"Come."
Merlin pops his head into Arthur's chambers with a raised brow. He hadn't so much as knocked.
Arthur waves him in and sets down the quill he spent the last quarter hour twirling between his fingers, waiting.
Morgana left not even a few minutes before Arthur picked up the quill, and only after Arthur insisted she change out of her finery and go to bed.
They shared the last hour together in near-silence, soaking in each other's company as they sat at opposite ends of the room. They didn't need to say anything. It was enough that the other was there.
Arthur wishes it could be the same with Merlin. Because despite the late hour, Arthur knew Merlin would come, and he's dreaded it. He has too much to say and not nearly enough words with which to say anything.
It should not be so hard to say thank you. Two little words, to encapsulate the depth of Arthur's gratitude. They truly don't feel like enough. It feels as though "thank you" will never be enough.
Seeing Merlin doesn't automatically give him the right words nor the courage with which to say them. He hoped it would, but he still doesn't know what to say, or how to say it. He doesn't know whether to laugh or bow his head and cry.
Worse, he doesn't know if Merlin will laugh or cry. Or if he'd choose to do so with Arthur.
After all, their lives have become big, fat jokes. He supposes somewhere far below the dungeons, Kilgharrah bears witness, smug as a cat with cream.
"Arthur," Merlin greets as he hustles in and closes the door behind him. There's a satchel at his hip, its strap draped over his shoulder, and instead of saying anything he should say, Arthur immediately keys into it.
"What is that?" he asks, cocking his head. Tentatively, he extends his Sense's reach to poke at the object's inherent power, to see if he can trace the shape of it against the blaze of Merlin.
It isn't easy, and he hastily withdraws, wincing at the blinding, burning sting behind his eyes. It feels as though he's snorted water up through his nose, and he rubs at it ineffectually.
Merlin doesn't expect the question. He hesitates and grips at the strap to pull it over his head. From the bag, he withdraws a worn, leather-bound tome. It pulses in his hands with a soft, compelling aura.
Arthur stands as Merlin flips the book over, tapping its cover with his long fingers. "Gaius gave it to me," he says softly. "I wanted to show you before I…well, it's—"
"A book of magic," Arthur breathes, eyes wide. He thought they'd been destroyed. Every last one of them. He did not bear witness to that particular pyre—he was much too young—but he's heard of it, of how it burned through the night. He once wondered what sensations such a book burning would trigger with his ability, but he's long since given up speculating. The fact it happened at all is tragic enough.
Understandably, the sight of this rare piece of history fills Arthur to the brim with an overwhelming swell of hope. His curiosity sprints through him, and he's missed that feeling. It was that inquisitiveness that made him first question whether or not magic had a place in his world. It was what led him to take the first of his broken treasures from the Lower Town and all the others thereafter.
It's also what led him out of the castle to meet Merlin the day he arrived in Camelot.
The book is beautiful. And old. Very old. Yet despite its age, its very presence imparts a sense of childlike wonder. Arthur looks upon it and feels an unadulterated hunger to learn, knowing there are things beyond imagining just waiting for him. Right there! Right in front of him! At the edge of his mind, Arthur can just barely make out the marks of those who handled the book before, each young sorcerer leaving behind a trace of themselves like a fingerprint upon a page.
There are so many. So, so many. Enough that even Merlin's fingerprint is but another wildflower in the glen.
"May I?" Arthur asks, coming closer. Merlin holds it out to Arthur, who reaches for it with a gentle hand.
Arthur's fingers brush by without touching it, and his mind goes fuzzy and blank. He blinks and refocuses.
He starts back. "Merlin?" he asks, confused. When did Merlin get here? Surely he—
Arthur keys in immediately to the tome in Merlin's hands and forgets everything he was about to say. "What is that?" he breathes.
Merlin frowns at him. "Um, Gaius gave it to me?" he says, each word painstakingly enunciated. "I wanted to show you."
"It's a book of magic," Arthur marvels. He'd thought they'd all been destroyed. Every last one of them. The sight of this one fills Arthur to the brim with an overwhelming swell of hope. He feels so full he could burst.
"May I?" he asks, already reaching for it.
His fingers brush by without touching it, and Arthur's mind goes fuzzy and blank. He blinks and refocuses.
Merlin is in his chambers without invitation. Arthur's vision warps. Had he fallen asleep? How had he not heard him enter?
He…He doesn't remember. He's lost time. He's lost time. His panic rises.
"Merlin!" he yelps, jumping a step back. His heartbeat races in his ears. He nearly draws his belt knife but fumbles at the hilt. He blinks again, shaking his head. "Where in the devil did you come from? Don't you know how to knock?"
Merlin stares at Arthur as though he's mad, and Arthur glares. "Well!?" he demands.
"...I've been here?"
"No," Arthur denies, and he tries to control the confusion raging in his voice, to maintain some illusion he hasn't actually gone as mad as Merlin seems to think he is. "No, you—"
The book in Merlin's hands glows. It draws Arthur's attention like a moth to flame, and his curiosity supersedes his distress. "Hang on, what is tha—?"
Merlin pulls the book away from him. "Arthur. Focus."
Arthur scowls at Merlin, a little hurt. "Is that not a book of magic? You do realize my father has burned most of—"
"You've asked already," Merlin tells him with a stern tone. "Thrice now." He leans forward, studying Arthur with disconcertingly piercing eyes. "Do you not remember?"
Arthur frowns at him, blinking hard. "What are you talking about? I've only just…"
He trails off, uncertain. Déjà vu dances like a mirage in his mind's eye, and memory fuzzes and superimposes upon itself. He sways on his feet and falls back in a slouch onto his bed. "Did I really?" he murmurs.
Merlin nods and considers the book. "It must still work! That's incredible!"
"What must still work?" Arthur demands, rubbing his eyes and rising to his feet again. He can't help but come closer, to try to differentiate the various enchantments within and upon the book.
"There was a glamour on it once, Gaius said, but he warned me it was likely ineffective by this point, without anyone to renew the enchantment since the Purge," Merlin explains. "It's meant to dissuade anyone from knowing what it is if they look too close!" He beams at the book. "Clever, isn't it?"
Ah. He should have expected he would not be so lucky as to be privy to the book's contents. A spike of disappointment darkens his mood. "I suppose," Arthur says quietly. He takes a step away. "I'm…of course. I shouldn't ask again. I'll get caught in a loop, won't I?" A bitter cast enters his voice without his permission, and he huffs a self-deprecating laugh. "I think we've established just how easily susceptible I am to such things."
Drawing his gaze up to Arthur, Merlin's jaw tightens, and he holds the book out again. "Try again," he insists. "Now you know it's there, try again."
Merlin doesn't immediately offer any suggestions or instructions on how, exactly, he expects Arthur to try again without making a fool of himself, but perhaps that is, in fact, all the encouragement Arthur really needs.
Merlin is so in-tune with his magic, and uses it so instinctively, of course he'd trust that what he said would be enough. He's already told Arthur once that repressing his magic never worked, never made anything easier or better or safer. He's also already made it clear his magic is a part of him—as Arthur's ability is, and has always been, a part of him—as are the legs they walk with and the lungs with which they breathe.
Arthur takes a deep breath and focuses on the book. Without thinking too hard about it, he reaches out, finds a solid, unbreakable anchor in Merlin's magic, and releases his tether.
It's somehow easier, and harder, than before. Merlin's magic blinds him, but it…it also lights his way. With one metaphorical foot braced, he tests the waters with the other, and with some effort, he can see the warbling edge of the glamour.
He slips beneath it, and, still using Merlin's magic for his touchstone, gently forces his awareness of Merlin to dim into the background of his mind.
Merlin, after all, is here to stay, and his magic…it is a new baseline by which Arthur must re-learn his own abilities. That's all it is.
This is his new normal.
Funny, how a small change in perspective can make such a difference.
His fingers tingle as they caress the book, and with bated breath, he takes it from Merlin's hands.
After a few seconds of adjusting, he realizes he's still holding the book. He knows he's taken it and has not forgotten how it got there. Glee explodes in his chest, and he stares at the book with no small measure of awe.
"It's beautiful," he says finally, leafing through the pages. A myriad of color bursts in his vision, a palette of musical notes tinkling against his inner ear. He pauses on one page and feels a heartbeat of sunlight against his fingers. The gentle caress of it nearly makes him slip, but he doesn't fight against his instincts. Not here, not now. He expands his sense instead of retracting it, reaching back to his touchstone and willfully ignoring the euphoric call of Merlin's power. It hums its approval and satisfaction deep in his chest.
When he's steady again, he looks and studies the picture on the page. A sprouting plant blossoms beneath his touch, surrounded by writing in an unfamiliar language. He ignores the lettering and follows the growth of leaves with his finger. "I…think I can tell them apart, maybe," Arthur whispers. He flips the page again. And again. "The spells."
He'd always wondered, and considering he had so little to practice with, he was almost half-convinced he was imagining things. So much so that he rarely shared that many details with Gwen or Morgana.
The moment he says it, he expects Merlin to scoff at him. Instead, his new manservant gives him a broad smile, and sounding equally as awestruck as Arthur had before, he says, "Incredible." And, after a beat of silence, he asks, "What is it like?"
Even Morgana hasn't asked outright. It is a deeply intimate question, and Arthur is not sure he'd be able to answer if Morgana asked. With Merlin, though…Merlin looks at him like there is nothing more important than his answer now. Arthur takes his time responding.
"It's different, for every piece of magic I sense. This—" Arthur taps the page he's landed on. Another elemental spell, for starting fires. "It feels like a flick of oil or fat popping from a frying pan against my skin. A spark from flint and steel catching my sleeve, maybe. I suspect it may feel different, if it was actually performed in front of me."
Merlin's eyes gleam with interest. He looks like a kid, eager and bright, and Arthur finds himself smiling. "And dowsing fires?" Merlin asks.
The spell and several variations are on the next page. "A kiss of a breeze, a splash of water on a hot day," Arthur murmurs, following the strokes of the ancient lettering with the pads of his fingers. "And yet again something very different when you were performing the same spell below the dungeons on those torches the other night."
"How so?"
Arthur takes it as a rhetorical question. He thinks he'd rather stuff his whole hand in a lit fireplace than tell Merlin how his easy manipulation of air and fire that night felt like flying and the stirrings of wanderlust.
Merlin reads too far into Arthur's reluctance to share more and goes silent for a moment. Some of his enthusiasm fades. "I'm sorry."
Arthur snaps his attention up to Merlin. "What do you have to be sorry for?"
"I sometimes wish," Merlin says, as though confessing a big secret. He hesitates, chewing his lip, and starts again. "If I was always destined to possess magic, I sometimes wish I was a normal sorcerer and not…whatever I am."
"I don't."
The moment the words are out of his mouth, Arthur hides his face and, with some reluctance, hands the book back to Merlin. A small measure of relief washes over him when his skin loses contact with the collection of magic. A haze of weariness descends upon him almost immediately. It makes his head pound, but not nearly to the degree it had earlier, before the events of the feast. This fatigue is self-satisfied and paired with a pleasant ache that reminds him of his shoulder muscles after a day training with the mace or longbow.
He feels accomplished, Arthur realizes, and it should not surprise him as much as it does. Any unused muscle requires exercise to gain strength and flexibility, does it not?
"We can learn a lot from this, you and I," Arthur says, changing the subject.
"You'll…" Merlin goes quiet and says, with growing hope in his voice, "You'll let me learn from it?"
Arthur blinks, incredulous. "Why wouldn't I?"
Merlin stares, as though he can't believe Arthur could be so stupid. Offended, Arthur asks, "Why did you show it to me, then, if not for us to learn? To practice?"
"You do realize what happened tonight was partially my fault?" Merlin demands, stepping forward. He has an inch or two on Arthur, and now that Arthur's noticed, it is quite bothersome. Arthur glares at him, but Merlin is unintimidated. "Your safety was compromised tonight because I was there in that room. In the castle. In Camelot." He barks a laugh. "And now—what, I'm to be your personal servant? It's bad enough I'm staying here with Gaius, but surely this…will this work?"
There's a lot to unpack there. Too much. Arthur decides to tackle the most important thing first. "My safety," he says, "was compromised tonight because I am untested and unaware of the scope of my abilities."
"If I wasn't there," Merlin insists mercilessly, eyes flashing, "would you or would you not have sensed that woman's assassination attempt before it even began?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not," Arthur says immediately, without a second thought. "I've been repressing my ability for far too long to know for sure." He waves a hand at Merlin's magic book. "You saw how susceptible I was to a harmless glamour! That is hardly your fault. I likely would have been the first to fall asleep under her spell regardless if you were there or not, as it is!"
Merlin hesitates. He looks small, shy and not at all like himself when he asks, "Really?"
Arthur senses something precious happening in this moment. A vulnerability laid bare, raw with a wound that, here and now, can either fester or begin to heal.
Merlin really had blamed himself for what happened at the feast. Not just as a contributing factor but as the responsible party. The revelation doesn't sit well with Arthur.
He's not lying when he nods. "Really, Merlin. And…" He takes a deep breath and can hear his own vulnerability razing his voice when he admits, "I would have been a lot worse off if you weren't there."
Merlin can't look him in the eye. He turns to peer intently at Arthur's four-poster bed as though it is the most interesting thing in all the world. "It was what anyone would do," he says softly.
It isn't. It really isn't. "You did magic in front of the king," Arthur insists. "For me."
Merlin's gaze swivels back to Arthur. "I couldn't just stand by and let you die."
"Many people, with or without magic, would have done just that."
Merlin raises his eyes to the ceiling and pulls the book close to his chest. "I am not them."
"And, again, I am rather pleased you aren't. I'd be dead otherwise." When Merlin doesn't respond, Arthur huffs. "I'm trying to commend you, you dolt. Will you accept that?"
Merlin rolls his eyes. A little smirk plays at his lips. "Is this how it's going to be, then? You calling me names?"
"I will stop calling you names the moment you decide to stop being an idiot," Arthur snaps.
Merlin straightens, and he looks Arthur dead in the eye. "So you're serious about keeping me on? Me?"
"Of course," Arthur says. "I…" Embarrassment colors his cheeks. "I think this may work in our favor. You could use another layer of protection from my father, and I've never once had a personal manservant I could wholly trust. I'm sure the steward may have—" He coughs into a fist. "—mentioned I go through them quite frequently."
Merlin tries and fails to hide a grin, but despite his amusement, something like relief stirs in his expression. "He did mention something of the sort before I reported to you tonight, yes."
"You understand why, then," Arthur mumbles. He shakes himself and forges forward. "My point is: if you're to remain in Camelot, what better way to help each other learn, finetune our abilities? I…I can't afford not to learn now, after tonight. I can't."
Merlin considers him for a moment before he says, "And I can't let you go through it alone. I won't. Not after seeing what my magic—all magic—does to you."
"I…" Arthur heaves a sigh, shame pooling in his gut. He crosses his arms. "You're right. Damn that dragon." The words taste bitter on his tongue. His pride stings. "I…Merlin, you have to realize something. It's only going to get more and more dangerous. I have a target on my back because of my father and his policies. Ignoring the people who'd have me dead because of the Purge, I'm at risk for kidnapping, ransom, political manipulation, assassination—just because I am the prince."
"How you're still alive is a bit of a mystery," Merlin says bluntly.
The little fool has something of a dark sense of humor. Arthur barks an equally dark laugh. "I could say the same of you," he retorts. "Doing magic in front of my father. What were you thinking?"
"I was thinking that I didn't want my friend to die because of me."
Arthur stares at him, stunned by the automatic response, thrown by the casual and easy use of the word friend.
Is that what they are? It isn't the first time Merlin's said as such.
This, however, may be the first time Arthur starts to believe it.
Merlin is oblivious to Arthur's reaction entirely. "So…?" he prompts.
Conceding the point to Merlin, Arthur says, "So my sword and my position in court can only take me so far. My knights can only do so much to protect us all from what may come. Morgana's visions? My own ability? It's too soon to say what we can do with those, so in the meantime, I'll need your help, especially if we're going to do more than learn to control our abilities."
"What do you mean?" Something in Merlin's eyes has gone flinty, suspicious. He's shut himself off. Alarmed by the sudden coldness between them, Arthur reviews what he's said to try to see where he went wrong. Did he misread the situation? Did he make an assumption that was offensive to Merlin?
Perhaps...perhaps Arthur overestimated just how willing Merlin was to work with him beyond the scope of his official position.
Merlin must see the conflict and confusion in Arthur's face. "What do you mean 'do more than learn?'" he reiterates tonelessly.
Arthur's mind goes blank with shock as he processes the root of Merlin's true question. He thinks—he thinks Arthur will…what, use him? As a weapon for conquering and destruction? As a means to an end, to ease his way to the throne?
He has to control his visceral reaction of disgust and horror. His tongue threatens to lash out, to vehemently deny what Merlin's insinuating and demand to know why he would think so little of him. The insult to his honor at the mere notion is atrocious. His gut curdles.
But...that, he knows, is his pride speaking. With some difficulty, Arthur tempers his reaction and looks at Merlin. Really looks.
He is scared.
Oh. Oh.
"I know things about magic," Arthur says slowly, "that few do. When I am king, when it is safe and I've done what I need to do to ensure the safety of others, I don't intend to let my gift go to waste." He pauses and challenges, "Do you?"
"No," Merlin admits. He eyes Arthur for a moment, his barriers crumbling as the enormity of what Arthur just said begins to hit him. Arthur can see him weighing his words, judging the promise of their truth, before a bright smile breaks across his face. "Alright."
"Alright?" Arthur confirms, relieved.
"Yeah," Merlin croaks. He uses the heel of his palm to brush at his face. He smirks and jokes, "I think there are far worse things to do than pledge myself to you, Arthur Pendragon, even if I must be the one drawing your baths and polishing your armor."
Arthur snorts. "It is an honor, you know. You're officially one of the highest ranking staff members in this household now."
"So they tell me," Merlin mumbles.
"Come on, Merlin," Arthur jibes, grinning, "is it so bad?"
"You're going to have to be patient with me," Merlin warns. "Even after my little debrief with Master Catell, I don't know what in the blazes I'm doing."
Welcome to my world, Arthur almost sympathizes. Instead he says, "As will you with me. I don't like the idea of restricting your use of magic, but I think some ground rules are warranted."
"Oh, sure," Merlin agrees without complaint. He sets his book down and props himself on the edge of Arthur's table. There's some leftover fruit from Morgana's visit, and Merlin, without asking, helps himself.
Arthur almost tells him off. Because he's the prince and some things will not stand, if only because there are certain manners Merlin must learn in order to survive this position and retain any sort of authority and respect from his colleagues.
Besides, if Merlin behaved in such a way before other members of the court…Actually, the resulting image is so entertaining, Arthur changes his mind and decides it's not worth the effort to correct the behavior now.
He'll let it go, just this once.
"At first," Arthur begins, "I'll ask that you only practice in Gaius' chambers, after we've both retired for the night and I'm alone. Proximity matters, clearly, and I think this is a fair compromise, as well as a solid starting point. There's also less risk to you. I highly doubt anyone would walk in on you there."
Merlin nods, then hesitates. "Will you be alright? Alone, I mean?"
"I'm not a child."
Merlin gives him a flat look. "You know what I mean."
"I'm not in any danger from you," Arthur scoffs. When he sees Merlin's expression flicker into one of deepening concern, he sighs. "I just don't want others to see me trying to…accommodate the magic, and if I pass out, then at least I'm doing it in a controlled environment. With a bed beneath me."
Merlin winces, and Arthur curses himself for being so blunt. "Not that I expect I will," he says, as offhandedly as he can manage. "Not again. I think tonight…changed something for me."
Arthur doesn't elaborate, but he thinks Merlin understands. "Alright," Merlin allows, "but you'll tell me if what I'm doing is too much."
"Sure," Arthur agrees, only because he can see Merlin will not budge on the point. He's not about to tell Merlin to limit himself for his sake, and he vows to work hard, if not harder, than Merlin to prevent such an eventuality. His competitive soul takes to the commitment as eagerly as he does any tourney competition.
"But you're not to tell me what you're trying to learn at any given time," Arthur adds. "I want to try to parse it out myself."
"Easily done. And then?" Merlin asks.
"Then I guess we'll go from there," Arthur says lamely. He leans against the table beside Merlin and crosses one leg over the other. "You'll be able to learn some more advanced magic, I hope, and I'll eventually start to work on the proximity factor. Morgana, Gwen, and I used to do all these little drills and tests. We can come up with other things with Gaius' help. Maybe Morgana will be able to join us, when she comes into her magic. And one day…" He shrugs.
"One day," Merlin agrees, a dreamy sigh.
One day, Arthur thinks, I will revoke my father's ban, and I will not be the only one to see magic as it really is.
One day, you'll be free. All of you.
Arthur stands up straight and yawns. Merlin catches it immediately. "Now get, Merlin," Arthur says with an idle stretch toward the ceiling. "I think we've all had an exciting enough day."
"As you command, Sire," Merlin teases. He pops one last snack into his mouth and swings down from the table. "Is there anything else you need? You're still dressed."
"I'll manage myself tonight," Arthur says, already walking toward his changing screen and loosening the tie of his tunic. He yawns again. "Get some rest."
Merlin nods and sweeps up his book to stow it away in the bag he brought. "I'll see you tomorrow, then. Bright and early."
Arthur grimaces. "Does it have to be?"
Merlin's chuckles follow him to the door of Arthur's chambers, but before he can leave, Arthur calls, "Merlin?"
Merlin stops, his hand on the door.
And finally, Arthur is able to say it. Those two little words that mean so much more to him than their individual inherent value. "Thank you. For saving my life."
Merlin smiles. "Prat. That's what friends are for, no?"
And that's a wrap for now! I probably will come back to this universe at some point. A full show re-write is not going to happen, but there are definitely some very fun and intriguing parts of canon I have DEFINITELY considered playing around with. :D
Best wishes until next time!
Oz out.
