Things That Merlin Isn't Allowed To Do (According to Prince Arthur)
38: Burst Into Song Without First Telling Arthur
Arthur is walking across the courtyard, deep in a discussion the latest war tactic with sir Bedivere, when the knight abruptly halts and the prince nearly slams into the man's shoulder.
"What is it?" the prince demands in a princely tone but the knight seems as if captivated and absorbed by something else completely thus not hearing the prince's words. Irritated and confused, Arthur lifts his head. Ahead, on the northern part of the courtyard, a mass of people have gathered; guards who've seemingly abandoned their posts, salesmen who have abandoned the marketplace, servants who have abandoned their baskets overloaded with dirty laundry.
"What is going on here?" Arthur asks, astounded.
Sir Bedivere glances at him angrily, putting a finger to his lips in a hush-hush motion and hisses "Shhh! Listen!"
Like he does when searching for pray during hunting, Arthur tunes his senses. And then he hears it. A soft tenor flying through the air, into the courtyard; the voice is calm, beautiful even, the words somehow magical, the notes warm. Arthur feels at the same time calmed and alerted, since he wants to hear more of the singing, draw closer to hear more clearly – yet, he finds it difficult to move from the spot. The voice…it's somehow familiar, but he cannot place it. And for now he doesn't need to. He's content to just stand here and enjoy it, listen for the rest of the day, the rest of the week, the month; mouth agape at its loveliness…
Wait. Waitjust a moment here...
… He can't do that - stand here and listen blindly that is - he's got duties. Important princely duties that cannot wait. More importantly, he can't let his knights and the guards and servants just stand there and listen instead of working, though the sound is so exquisite, Arthur wishes it would never stop – but the guards should be on their posts!
He jerks his head suddenly and pulls himself, with some struggle, out of his daydreams and starts glaring at the rest of the gathered men, who are standing under an open window to the citadel – the source of the voice – sighing like milkmaids, their eyes dulled as if by dreams.
"Get back to your stations and work!" the prince orders in a princely manner, causing them all to jump and glare at him, before the guards reluctantly gathering their spears and returning to their posts; the servants does the same with their burdens, and the knights straighten up and continue walking across the yard to wherever they're off to.
Still annoyed, Arthur stalks off, up the stairs and toward his chambers. He can bet that Merlin has probably gotten no work done as well, hearing that voice and getting distracted, like everyone else. Yes, he probably has, and skipped all of his duties. Arthur's going to have a serious word with him about that.
Only, when he arrives at his chambers, heels clicking loudly against the stone floor, he finds (kind of to his disappointment) that the voice has quieted and Merlin is folding linen and putting it in the cupboard like he should be doing, and the fireplace has been dusted out and the bed linen changed. The servant looks at him with a raised eyebrow when the door is loudly slammed open.
"Arthur, what are you doing here?" Merlin asks and then adds, suspiciously, "You thought I wasn't working, didn't you?"
"No, I didn't." Arthur says and walks out of the room again as if it's the most natural thing to do, leaving the servant staring after him in confusion.
()()()
The very same afternoon he hears it again. This time emitted from another open window, cutting through the bustle of the street. The Prince is sitting with the King and some councilors so old they probably haven't been outside the citadel for at least two decades, having a meeting. But the voice cuts through their heated debate about taxes and freezes them in the middle of action. The sound hits his eardrums with such loving tenderness he sighs and closes his eyes.
If he could just find out who was the source …
But it doesn't matter now, when he hears it… It is rather like an enchantment. A wonderful enchantment.
The King also cannot concentrate on anything else momentarily; he silences in the middle of a sentence. For one minute his face is an expression of peace and joy. But the next he startles as he comes to his senses and adopts his usual somberness.
"What's that sound?" he demands. "Who is causing it?"
The sharp words cuts through Arthur's reverie. "I'm not sure, father," he says. "It's the second time I've heard it."
Heads turns toward the half-opened window and the King scratches his chin in thought. That voice is very lovely. Uther has not heard such a song since Lady Helen's visit – it's such a pity she turned out to be that witch. He's not had a proper singer visiting or performing at his court for so long – he'd very much like it. Maybe at the banquet tomorrow night?
Yes, what a brilliant idea!
"Arthur, I have a mission for you. I need you to find the singer so they can attend the feast tomorrow evening. As a special guest. We'd need some entertainment."
The prince nods eagerly. He agrees that it's a great idea, and to finally find out whom the voice belongs to…
"Yes, father. I shall see to it immediately."
And it's a wonderful relief being let out of the stuffy council chamber and get away from those old bickering men. He's never liked council meetings.
()()()
He bursts through the corridors full of energy and thus runs straight into Merlin, who's carrying a basket filled with bottles and other things he's just bought for Gaius.
"Oh! Perfect. Just the person I was seeking. I need your help," the prince says.
"Great, another chore. What do you need this time, isire/i? A hot bath, or do you need your armour?" Merlin asks with a tired sigh. He's just come back from the market, can't Arthur see that? It'd rained briefly too and his shoes are all wet.
For once Arthur doesn't comment on the sarcasm. "I need you to find a person. They have a great singing voice and … And." Arthur pauses. Thinking for a moment. Scratching his head. The silence between them stretches for several long moments, and Merlin cocks his head and raises an eyebrow at him expectantly.
"And…?"Merlin prompts expectantly.
"Well, that's what we know about them."
"... Oh, right. Very informative."
"You need to help me find them, Merlin. So good luck! And hurry up, my father wants them by tomorrow!"
Merlin nearly drops the basket in shock. "Your father?"
Is a sorcerer on the loose? Is that why they're seeking this mysterious voice? Maybe they are sure the singer has magic. Maybe they've sung to put a spell on someone, like Mary Collins. Or is the King merely suspecting? A merely suspecting King is bad enough. He's got to tell Gaius, now!
()()()
"You must be extra careful, Merlin," his guardian tells him in serious tones. "Don't do anything rash."
"I will be - I always am!" the warlock says, ignoring the rolling of eyes. "But I still have to find whoever they want to find … right? Or Arthur will be angry and more of a prat than usual."
"Yes, keep your eyes open. But you could always tell him you cannot find this person – that you don't have enough information, perhaps, that you've never heard them sing."
"Maybe I could stall the guards," Merlin says, eyes widening with realization, "If it's really a sorcerer they're seeking, then, the sorcerer will have time to escape the city - unless they're bad guys, of course, then I'll stop them. (But I hope they aren't)."
"That sounds good, Merlin," Gaius says and hums in accord, before returning to the pink bubbling potion on the desk.
()()()
It's some good advice he's been given and Merlin takes it to heart. Later that day, when bringing Arthur his evening meal, he tells the prince exactly that he's not got enough information and hasn't heard the Voice, thus, he can't help finding the singer, sorry. Hopefully, that'll give the singer time enough to flee. Arthur isn't that pleased, frowning through the entire meal, while Merlin prepares the bed and lays out a nightshirt (though Arthur usually sleeps without it anyway for some reason).
"That's not good. In fact that is really, really not good. Really, it's outright bad. Father's really anxious about this (and me too)," the prince says and pushes around some of the stew on the plate without appetite. He's not interested in food right now, and he finds he cannot concentrate: training was awful, he was dangerously close to losing against sir Leon and this afternoon when trying to review important documents he found himself doodling in the margin while his thoughts wandered.
If he could just find that singer, it'd end his problems and misery. He's not heard that wonderful voice for hours now … It's unsettling.
"Maybe they've left the city?" Merlin suggests and fluffs one of the pillows the way Arthur likes them.
"In that case we'll just have to extend our search," the prince decides and Merlin's heart drops. That's not good. That's not good at all.
()()()
That evening the warlock more or less crashes into the physician's rooms, interrupting his work and causing the working physician to startle and drop the large pot he's holding. Unfortunately, the bright and now green-ish liquid splashes over the edges and onto the desk, which is already scarred by past incidents, fires and magic accidents. The old man grumbles a curse but Merlin is too wrapped up in concern for the unknown Voice to notice.
"Gaius! Gaius! You've got to help!"
"What is it now?" Gaius grunts, clearly displeased at the interruption. He grabs a cloth and attempts to salvage the potion - or at least the desk.
"It's the singer! I told Arthur I couldn't find them, like you said, but now he wants to extend the search to the outer villages! What if it really is a sorcerer and they're about to get caught? Uther would have their heads on a spike! I need to help!"
"Not now, Merlin," the old man says annoyed, a grim look on his face, and he stares Merlin down and for some reason starts to grow into this giant, terrifying shadow-demon with large red eyes burning like a thousand fires and steam coming out of his ears. "Thanks to your interruption I now have to start this painstaking experiment, which I've been working on for the last three week,from scratch and I need ingredients that only grow in winter,which is five months from now."
By now the physician-come-morphed-into-giant-demon has reached the ceiling and grown red horns and Merlin has started to back away, he better leave before Gaius pops.
"Uh, I'm really, really sorry ...?" Merlin says as apologetically as he can hoping his mentor won't be that mad at him for too long. Hopefully. Maybe.
Instead of forgiveness, he's given the horrifying Eyebrow now magnified thirteen times, and ordered to clean all leech tanks that Gaius has ever owned.
He considers magicking up those ingredients Gaius so badly wants. Maybe he should make it an endless supply. Actually that's a good idea, meaning he won't have to go into the forest and get lost and dirty and trip over invisible roots or attacked by griffins, in hour-long searches for rare plants or mushrooms, ever again. Yes! That's brilliant! Then he could make the leech tanks self-cleaning as well and -
"Now, Merlin," Gaius says impatiently, like Arthur on a bad day. Only worse. Thirteen times worse.
He still has to polish the prat prince's armour. Arthur probably doesn't want leeches on it.
()()()
The deadline is drawing ever nearer. The following morning, Arthur sends two search parties out with orders to bring any singing person to the great hall – not only from the city but any nearby village as well.
By lunchtime the hall is starting to fill up. Arthur takes seat on a high chair, pen and parchment in hand – a list of names of all the people gathered. They are old and young, male and female, peasants and nobility. And he's got to listen to each one until he finds the right person. With him as jury he has two of his knights, Leon and Bors, they have the patience necessary, and Merlin naturally. The servant is seated on the step along with a pile of boots to polish – no matter how many times he's called a dollophead, Arthur won't let him sit there idle. He's a servant after all. And the constant sound of brush on leather is kind of soothing: a reminded he won't go through alone.
So begins a long day – a very long day.
()()()
It's awful.
Bloody awful.
There've been a mixed variety of voices: false falsettos, quiet altos, obnoxious sopranos and loud basses. They've sung tavern songs and pretty melodies or travelling songs they've picked up from Mercia. Some have just stood there looking stupid and too shy to actually sing. All of them have been wrong or off in some manner or the other, and sent out of the room with disappointed looks on their faces. After the hundred and fiftieth person, they take a much needed break. Arthur and his knights draw back to a corner of the room, and the remaining people waiting to sing (two hundred and thirty-six) sit on the floor or walk around while chattering.
Merlin still has twenty-two pair of boots left to polish and is quietly grumbling about pratheads and leech tanks and other things that he oughtn't; Arthur struggles to ignore him and not turn his head every fifteen minutes to start an argument about idiots, to lift his own spirits. It'd distract him too much.
"We'll never find the right singer," Arthur groans in despair, resisting the urge to pull at his hair (he's got to have some dignity with all these people watching).
"There's still a chance, sire," Leon says, he's always optimistic like that. "They could be right in this room."
The prince glances at the sky outside the window. The sun was dropping at a rapid pace. "We're nearly out of time." Soon the hall would need to be cleared so that the servants could make the final preparations before the banquet.
"We'd better get started then," Bors says and Arthur nods, but his hope is sinking like a rock in water. Not even hearing Merlin whine makes him feel any better.
()()()
Hours pass and now they're down to the last person, a pretty young lady, and Arthur hopes she is at least decent so that they can pick her instead of the intended person, if the worst happens. Hopefully it won't anger his father …
But apparently she can't sing. At all. And thus is sent out through the back door like everyone else.
"This has been an awful day," Arthur sighs and throws away the long list of names. Useless. Utterly useless. His heart is somewhere around his knees, a heavy rock which cannot be picked up and placed at the right place again. "Absolutely awful."
"One hour until the feast," Leon murmurs.
"I'm done with the boots," a tired Merlin announces. "Please can I go now? See, I asked nicely." He waves a darkened brush in the prince's direction and nearly hits the man's nose with it. "You know, you cabbage head, I could have done something fun or productive today but no, no, no, you have to be a prat and force me to sit here anyway and do something someone else could've done any other day, all by myself, just to let me suffer. You are one giant prat."
Despite the grave situation, the words cause Arthur to smile. Trust Merlin to lighten his day in the end.
()()()
The King is interrupted while changing to his formal wear, including his favourite bejeweled crown, by a knocking of his door and his son announcing that unfortunately, the singer couldn't be found.
"You haven't found them?"
"I'm sorry father," Arthur says, ashamed. "We've searched the city and beyond, but there's no sign of them. It's like they've vanished completely."
Uther grumbles gloomily. He'd truly looked forward to it. So had Arthur, judging by the look on his son's face. "Nothing can be done now, though," he says, voice heavy. "Are the other preparations done?"
"Yes, father."
"Very well."
()()()
At the feast that commences, there's an air of somberness about it that makes them all less cheerful. Like there's something missing. Arthur hasn't got any appetite and only takes a sip of his wine. The King holds a short speech but is mostly silent. Since the prince allowed Merlin this night off (the servant complained so much after polishing all those boots) he has no one to share his misery with.
An hour passes, but Arthur cannot endure more and asks to be excused, and for once he's allowed to leave without fuss. Slowly he starts making his way to his chambers. Maybe in the morning he'll feel better…
It's in that moment, when all hope has faded, that he hears the voice again.
Startled and overjoyed, Arthur starts jogging down the hall. Following the sound. It grows stronger with each step. He rushes past the guards and the busy servants, toward the western wing – he route is familiar but he is blind to all but the lovely voice, now singing of princes and dreams and other juvenile gibberish that Arthur normally wouldn't listen to but now he can't stop.
The voice leads up a set of stairs, a tower … to a familiar wooden door, which is half-open. The chamber is littered with herbs and books and the musky smell of physician, and Merlin is sitting by the table reading a book and singing.
Wait, what?
Arthur blinks and rubs at his eyes to make sure he's not seeing things. Or hearing things, for that matter.
All this time - It can't have been…! - it's beenMerlin. That makes absolutely no sense. Merlin, who's a clumsy idiot and barely can protect his own hide, can't be the one. It just can't. But he, for some reason, is.
"Merlin?" he splutters.
The song is cut in mid-verse and the boy nearly falls off the chair. The prince promptly marches over and grabs his insolent servant's ear. "Why didn't you tell me you were the singer, you idiot?"
"Whaa-? Ouch! Stop pulling at my ear!"
Reluctantly Arthur releases the offended ear, which Merlin starts rubbing at while grimacing, but doesn't stop glaring at him. "All this – searching the castle, sitting those horrible hours and listening to all those people and getting stressed out – it's been a complete waste! Why the hell didn't you tell me from the beginning?"
The servant looks at him embarrassed and panicked and waves his hands. "I – I didn't think you meant me. I didn't know. I didn't know!" (He doesn't say anything about the sorcerer-part, that'll have to wait till later.)
But then a thought hits Arthur straight in the chest. Of course! He tugs Merlin to his feet and surveys him (he needs to change clothes … where's his formal livery? Or he could borrow something old from Arthur's wardrobe, that's simpler, yeah). "Hey, hey, where are we going?" Merlin exclaims when he's pulled from the room. "I hadn't finished that book!"
"I'm still awfully angry with you, but you can actually save this night. Everyone is gloomy down at the hall."
The boy stares at him, confused. "But, how?"
"By singing of course! You need to change to some finer clothes though. I won't have you standing there looking like a fool."
"Oh … uhmm. All right. I don't know if it's a good idea though. Really. I'm not that good a singer anyway ..." Merlin is hesitant but it doesn't matter how much he protests; Arthur won't listen anyway.
Once in the prince's chambers Arthur pretty much empties his wardrobe and dumps the clothes on the floor ("Arthur, don't do that! Then I've got to clean and iron all of that iagain/i!") and starts rifling through them. Eventually he finds an old pair of black breeches and a red shirt with yellow embroidery on it. They're from when he was younger and will hopefully fit Merlin's thinner frame. He thrusts the clothes at Merlin's chest and the servant fumbles to catch them.
"Change behind the screen. Hurry up you idiot!" He pushes Merlin there and holds his breath at the sound of fabric being dropped.
"Do I really have to sing?" Merlin asks nervously over the screen. "I'm not that good—"
"Shut up and do as I say."
()()()
King Uther is about to stand to hold another speech, when the door opens and his son enters, dragging someone behind them. The King does a double take, because while the person is finely clad, he recognizes Gaius' ward from a mile off.
"Father," Arthur says in a breathless voice and bows. "I've found him."
"Found who, son?"
"The singer!"
The King does a double take again and looks at the boy in astonishment, who's now trying to escape like a scared hare from the hunter's aim. The boy shuffles his feet nervously and tries backing away but Arthur's got a firm grip of his arm. "Just one song, Merlin," the prince says impatiently. "One, and then you can go back to reading that stupid book."
"I, uh…"
"Come on, Merlin." The prince pushes him toward the centre of the now silent room, and all eyes turn onto the servant. Waiting.
Nothing happens. For a time. The servant stares back, silent.
"Any day now," Arthur says and is starting to become a tad bit annoyed and impatient with his manservant now; what if he won't sing or his voice cracks or was just an illusion earlier, meaning Arthur misheard and Merlin isn't the singer? His father would be so furious. The prince would end up sent back to his rooms and banned from going outside for a week, so he'd have to sit and sulk and be utterly bored, while Merlin would get thrown in the dungeons. Or the stocks. Or banished, or some other punishment the King sees fit –
"All right then," Merlin mutters and glares at the prince a final time, arms crossed, before his pose relaxes and he inhales and then he sings.
"Oh," Arthur gasps and luckily there's a chair right behind him which he can sink down onto and listen.
Maybe it's a spell, it could have been one binding everyone in this room and lulling them slowly into a world of wool and fluffy clouds and cute little ponies but Arthur couldn't care less. It's so lovely, and now when he can actually look at Merlin's face as he sings it's ten times lovelier than before, and it doesn't hurt that Merlin's very lovely to look at. The servant looks so calm and happy and relaxed and since everyone's so enthralled, nobody pokes his shoulder to remind him to stop drooling.
When the final few notes echoes through the hall and fades in the air, even the King's dangerously close to tears.
It takes a moment for Arthur's mind to clear, for him to come back to the present and by that time happy applauds thunders in the hall and Merlin, ears red, is trying to flee through a back door.
"Oi! Wait up," Arthur cries and runs after him and grabs his wrist when catching up with him in an empty hallway.
"Can I go back to my room and read now?" Merlin asks. "And change out of these clothes. They … itch."
"Itch? How does the finest silk in Camelot itch?" Before his servant can answer, Arthur goes on, "Anyway, I've changed my mind; you're not going to go back to your chamber and read that book. You're going to come with me."
"What for?"
The Prince rolls his eyes. "You honestly never stop asking questions, do you, Merlin! You're going to come to my room, of course. Then you're going to sing. For me." Because having all of those other people listening to Merlin's wonderful voice and staring at him like that upset Arthur somewhat; Merlin is his servant, no one else's.
"…But aren't there minstrels for that sort of thing?"
An idea strikes Arthur that moment, a wonderful idea, and he's certain his father would not protest at such a suggestion.
"Then I'll promote you to my Royal Minstrel! There must be some lyre or flute somewhere in this castle you can use."
Despite not struggling against being dragged to the prince's rooms, Merlin mutters something under his breath about "not the promotion I've been hoping for."