries, since this is his one main worry. How the hell is he going to get this thing cleaned and taken up three levels of stairs and filled with the prince's clothes, all in a timely manner?
"Stupid prat," Merlin mutters, wringing the wet cloth. Just cleaning it is going to take forever.
With a sigh he sets to work. Several generations of dusts seems to have gathered in layers on the thing, in every crook and detail, causing him to sneeze as he attempts to blow it away. Momentarily he considers using magic, but Arthur or someone else might barge in any moment and Merlin prefers his head where it is right now.
He's barely worked for five minutes before the prince comes down, his boots clicking against the stone floor. "Getting started, I see." Arthur nods in approval. "Good. At least you're not lazing about anymore."
"Lazing about?" Merlin exclaims. "I haven't 'lazed about' once since I arrived in Camelot and started working for you, ungrateful prat!"
"We still need to work on your manners," Arthur grunts with a frown. "You're lucky no one heard you say that."
The warlock wrinkles his nose. "Whatever. Propriety is overrated anyway."
The argument escalates from there. Soon enough, the prince is shoving the servant's shoulder and then they're calling each other stuff like dollophead and suddenly, Merlin's heel catches on the edge of the open wardrobe and he falls into a heap of old dusty coats (with some suspicious-looking stains on them: the last feast they'd been worn on must've ended in a food fight). Of course Arthur is holding onto Merlin's sleeve and falls with him. Momentarily they are blinded because of the clothes that rain over them. Then the prince grunts, managing to drag himself to his feet; he fumbles to get Merlin up as well. But, for some reason, perhaps by a gust of wind, the wardrobe door has shut firmly, and he cannot find it. Arthur reaches out a hand trying to find the walls … but there are no walls! No solid wood. His hand just finds air and fur and silk fabrics.
Who knew a wardrobe could be this huge?
"Arthur," a muffle voice comes from his left, "stop stepping on my foot!"
"I'm not stepping on your foot!"
"Sure not."
He bumps into something, which is more solid than the clothes. "Then stop shoving me!"
"I would if I could see where I was going."
"Merlin." There's an angry growl dangerously close to his ear. "I'm warning you-"
"Oi, I said stop stepping on my foot, dollophead!"
An elbow harshly in his side causes Merlin to stumble and blindly he tries to grab onto something, a wall, one of the old coats, but instead of solid wood or warm wool his hand comes in contact with something sharp, like the pine needles of a fir tree. The air is suddenly cold, stinging against his skin and Merlin cries out in surprise as he falls. His vision is suddenly filled with startling daylight.
Something lands with a thud beside him, digging into the white snow which is crisp against his cheek.
Wait … snow?
"What…." Merlin whispers astonished, as he takes in their surroundings, jaw dropping in shock. "What is this place?"
It's a forest, covered deeply with snow, despite the fact that Camelot's winter has thawed into spring five months ago. It's not an illusion, well – if it is, it's very convincing. Eyes wide and filled with wonder and childish delight, Merlin touches the snow, cupping some in his hands. It's icy and sparkles in the sunlight. It's real. The trees hover above them, quiet and majestic. Never before has he seen this kind of untouched, still forest, without a trace for life for miles. He can't hear any sign of birds or animals. Perhaps it is because of the winter…
"What – what the hell happened?" Arthur has regained his voice with a shout, the words bouncing off with an echo. "Where are we?"
"I don't know," Merlin responds, equally curious but not as loud. "I'd like to find out, though."
"We're still in the wardrobe, we must be," Arthur states staring dumbly around him, at the trees and gently falling snow and clear daylight. "How can there be a forest in a wardrobe? How on earth does it fit?"
In the centre of the clearing before them there's a strange … light. On top of a tall iron bar, flickering but going strong. It's an odd thing which neither of them recalls having seen before, in Camelot or outside it. "What's that?" Merlin muses aloud, reaching out to touch it. Quickly he draws back because it's icy cold.
"I'm not sure … probably some sorcerer's attempt at a joke."
Merlin humphs. "Of course," he mutters quietly to himself, "everything is magic's fault, sorcerer this and sorcerer that …" Although it sounds very plausible. Because how else could they have walked through a wardrobe into this strange land? Of course it's magic. Merlin just hopes it's not some prank or a sorcerer's evil revenge, because it'll piss Arthur off so much and then Merlin will be stuck with him here for god knows how long.
Despite the initial confusion and wariness (Arthur has drawn his ever-present sword) curiosity overtakes them and they decide to explore the area. At least the nearby area. They turn back toward the wardrobe; several layers of clothes are visible through the trees. Arthur reaches for and pulls out two coats. One turns out to be that livery which Merlin had worn ages ago when King Bayard visited Camelot, including the dreaded hat. As the prince recognizes it and is struck by a hysterical laughing fit Merlin snatches the clothes from his hands and throws them away. "I will not wear that."
"But, Merlin," Arthur gasps through two bouts of laughter, "it suits you so fine."
The servant glares at him and puts on a red jacket instead, and the prince fails to hide his pout. "At least take the hat?" he says in his most pitiful-puppy-voice and Merlin magics the hat into a bunny which happily leaps away through the snow. "There went my entertainment," Arthur sighs.
Eventually, they're both a bit more warmly dressed and starts wandering from the clearing with the Strange Pillar with the Light. The forest, they both notice, is incredibly quiet. There doesn't seem to be any birds or wildlife around, and the wind is but a whisper.
"We should try and find civilization," Arthur decides firmly. "There must be a King of this place."
It sounds like a good idea, so Merlin agrees with a nod.
()()()
The forest is bloody vast. And the snow is thick and never-ending. And it's cold. Merlin would like some hot tea. His feet feel like they could fall off. But, Arthur is adamant and wants to find the inhabitants of the World In The Wardrobe and their leader, king or lord or queen, whichever it may be. Thus, they continue.
After what feels like ages of just walking in circles, the forest looking pretty much the same ("Don't worry, we're not lost," Arthur says at Merlin pointing this out; "I'm a hunter and expert tracker; I know how to make my way through a forest." – Merlin thinks the prince is a bit stupid, because this is a completely strange place where none of them have been before, and they should turn back before they freeze to death), they somehow reach a riverbank.
"Great, it's cold but the water isn't frozen," the servant mutters. "Should we walk around it? Maybe we should turn back now."
"We could swim."
Merlin stares at him incredulously. "Are you crazy? We'll freeze our asses off!"
Arthur looks at him pointedly. "Then use your … you know." And he waves his hand around in some manner that could imply either 'magic' or something incredibly naughty, causing the warlock to look at him oddly and blush.
()()()
They end up using Merlin's ... you know, which carries them safely over the rushing waters and kindly through some golden pixie dust shows the rest of the way, creating a coiling path through the trees. The now quite green trees.
"It's thawing!" Merlin gasps in wonder, looking around. An hour ago they had to shred the thick jackets; faintly they hear birds singing, and there are tiny blooms in the grass.
"Thank god, I thought I was going to lose my feet," mutters Arthur and trudges along. Why haven't they found a village or town yet? God, it'd be their typical luck if this land is totally uninhabited.
()()()
"Welcome," greets the man-horse-thing, "to Aslan's camp."
"Err, excuse me, but what are you? I've never seen anyone like you before," Merlin asks curiously. He's never seen a creature like this before in his life! Maybe it's magical? Oh! A horse's body with a man's chest, arms and head – yes, it probably is. Merlin isn't, of course, bothered: he's a warlock and despite the man-horse's serious expression it doesn't seem like he wants to do harm.
Arthur doesn't take it so well, though. "Argh! Merlin, step back!" he cries, whipping out his sword and coming to stand between the servant and the man-horse."I order you as Prince of Camelot to answer me! Who's Aslan and what manner of creature are you?"
The man-horse is not impressed, frowning in a way that could easily outmatch Gaius' most serious This Is Bad Business-face. "I am a centaur," it says, addressing Merlin more than Arthur. "You are expected."
"We are?" Merlin asks, blinking. "We don't even know where we are …"
"Your coming has been foreseen: long have we known of your destiny."
"Oh my god," Arthur says, dismayed. "Are you in cohorts with the bloody dragon?" He turns to Merlin, sounding angry and upset: "I knew it! It's a huge conspiracy. We're being stalked ..."
()()()
A mouse is standing on two paws next to a tent pole and it, of all bizarre things, has a tiny sword at its side. At seeing the two, it merrily greets them with: "Oh, hello there, good sirs!"
"It talks! It's a mouse and it talks!" It's not a girly scream, honest, but it gains them quite a few odd looks from the people (well, animals and maybe-magical creatures) around them.
Merlin grabs Arthur's arm before the prince can attack and hack anyone to pieces, starting to steer him away but the prince keeps staring. "Stop doing that! What's wrong with you? This is the fifth time, can't you get it already that the mice and rabbits won't hurt you even if they talk."
The mouse shares a compassionate look with the warlock, nudging Arthur's calf. "Not very bright is he?"
()()()
Apparently everyone is crazy around here. It varies in degree, naturally, but they're all more or less nuts. Arthur comes to this conclusion over a flagon of hot spiced wine (which a faun had given to him).
The camp is filled with all manners of creatures. Lots of these centaurs, all with swords, bows and arrows or both. Then there are dryads and fauns – Arthur stares a little too long, jaw dropping the first time he sees the man with goat legs. He receives an irritated glare in return. "Stop staring," Merlin mutters, "it's not polite."
The warlock gets on surprisingly well with everyone here. He smiles and talks friendlily and people actually answer his questions (Arthur simply is given a huff or shrug). A family of talking foxes gladly lets Merlin share lunch with them; the pickled eggs were particularly good. Mr and Mrs Beaver are very kind too, offering a spare seat. Mrs Beaver keeps fussing as if the warlock is just a child and not, in fact, the most powerful warlock ever.
The animals talks a lot and whenever they see Merlin and Arthur they go, like, "Oh it's that Prince from Came-a-lot with his warlock, I've heard they have some great destiny" and the littlest ones gather around Merlin's feet asking him to tell them stories about dragons and kings and sorcerers and stuff. Which is incredibly annoying.
As strange, utterly weird, this place is, Arthur isn't used to this … being ignored. Not outright ignored, but he's constantly in the sidelines, second best, not in the center of the spotlight. Why is Merlin getting all of the stupid attention? Why aren't the talking animals, fauns and centaurs gathering around him, the prince, when they want to know about Camelot?
"Look ..." he says finally when he's sitting by the campfire, Merlin by his side. The warlock stifles a yawn, tired from having been telling stories all day, and he starts leaning against the prince's shoulder and Arthur doesn't mind really. "... I don't know why we've been brought here or where exactly we are, because none of these strange talking animals will tell me, stubborn as they are. I need some answers, now, or I'll-"
Then this large freaking lion appears like out of nowhere causing the prince to fall back and drop soup allover himself. "Gaah!" The soup's bloody hot, scorching his tunic. Merlin startles awake at the sudden movement.
"Whaah?" he murmurs, yawning and rubbing at his eyes. "What'd I miss?"
"Worry not, sons of Adam," intones the lion in a booming powerful voice. "Your reason for coming here will soon reveal itself. It is a vital part of your Destiny."
After the lion leaves Arthur looks even more confused. "Merlin … your father's name isn't Adam is it? Mine isn't Adam. I think. Oh god! What if it is? What if we – no! We can't be brothers can we? I can't have besmirched my brother!"
Merlin's ears turn redder than ripe tomatoes. "Shh! Please don't be so loud about th-that! And Arthur, I'm not your brother."
"Oh my god, I've despoiled and bedded my brother!" Arthur keeps angsting, pulling his hair, eyes wide, breath quickening in horror.
"Arthur, just listen to me –" Merlin, who has seen reason, tries to convince him but he's cut off by panicked rambling.
"Father's going to kill me! – Oh. Wait a minute. No. That can't be right, because if Uther isn't my father (but I'm certain he is!) then he wouldn't punish me for … but then again he's the king … and this Adam bloke, I've never heard his name before … Oh no, there's no logic left in my life, just forests in wardrobes and baby wyverns and strange talking blokes! I mean animals. Nothing of this makes any sense whatsoever!"
The nearby badger just grins and shakes his head. They really are odd, those humans.
()()()
The message travels hastily through camp: "The attack will begin at dawn." Animal and human alike prepares themselves for battle, armours are being put on and weapons readied and the generals assemble for some last-minute strategy plans.
Arthur reacts accordingly. "Attack? There's a bloody war going on? Damn it - we're always caught up in odd business we really shouldn't and then it's too late to back out," Arthur mutters and paces, and glares at the nearest person which turns out to be Merlin, jabbing a finger at the servant. "This is all your fault, Merlin!"
"My fault – my fault?" Merlin exclaims, eyes narrowing. He drops the sword he's been polishing with a heavy clang. "This is not my fault! I'm not the supercilious prat who so obnoxiously demanded a new wardrobe he's really got no use for! What the hell did you need it, anyway? You've got plenty of room in your old wardrobe! You don't use most of those coats anyway, you - you dollophead!"
"I'm the Prince and can do what I wish and I'll have you know I'm certainly not a supercilious prat, or a dollophead! Why you-"
They move closer and closer, faces mere inches from each other as their voices raise in anger - almost close enough to ...
"Prince Arthur; young warlock," a centaur says with a slight bow as he enters their tent, interrupting the argument. "Your presence is required by the Kings and Queens immediately."
"This isn't over. We'll continue this later," Arthur mutters to his servant with a final dangerous warning glare.
()()()
So, there's a war, apparently because of a witch and some children siblings who are not from this world. Merlin is immediately intrigued. "Where are you from then?" he asks the children, and is hit by a thought, "Did you come through the wardrobe?"
"Yes!" the youngest, Lucy, exclaims with a smile. "I was the one who first found it, by accident: we're living with the Professor, see, because of the war we had to leave London. Then Edmund came through and the witch met him and … Well, it's quite a long story. What about you?"
"I was cleaning that prat's–" Merlin points at Arthur, who loudly protests, "-stupid new wardrobe back in Camelot and we kind of had a row, and we fell through and into … here. Narnia, I think they call it." The siblings nod to confirm this.
"Camelot?" Susan, the oldest girl, asks curiously. "I've heard of it, as part of the Arthurian legends … hang on! You're Merlin and Arthur. You're the real ones, from the books I've read! That's amazing. I thought it was just myth."
Merlin nods carefully but confused. "Yes … I'm real …?" What legends are the girl speaking of? He really wants to know but, naturally, he's cut off before he opens his mouth by a certain prince.
"And you're going to be Kings and Queens of this land," Arthur puts in, haughtily, narrowing his eyes at the children. The underlying meaning is 'You're all too young and childish', definitely - Merlin rolls his eyes. The prince is no one to speak! He's not even King yet!
"Really."
"Really," the oldest boy Peter puts in, using a mirrored tone. The two are quickly drawn into a staring match, both of their hands inching closer and closer to their swords. "And you are really Prince Arthur of Camelot."
"Really."
"Honestly, Arthur," Merlin groans, "can't you at least try to make friends without drawing your sword every five minutes?"
Slowly both prince and king raise their weapons, to the horror and/or amusement to the onlookers, who have gathered in a circle around them. Murmurs ripples through the crowd.
"Wait one moment," Arthur says when he gets a closer look at Peter's now unsheathed sword, metal gleaming in the sunlight. "That's – that's my sword! That's Excalibur! Isn't it, Merlin?"
"No," says the young King. "This is Rhindon, my sword."
"Obviously it's a copy," Merlin says, too tired of this to really care. "Excalibur is still in the stone and … Hang on, how do you know about it?"
The prince waves his hand, like 'Of course I know, I'm the prince' - which explains everything.
"What about a duel?" Arthur suggests and Peter catches the gauntlet in one hand. "I bet you're far too young and untrained to beat me. Let's prove who's the best fighter."
With a sigh, the warlock hides his face in his hands. He really needs to have a serious talk with Arthur about attitude.
()()()
The servant tries to stifle a grin (and failing horribly) at seeing the state of the prince, his rumpled hair and downcast face. "It could've been worse," he says trying to up the mood.
Arthur of course doesn't listen and is quite devastated. He's probably going into shock. "I lost. To a boy who's at least four years younger than me. A simple child."
"Still, you could've been heavily injured-"
"It'd been better if I was injured! Then at least I wouldn't have to feel so ashamed!"
"There, there," Merlin says patting the prince's back, "think of it on the bright side. At least you're not dead."
()()()
So, there's a battle, eventually. Since his very painful humiliating defeat, Arthur will do anything to regain his honour and manhood. He throws himself into battle full-force, refusing to back down, and he is so fierce that any man facing him would turn around in fear. But his angry battle-roar is nothing compared to the gathered masses of the witch's. What's worse, the Narnians are outnumbered, that big lion which Arthur assumed was some kind of saint who'd save them all has gone and he's still very grumpy about the whole duel affair. Has he mentioned that the witch can turn anything living to stone with that wand/staff-thing?
Oh fuck.
"Merlin! Take cover!" Arthur yells when he sees the witch turn toward said oblivious warlock, staff raised. "MERLIN!"
In the last second Merlin swirls around, hearing his name, and manages to throw a shield spell to prevent the witch's magic from hitting him. The woman looks shocked and outraged. Merlin wastes no time: eyes glowing gold, he sets off a chain of spells against the witch, who uses her staff to counter. It looks at first quite even, but Merlin is the Most Powerful Warlock Ever and Arthur has faith in him.
"Hah," Arthur says, smirking proudly when seeing his friend engage the witch in a magical battle. "Take that, bitch!"
In the end it turns out all right. The lion hasn't disappeared completely, but appears with a roar, and finishes off the witch after Merlin had damaged her quite badly. The warlock however is drained by using so much magic, and as soon as the fight is over promptly collapses. Arthur is fortunate enough to stand next to him when it happens and manages to catch him.
Lucy rushes forward, clenching a vial in her hand. "Is he hurt?" the girl asks worriedly. "Here, let him have a couple of drops of this."
The vial contains some kind of miracle medicine which Gaius would envy with every fibre of his being, and after a moment of coughing and spluttering Merlin comes to, and smiles up at the prince who's holding him.
"Still alive then?" Arthur asks and Merlin pokes his chest and Arthur leans down to kiss him, wet and desperate, and everything is all right again.
()()()
The four siblings are officially crowned King and Queens of Narnia a couple of days later: the castle is large and nice and quite white, situated near the beach with refreshing breezes rolling in from the ocean. Arthur has relaxed in a hot royal bath for the first time in forever and then cuddled in bed with a not so reluctant Merlin (despite calling Arthur a dollophead) and then they walk down the beach, hand in hand (where no one can see them of course). It's kind of nice being so free, with no one minding their relationship and arguing and sharing looks over the dinner table, even if they both miss Camelot horribly. It's been well over a week now, probably more.
"So if we've fought a war and they're Kings and Queens now, shouldn't we return home?" Merlin says later that evening.
"Yes," Arthur says even if he's kind of worried about these youngsters being left alone to rule because, honestly, they're just children and –
"Are you worried about them?" Merlin asks knowingly, smiling at him.
"Of course not! I'm just thinking if we could bring a casket of that fine wine, or two, with us."
The warlock gives him an exasperated look. "You know Gwaine would only drink it all away at once!"
"True." Arthur kisses him again, swallowing Merlin's laughter: he's found himself doing that a lot lately.
()()()
"Your role here has been fulfilled. You must now continue to your own land and complete your destiny," the lion announces, much to their relief. "Albion awaits you. I shall send a guide with you back to your own world."
"Will we ever come back?" Merlin asks.
"Perhaps, but do not try to, because then you never will," the lion responds mysteriously.
"I have a question, oh great lion," Arthur says with respect, even if he's slightly wary of the lion (it's the destiny-thing, nothing personal), the lion did slay the witch after all and thus saved Merlin's life. "Have you ever spoken to a dragon with the name Kill-yah-him?"
"Kilgarrah," the warlock murmurs out of the corner out his mouth.
The lion looks slightly amused. "I cannot say I have. Now, I must take my leave."
Arthur's shoulders fall as the lion walks away calmly and melts into the evening darkness. Waves lull gently against the shore, water tickling his feet. "I still don't get the whole Adam thing."
()()()
"Here," the faun with the red scarp points between the pine trees and rightly enough, they catch a glimpse of red and brown and yellow fabrics. "This is the entrance back to the Kingdom of Spare Oom."
"Thank you, Mr Tumnus," Merlin says gratefully.
Arthur looks perplexed. "Spare Oom?"
"Oh, I'm sorry, sire; I think you know it as Come-a-lot."
The prince continues to look bewildered. "It leads to two places? Did those children come from … Spare Oom? I thought they said they come from that London place …"
The warlock tugs at the prince's sleeve impatiently. "Come on, Arthur. I want to go home."
"May your journey be safe," Mr Tumnus says, waving a hand in farewell.
()()()
The wardrobe is warm and full of old smelling coats and suddenly they are blind again: just darkness surrounding them. Disorientated they trample each others' feet and swear and then, the door is opened and they fall out into a heap of limbs and fabric on the stone floor. There's a harsh ahem, ahem which immediately gives Merlin's bad vibes, and he looks up carefully.
Gaius stares at them reproachfully. "What on earth were you doing in there?" the physician demands. "You're late for dinner, young man! I have waited for over an hour. No desert for you." He gives Merlin a warning look, and then turns to Arthur, with horns sprouting from his forehead and a gaze that could make hell freeze over in fear. The prince looks stoic but inside he's quivering slightly. "And you! You should know better, young prince, than to attempt to slander my ward!"
Without further ado Gaius grabs Merlin by the ear and wrenches him out of the prince's arms, dragging him out of the room. The warlock's voice is frantic: "Gaius! I-I can explain! There was a magical forest in the wardrobe full of talking animals and a great lion and we fell in by mistake – you've got to believe me! Arthur didn't – not that!"
The physician mutters something about chastity and propriety.
Ouch, that was painful, Arthur thinks but doesn't dare say it aloud. He wouldn't put it past Gaius to have some kind of super-hearing (at least about these kind of things).
And if Arthur thinks that hurt, he's seen nothing yet. After all, he has to face his father for dinner in two candle-marks, and he knows how Gaius has this awful habit of letting Uther know everything that the King already doesn't know.