This is a direct sequel to Forbidden Fruit, in which we see the development of Arthur's magic-sensing abilities before Merlin comes to Camelot and then Merlin's very AU arrival at Camelot. Please read it before starting this, as I expect you'll be quite lost without having read its predecessor.
This fic will follow along with the events of The Dragon's Call, as I imagine it should happen in this AU.
Chapter 1
Arthur Pendragon, Merlin decides, is one weird individual.
Perhaps Merlin should not complain. Had Arthur Pendragon been any less weird, Merlin would probably not have survived the day. That fact, of course, doesn't make it any less true: the prince is weird, and Merlin wonders if he isn't losing his mind.
Merlin still can't be certain he isn't living in some sort of fever dream. Or maybe a drug-induced hallucination. That may be more likely. He can attest that his introduction to Arthur Pendragon was unlike anything his imagination could have conjured up for even one of his wildest dreams.
Because Arthur Pendragon knows. He knew, before so much as setting eyes on Merlin, and he's just…
Accepting. Unhostile. Casual.
Arthur Pendragon knows about the magic, and somehow, miraculously, Merlin still lives.
(Merlin doesn't think he'll ever stop trembling).
The prince leads his beautiful chestnut mare with a gentle hand, choosing to walk with Merlin rather than ride on ahead. Arthur tells him her name is Llamrei, offering the information almost eagerly when asked. He commiserates when Merlin says he doesn't know how to ride well and laughs when Merlin tells him about his mum's goat Ethel—a stubborn, curmudgeonly old thing when compared to the calm, graceful Llamrei.
Despite the rather intense exchange of secrets Arthur forced upon them, Merlin understands there's little reason for this…casual camaraderie. None at all. Not really. Merlin hardly knows what to make of it. Surely Arthur Pendragon has better, and more important, things to do than exchange small talk with some peasant from Essetir. The challenge Merlin posed earlier about making friends was impulsive and hardly something he thought Arthur would actually act upon. But he's…well, Merlin isn't certain Arthur is listening anymore to his babble, but he's not ordering him to stop talking, which is, actually, something he might feel entitled to do if he so chose, given the fact he is the prince of bloody Camelot.
Goddess above. Merlin is walking with the prince of Camelot, who knows about his magic. They're walking together toward Camelot itself, a place known for its severe and unrelenting persecution of magic. And Merlin is talking with him. Arthur Pendragon! Who can sense magic! The prince, whose father wouldn't hesitate to put Merlin on a pyre—and Merlin's talking to him as though he were just another common man.
But Arthur Pendragon isn't a common man. He knows, and not only that, but he can feel Merlin's magic, in as intimate a way as Merlin himself can. He, too, has hidden his ability whole life, and in full public view of his people and court.
That fact alone fills Merlin with no small measure of empathy and respect. As a peasant, he has a measure of protection in anonymity. Within a league outside his little village, no one knew his name or his past. Arthur Pendragon, however, is known to all within his kingdom, and known most especially by those who would see his abilities as an extension of the magic they so loathed.
It's incredible. The prince's gift, that is. It's unheard of, for one. Unique beyond measure. Merlin wonders what Arthur must have gone through to begin accepting the ability for what it was. He wonders if, maybe, it isn't so different from what he himself has gone through: alone, confused, and forever hunting for the answer to the question why me?
Merlin never expected to feel so understood. To be so known. And he never expected to find it here. His mother's warnings and worries about Camelot and its prejudices are so distant now, bare echoes in the back of his mind. He feels as though he's light enough to float on air, the euphoria of his relief and disbelief its own special magic. The sensation fills him with something beyond words, combating the gravity of fear he'd been born into. He's drunk on it. Tipsy, near delirious, and utterly incapable of wrapping his mind around this incredible impossibility, somehow made possible.
His throat swells with emotion as they continue to walk together. His chest is tight, heart threatening to break through his ribcage. The words he's saying to Arthur don't matter. He's long since lost track of what he's talking about. He's talking because otherwise he thinks he'd be crying, and once he started, he's not sure how long he'd take to stop.
Merlin has never known a life without fear. He's never known freedom such as this with anyone except his mother. Walking beside this impossibly weird prince, Merlin feels fearless, utterly invincible and free to be, for the first time in his life. It's overwhelming. It's marvelous.
It's terrifying, if only because Merlin doesn't know why he isn't more afraid.
A more cynical person would be suspicious, untrusting of the fortune Merlin's found. Someone else might wonder if perhaps he's being led into a trap. Yet another would run far, far away and never look back.
Merlin, however…He's not that person. And it may be too soon to say so, but…he doesn't think he'll ever need to be.
He's sensed the sincerity in Arthur's words. He's seen Arthur's fear and loneliness reflecting back at him like a mirror image, and in addition to everything else, Merlin can't help but feel hope. The emotion thrills him with its unknown potential, electrifying and incomparable to anything he's felt before.
And it is so, so weird.
Hence, his original argument: Arthur Pendragon is weird, and that, Merlin finally realizes, is utterly brilliant.
"This is kind of brilliant," Merlin says aloud.
Arthur hums an acknowledgement, but he looks distracted, his gaze questing out beyond the line of trees lining the highway. They're thinning up ahead. Merlin cranes his neck excitedly, and just over the highest boughs, he takes in his first sight of Camelot's crown jewel of a city.
Awe floods him as more of the citadel is revealed to him with every step they take. When he left home, he worried the castle would seem ominous and oppressive, but instead, it glistens with light and stuns him with its sturdy beauty. It stands proud and majestic against the cloudless sky, ribbed with graceful towers of white stone and glittering with glass windows, a protective sentry to those who live within its walls.
It's beautiful.
"Wow," he breathes aloud.
Arthur doesn't respond.
"I've only heard of buildings this tall in stories," Merlin continues. "Say, can you point out the physician's chambers from here? Gaius is a distant relative of my mother's, and—"
"Merlin."
Arthur's tone is curt and uncompromising, and when Merlin turns to him, he sees Arthur's knuckles have gone white on Llamrei's reins.
"Do you ever turn it off ?" Arthur asks, blunt and gruff.
"What?" Merlin peers more closely at the prince, concerned. "Are you alright? You look as though you're about to be ill."
"I—" Arthur shakes his head, but it doesn't seem to do him any good. A light sweat has broken out on his forehead. "You're drowning everything out. I can't…" He swallows harshly. "Can you turn it off?"
"Excuse me?" Merlin asks. His brow knits together as he stares at Arthur. He really does look unwell. "You…I don't know what you mean? I'm not doing anything?"
"It's loud," the prince insists through gritted teeth. A discomfited grimace twists his colorless lips.
Oh. Merlin tries to ignore the dropping sensation in his gut. He grips his rucksack straps, picking at a loose thread, unable to look Arthur directly in the eye. Maybe it was too good to hope he wouldn't feel like a freak here. "Can't you turn it off?"
Arthur grimaces again at him, and Merlin immediately regrets how he phrased the question. "I don't know. I've been able to…filter, to an extent. Block things out, to another extent. It's not like I have anyone to teach me."
Merlin nods. He knows how that feels.
"Anyway," Arthur continues, "I thought it was getting better the longer I was around you, but I can't sense anything from the city, and normally—"
Arthur's pallor becomes more pronounced. "Come on," he orders, abruptly turning Llamrei. He doesn't wait for Merlin, instead starting back the way they'd come.
"What?" Merlin asks for the second time. "Where are we going?" He trips in his haste to catch up to Arthur. "Isn't the main entrance to the city just ahead?"
Arthur shakes his head again, screwing his eyes shut momentarily. "We can't go in through the Lower Town. I'll take you in a different way. The Eastern Gate will do."
"Why?"
"I can't tell," Arthur hisses to himself. "Dammit."
"Can't tell what?"
Arthur mumbles another indistinct curse and takes several deep breaths, wiping at his forehead. He does not look Merlin in the eye when he finally answers. "A man has been proven guilty of treason. There is to be a public execution this morning in the main square. And the king has an…announcement."
It takes Merlin a moment to understand what Arthur is choosing not to say. His belly squirms with discomfort and a reality-shaking disappointment. His elated relief at having found a kindred soul in Arthur officially dissipates like smoke on the wind. It's stupid, to feel as though he's lost sight of something beautiful and precious. The danger of possessing magic in Camelot is still very real. Very present. He's a fool to have forgotten, even for an instant. "Oh," is all he can manage to say in response.
"Oh," Arthur repeats grimly.
"The man is a sorcerer," Merlin says, mouth dry.
Arthur finally looks at Merlin. There's something off about his expression. His eyes are dead, and his expression carefully composed. It's a veneer, a mask, and Merlin thinks the wall Arthur's placed between them to maintain the disguise would not succumb to even the most destructive of attacks.
How has he done this for so long? Merlin wonders, heart aching anew. How can he stand it?
"He was captured during a failed attempt to assassinate the king," Arthur says, tone as emotionless as his eyes. "And just so happens to possess magic. Which, of course, is the only public reason my father is giving to the people today. And what better way to announce the twentieth anniversary of the Purge than to execute a known sorcerer."
Merlin shudders at the dispassionate tone in the prince's voice, but he doesn't fault him for it. He cannot. Will not. Not after what he's learned.
Merlin almost misses it when Arthur softens and says quietly, "I don't want this to be anyone's first impression of Camelot."
"It already is."
The words spill from Merlin's mouth before he can censor them. When Arthur flinches, it is a small thing, but Merlin still feels the need to clarify, "But my second impression wasn't all bad. Thank you. For leading us in a different way."
Arthur nods once, but he looks uncomfortable with Merlin's gratitude, as though he thinks he hasn't done anything remarkable to deserve it. "I just wish I could tell whether or not it's over," he mutters. He pinches the bridge of his nose with one hand, screwing his eyes shut. "Everything I'm getting is from you. I feel blind. Or blinded , more like."
Merlin flushes. "...Sorry?"
Arthur drops his hand and merely rolls his eyes at him. "You said you were to find Gaius? Our physician?"
"Yes," Merlin says. "My mum…well, Gaius was good enough to agree to let me stay with him. For a time."
Arthur doesn't respond for a moment, his gaze fixated ahead. "He has a history with magic. You intend to learn from him?"
"I…hope so. Well, no, I'm not sure what I hope," Merlin admits, wincing. His position is precarious, his prospects even more so. It sounds pathetic when put to words, honestly. No job or craft, no friends, barely any family. A small part of him shrivels in shame. "I hope he'll help me find a place for myself here, I suppose."
Arthur nods. "Does he know? About you?"
"He knows of me," Merlin says, though that's not the question Arthur asked him. That was intentional. The thought of revealing himself to another person he barely knows, and so soon after getting blindsided by Arthur, sits like sour chicken in his stomach. He doesn't know what his mother has told Gaius in their correspondences. He suspects Hunith erred on the side of caution for fear of lost and intercepted messages. "And you?"
"Only two know about me," Arthur admits. "One has magic. The other is…a friend. Neither are Gaius."
Merlin's knees almost lock. His world tilts on its axis. He may not know much about Gaius, but his mother's word has always been enough to garner a fair amount of faith in his character. "He isn't trustworthy?" he whispers.
"I…No, he is. He definitely is," Arthur assures. "I do trust him. It's just…complicated."
"But you haven't told him," Merlin points out.
Arthur cuts a sharp look at him. "I barely knew for myself what I was," he states, tone clipped. "It used to itch, you know. I knew no other way to describe it when I was young. There isn't a precedent for…whatever it is I do. Gaius did the best he could. With both me and Morgana."
Arthur's tone implies he's not going to be saying any more on the subject, but Merlin can't help but ask, "Morgana?"
Arthur purses his lips. "My father's ward. We were raised together."
Merlin connects the dots. "She has magic?" he assumes aloud, awed. Another so close to Uther Pendragon? Hiding right in plain sight? What that must do to a person.
I'm not alone here, Merlin thinks. The realization isn't any less potent than it was the first time, when Arthur revealed his abilities.
Merlin almost misses the way Arthur stiffens, eyes flashing momentarily with ferocious fire. The prince's fingers twitch, every line of him coiled to spring. For the first time since Arthur approached him on the road, Merlin is very much aware of the sword at his belt.
"You're mad," Merlin says, taking Arthur's reaction as confirmation. "Utterly mad, but brave. Probably the bravest people I've ever heard of. Will I be able to meet her, maybe?"
Arthur relaxes, but his gaze is still piercing. "Maybe. Probably. She tends to get what she wants. Such a pain in the arse." He mumbles the last part with affectionate exasperation. "I'd sooner die than see something happen to her." When Merlin grins at him, Arthur scowls. "What?"
"It's cute, is all," Merlin says, still grinning. "That you're so willing to throw fists for your sister."
Arthur splutters, mouthing the word cute with an air of indignation. "It is my duty as a knight to protect those in my father's household!"
"Mhmmm," Merlin hums cheekily. He reaches out to pat Arthur's shoulder. The prince stares at him as though he's an insect with more legs than strictly necessary. "It's alright. I'll keep your secret."
"There's no secret to keep, you daft idiot," Arthur insists. His eyes flash with another warning. Merlin might have been intimidated then, had he not gotten a new insight into the man before him.
"Whatever you say, Sir Knight," Merlin says in a bright tone.
Arthur stares at him as he offers his most gormless smile. "Are you purposefully obtuse or is this just your natural state?" the prince eventually asks.
"Are you naturally an arse or do you have to work at it?"
Arthur releases a startled snort. A spark of laughter dances in his eyes, even as he says, "You can't address me that way, you know."
"In what way, my Lord? " Merlin asks, purposefully obtuse.
Instead of pulling his sword, or otherwise telling Merlin he could very well punish him for his insubordination, Arthur rolls his eyes.
Before them, the Eastern Gate appears. From the road, Merlin can see guards garbed in Camelotian crimson walking the length of the wall. He watches them with interest as their colleagues at the base of the watchtowers pass carts and goods in and out through the open iron gate, where there is a loud racket of horses wickering, harnesses jangling, and merchants shouting. The promise of opportunity and excitement that the citadel offers buzzes in the air before them. Merlin beams, trying to take it all in.
And to think, Merlin marvels eagerly, what it must be like inside!
"In all seriousness," Arthur says suddenly, drawing Merlin's attention away from the castle, "I don't think either of us can afford much familiarity inside the walls. I don't want you to experience any undue attention. And I won't have my father or his court asking questions I can't answer."
"You'll let me go my own way?" Merlin asks, surprised. Despite everything, he would have thought the prince would still want to keep tabs on him. He is a stranger, after all. And a magical stranger at that.
The prince offers a surprisingly self-conscious smile and taps his temple. "Who says you are?"
"Ah," Merlin says, a little uncomfortable with the realization. He supposes Arthur could find him at any time of day or night, couldn't he? "Right."
Arthur must catch the disheartened note in Merlin's voice. His smile fades. "Look. You deserve as much of a chance to live a normal life as anyone. I won't impede that. Just…" He sighs. "Don't get into trouble. I won't be able to protect you if you're caught, alright?"
"You don't have to worry," Merlin says, relieved. "I can keep my head down."
Arthur narrows his eyes, looking Merlin up and down. "Why do I have the feeling this is a big mistake?"
"You have very little faith in my self-preservation instincts, my Lord," Merlin quips. "I did survive this long, didn't I?"
"Gods protect us all," Arthur murmurs under his breath as they finally reach the guards on duty. They immediately bow low upon recognizing Arthur. One of the younger men eyes Merlin critically after coming up for air, but neither he nor any of the others protest when the prince explains he met the court physician's new ward on the road into the city—by pure happenstance, of course—and offered to show him into the citadel.
Merlin tries not to stare as others waiting for entrance to the citadel curtsey or incline their heads toward their prince. Arthur has a polite smile for them all, and stops once when a young woman presents an offering from the wares she brought in to sell.
They care for him, Merlin realizes as Arthur graciously declines the trinket and, after learning this is her first trip to the citadel, offers her insight on where she can find her fellow craftsmen in the Lower Town. As does he, them .
It's jarring. Surreal, even, to see. Ealdor was often forgotten by the royalty of Essetir. So close to Camelot's border, and with no major roads or waterways to support trade, nor of any goods of value to trade, Ealdor and its surrounding farm villages often lacked supervision from a governing body. They managed themselves, supporting one another when times grew lean. Merlin supposed the physical distance from Essetir's capital city encouraged Cenred's apathy for the outlying villages as well, but everyone knew that if there wasn't any immediate financial or political benefit to be had, Cenred would rather wash his hands clean than provide protection or the infrastructure other major Essetirian towns were taxed for.
No one ever claimed Cenred was a good king. Most claimed he was a cruel one instead.
Merlin wouldn't know. Not truly. Cenred's line never had a direct hand in his life before. But he's heard enough stories, and experienced enough hardship, to have his own opinions of royalty.
Arthur is not fitting any of them.
"Gaius lives there," Arthur says suddenly, pointing toward the correct tower as he and Merlin enter the citadel proper. "There are stairs leading up to his chambers under the easternmost archway. His are the only chambers up that way. Even a fool wouldn't miss it."
There is an unspoken jest in Arthur's cocky tone, implying that Merlin might somehow be something beyond a fool. Merlin doesn't take it personally. Will was the same way.
The reminder of home strikes a pang deep in Merlin's chest, but he smothers it, instead staring up at Gaius' tower with trepidation and anticipation.
He exhales a slow breath. The import of the moment isn't lost on him. He's here. In Camelot. And some part of him knows this is where he's meant to be.
This is where he'll begin the next phase of his life, however that may manifest.
"I don't know how to thank you," Merlin says to the prince.
Arthur shrugs. "Staying out of my father's line of sight will be thanks enough."
"Easily done," Merlin promises, unable to withhold a shudder.
"Well," Arthur says, after an awkward pause. "Farewell, then, Merlin. I hope you find what you're looking for here. I'll be seeing you, I'm sure."
Something about the farewell doesn't sit well with Merlin. It feels incomplete. Premature. Like a lie that wasn't crafted well enough to fool anyone. He nods, as though that is enough, too.
This is far from done, Merlin thinks as Arthur accepts his nonverbal goodbye and heads off in the opposite direction, toward the main square of the castle. Whatever this is.
His skin prickles with unbidden gooseflesh, and Merlin shakes the sensation of daunting premonition. Turning from the sight of Arthur's disappearing back, he steps toward the physician's tower.
He has other concerns now besides a certain Arthur Pendragon, and that includes endearing himself to one half great-uncle.
Arthur does not realize just how suffocating Merlin's magic had been until, suddenly, it feels as though he can draw a full breath again. In fact, every step he takes away from Merlin, the clearer his head, the less Arthur feels the rush of his magic's inherent euphoria constricting his lungs and turning happy somersaults in his every nerve ending.
The air tastes ever staler without it.
Typical. He's nauseated by the magic's potency the closer he is to Merlin and then craves it like an alcoholic in his absence. Arthur grits his teeth and tries to forcibly put it from his mind.
But no matter how he tries, it lingers, like the brush of a first kiss, tantalizing and terrifying. As he suspected upon leaving Merlin at the Eastern Gate entrance, he can track Merlin's progress to Gaius' chambers, almost step for step. Even at a distance, Merlin's magic supersedes all other signs of magic in the castle, drowning out the consistent hum from the Vaults and rendering everything from the Lower Town obsolete.
Idiot, Arthur curses ineffectually, as though it's Merlin's fault he impacts Arthur this way. It's far from logical, but it makes Arthur feel better, if only for a brief moment.
He sighs. He's going to need to devise further training exercises and "stretches" with Morgana and Gwen, if only to—
Arthur freezes in place. Morgana. She's going to flay him alive for not checking back in with her and Guinevere.
He'd been heading to his chambers, walking the familiar path without a single thought to his actual destination. The lapse reminds him he has duties to attend to, responsibilities and promises he'd made to help with his father's festivities for the anniversary. He spins on his heel. He has a little time, he thinks, peering out the nearest window toward the sun. He can make some time. Hopefully Morgana will forgive him. Maybe she'll grant him some mercy for the oversight.
She'll have to. No one can blame him for losing track of time, can they? Not when not a single one of them could have predicted the enigma that is Merlin in the first pla—
It hits him as it does in dreams. His boots seem to lose their purchase on the stone floor, suddenly and irrationally frictionless. His gut lurches and…
Everything freezes. Arthur sees the world in a blaze of crystal clarity and running ink. The walls around him smear and smudge, distorted in aborted motion, and yet he can count each dust mote suspended in the nearest sunbeam, glittering like perfect gemstones. Or perhaps more like tears, each a world unto itself.
Unfurling wings of white explode in his peripheral vision, then ripple slowly in the air like sails in a breeze. Noise rushes like wind around him, and it steals what remains of the air from his lungs. He feels pulled taut, so taut he could snap. His stomach lurches and lurches and…
"Sire!"
"M'lord!"
He blinks, and the world snaps back to normal in a jolt, color and awareness of his immediate surroundings slamming into him as the bubble of pressure encasing him pops.
Arthur finds himself on the ground, staring at the ceiling, dazed and gasping for breath. Two concerned and cautious faces peer down at him. Several baskets of laundry lay upended nearby, the white fabric spilling across the stone floor.
What…what the hell was that?!
Merlin, his overtaxed mind supplies, as though addressing someone else of lesser intellect. That was Merlin.
"Call for the guards!" one of the maids shouts.
"No, for the physician! Run! The prince is injured!"
The back of his head smarts like no other, but Arthur immediately pulls himself upright. "No," he commands in what he hopes isn't a croak. The flurry of movement around him halts, dizzying in its normalcy.
Arthur takes his hand and flexes his fingers before his face. He feels like an unoiled gear, rusted and graceless, every motion jerking and uncoordinated. There is a scrape along his palm from his fall. His wrist aches. "You will get back to your tasks," he orders, still staring at his hand, unnerved.
The two maids shuffle, eyes downcast, and Arthur sees a guardsman dash around the corner. Embarrassed now, Arthur rises to his feet and is proud to say he only wavers a small amount. Not nearly enough to be noticeable, but Arthur becomes furious at the further humiliation nonetheless. Every one of his edges feels fuzzy, as though dissolving into down wool. The lingering magical energy fizzles and froths within him.
"Back to your post!" Arthur snaps once again. The sound of his own voice grounds him.
The guard does as he is told, as does the younger maid, obviously intimidated by Arthur's tone of voice. The older maid stares at him like he's a child who'd been caught with his fingers in the pastry dough. "That was a nasty tumble, Sire," she says stubbornly.
"It was nothing," Arthur insists, flushing to the roots of his hair. Sudden anxiety flutters in his chest. "I'm fine."
He isn't fine. He doesn't know if he will be, now. Not if that is what Merlin's magic can do to him.
"You'd best see the physician anyway, m'Lord," the woman chastises, clucking her tongue. She runs an appraising eye over him. "Your head seems a'right, but for all the speed you got to your feet there, you could very well have sprained something."
Arthur barely registers her suggestion. He brushes off further concerns, and he turns to go. Her eyes bore holes into his back, assessing for the slightest imbalance to his gait.
He marches on without falter. His head throbs.
He warned Merlin, hadn't he? He asked Merlin to be careful. Merlin promised he would be. Arthur figured that abstaining from using magic was implied in the directive. Because surely he would not be so stupid as to use his insanely powerful magic in Camelot. Surely one who boasted of his self-preservation skills would not be so stupid as to do something that would knock out the magic-sensing Crown Prince of Camelot.
He thought Merlin understood perfectly well.
Clearly not.
His blood purrs and sings with fire, crescendoing the closer he gets to Merlin's magic, and the way his skin tingles drives him mad. He's worked himself up to a righteous fury by the time he barges into Gaius' chambers. The door bounces off the back wall with the force of his slam.
"MERLIN!" Arthur roars, catching the door before it can hit him in the face. He ignores Gaius' startled cry and steps into the room. The door crashes shut behind him. "What in the bloody hell was that?"
Merlin bolts upright where he sits at one of Gaius' workbenches, blue eyes wide with alarm. "I—"
"Prince Arthur!" Gaius interrupts, voice snapping like a whip. His severe eyebrow raises as he regards him, his expression a dark, disapproving storm. "Surely you were raised better than to conduct yourself in such a manner!"
Arthur growls, low in his throat, and for the first time, he notices the state of Gaius' chambers. Ordinarily, Arthur might have missed it, as the space is always a clutter and clamber of herbs, jars, and medical paraphernalia, but something about how Gaius stands draws the eye. The physician holds a rickety broom like he would a weapon, his shoulder-length hair in disarray. Splintered wood lies in shatters around his feet and across the disheveled cot that had been shoved from its usual place to the back of the chambers. Arthur's eyes trace the stairs hugging the back wall and land on the broken section of wooden railing above.
Arthur stares and turns his disbelieving gaze to Merlin. "What in the bloody hell did you do?"
Merlin flounders, and Gaius steps in to explain. The warning glare he directs toward his new ward is not subtle. "It was nothing but an old man's clumsiness, Sire," Gaius says, the exasperation and self-deprecation in his voice harmonizing with the appeasing precision and tact with which he usually addresses Arthur's father. "Nothing to worry yourself ov—"
"Oh, spare me, Gaius," Arthur interrupts waspishly. "You don't have to cover for him. We've met." To Merlin he says, "I was just knocked out by whatever that was. In the middle of the corridor. Around witnesses. What sort of magic was that?"
The color drains from Merlin's face. Gaius' goes gray as slate, mouth dropping open.
"I…I just—it wasn't even…" Merlin stammers. "Gaius leant back into the railing when I came in, and it broke under his weight. He was falling, and I couldn't let—I mean, I just stopped time and—"
"You stopped time," Arthur repeats in a low voice, shock overcoming all fury. "You stopped time."
That shouldn't be possible. Arthur doesn't know much about magic, not in any sort of academic sense, but surely he knows that much.
"Yes?" Merlin says, as though it's a question. Bolstered by the incredulous expression on Arthur's face, he is quick to add, "It was reflex! I couldn't let Gaius fall like that! It was clear he wouldn't have gotten up from that fall without several broken bones! It could have taken his life!"
These things are all true. Merlin's quick thinking and decisive actions should be commended. "It was reflex," Arthur says loudly instead, hung up on that one detail. "Reflex. That much magic was reflex?"
A loud crack of wood smacking against stone startles both Merlin and Arthur. The broom lies on the floor where it has fallen from Gaius' grip. The old physician looks like a fledgling conflagration, seconds from erupting into a catastrophe.
"You'd do well to take care when saying such things, Sire," Gaius hisses, eyes flashing. "The walls have ears, and quite a few of them also have wagging tongues for the right price!"
Abashed, Arthur stands down, glancing an apology at Merlin, who slumps back against the workbench with an anxious sigh. He begins picking at his nails, eyes averted from Gaius.
"Now," the old physician says, tone unreadable and uncompromising, and far, far too calm for the expression still raging on his face, "what, pray tell, have you gentlemen neglected to tell me?"
A sliver of ice shoots down Arthur's spine as he realizes what he's just done. Panic, illogical and potent, closes his throat, coats his tongue in lead. He tries to rationalize the situation, mind scrambling for purchase. Logic is a slippery, sheer slope, crumbling before him as Gaius stares him down.
Arthur tries to draw in full, complete breaths. He's known he'd need to tell Gaius about his abilities at some point. He's also known Gaius would understand. Hell, it seems Gaius was already willing to lie to protect Merlin, who, if Merlin spoke the truth earlier, hardly knows Gaius at all.
Arthur's known Gaius his whole life, and Gaius…Gaius is sympathetic toward magic. Arthur knows this. He knows, and…
It should not be that he sees his own fear in Gaius' eyes.
A fear for Merlin. A fear for him.
He never wanted that.
Arthur feels Merlin's gaze on him, and Arthur can't decide if he's glad Merlin is deferring to him out of respect for his secret, or if he wants to strangle him for putting him in Gaius' direct line of fire.
"You and Merlin have met, then, Sire?" Gaius asks wryly, looking between the two when neither speaks up.
Arthur jerks a nod. He draws courage from somewhere deep within. "I met him outside the city," he admits. "I…could feel him coming."
"Could feel him coming," Gaius muses, eyes flicking to Merlin and back. "His magic?"
"Yes," Arthur says simply.
"Surely that is impossible."
"It isn't," Merlin whispers. "Not anymore impossible than someone being born with magic."
Gaius surveys Arthur like a specimen, and he sees the pieces begin to come together in the physician's eyes. Horror crosses his expression before settling into deep sympathy. "Oh, my boy," he murmurs, voice pained. "All those proposed allergies? The ointments and medicines you claimed never worked?"
Arthur closes his eyes. He can sense Merlin's curious gaze behind closed lids. "Yes."
Gaius curses softly under his breath. "The executions?" he breathes.
"Yes," Arthur whispers. "And more, Gaius. So much more."
An involuntary whine escapes the older man's throat. Arthur can't discern its meaning. "Why did you never say anything?" Gaius asks. "I could have—"
"What?" Arthur asks, eyes flashing open. "You could have helped me keep this from my father? Lied to him, day after day? After you'd sworn yourself to his service? Knowing how much trust he puts into you and your advice?"
Gaius purses his lips. His composure shatters as he whispers, "We spoke of magic once, you and I. Surely you did not think I would—"
"It doesn't matter," Arthur says quickly. "It took me years to realize what I could do, Gaius. And I'm still navigating dark waters. I decided I couldn't let too many people live with the burden of this secret, not while my father continues to rule as he does against magic. It wasn't fear of you, Gaius. It was fear for everyone else."
The pain fades from Gaius' eyes, replaced with mounting respect. "It is a dangerous ability you possess, Sire. A useful ability."
"An ability that could be easily abused," Arthur agrees. His gaze flicks to Merlin, and Gaius follows his line of sight. "An ability I do not want to see abused."
"Appreciated," Merlin chimes in. He offers a weak, crooked grin, at which Gaius pinches the bridge of his nose. Arthur can see the prayer he mouths under his breath.
"Did…" Merlin licks his lips, fidgeting where he sits. "Did I really knock you out?"
"You said you wouldn't use magic," Arthur chides immediately in response. He rubs at the knot on the back of his skull.
Merlin's smile wavers, hesitant. "I think you'll find I said, 'I'll be careful and won't get caught.'"
Making a sweeping gesture toward the broken railing, Arthur raises an eyebrow. Merlin winces. "That hardly counts."
"I would argue it counts a fair bit," Gaius says drily, picking up a piece of railing from his cot. "If I had been anyone else…Well. In any case, we were just discussing this before you arrived, Sire." To the younger man, Gaius says, "You incanted no spell, Merlin."
"I know no spells," Merlin admits, cheeks reddening.
Gaius grips at the back of a chair, gnarled, pale knuckles stark against the wood. "I've never heard of such a thing."
"Nor have I sensed such a thing before," Arthur say. "Whatever you did here, Merlin? It was a wonderful thing you did for Gaius, undoubtedly, but it cannot happen again. It isn't just my reputation or status at stake."
Merlin flushes brighter. There is a bite of temper in his tone when he says, "As if I could forget."
Arthur narrows his eyes, and Merlin sighs. He sits forward, leaning his forearms against his knees. "Look, it's just…I couldn't stop using magic even if I tried. It's…it's like another limb. Another essential organ. I couldn't stop using my legs to walk if I mean to keep walking, you know? I couldn't stop my lungs from drawing breath if I mean to keep breathing. It just happens."
Arthur supposes he should have assumed as much. Raw magic spills from Merlin like an overfilled goblet. It's not as though his ability is any more voluntary than Merlin's. He cannot expect Merlin's control to be any better than his own, considering.
"Then can we compromise until I figure out how to acclimate?" Arthur asks. "I cannot go through the castle having my feet knocked from under me, the world altered as though I'm on some insane hallucinogen, every time you decide to stop time."
Merlin's clear blue eyes study Arthur from beneath his fringe, and finally, he nods. "That much, I can do." There's a renewed note of mirth in his voice when he adds, "Sorry I got you drunk."
"Shut up, Merlin." Arthur says, rolling his eyes. "It wasn't like that at all."
"Are you sure? It certainly sounds as though…"
Arthur's hostile glare only makes Merlin laugh. It's a high and bright sound, ringing with profound relief.
The tower bell tolls the time, and Arthur inwardly groans, the weight of his responsibilities settling back onto his shoulders. "Gaius, I suppose we have more to speak about," Arthur says, ignoring Merlin, the insufferable lout. "But I must attend Father's guests shortly."
"That we do, Sire," Gaius agrees. "You'll tell me everything?"
Arthur nods. "And I hope I can now count on your help? Merlin and I both could probably benefit from your insight."
"Of course, Sire," Gaius says, bowing to Arthur somberly. He heaves a heavy exhale, as though he can hardly believe he's found himself in such a predicament, but Arthur does not miss the private delight shining in his eyes at the prospect and challenge of researching not one, but two, perceived impossibilities. "I have my work cut out for me, between the two of you. Your control does leave a fair bit to be desired, doesn't it?"
Arthur isn't too proud to protest. Even still, his and Merlin's grimaces could be mirror images of one another.
I'm posting as I write and have no earthly idea when you can expect future chapters, but there will be more soon, I hope. As per usual, yeah? ;D
Apologies for mistakes. If any stand out, feel free to mention them to me.
Oz out.
