A/N: Congratulate me on a NaNoWriMo win! Taking a break from my original - 50k in and just starting to heat up toward the climactic action - to post this!
Reminder
Part 1: Arthur
He woke dizzy before he even opened his eyes, the sensation of the earth turning beneath him constant and nauseating, and his mind wouldn't be convinced he wasn't moving at all.
Maybe he whimpered. The sound tried to mature to a manly groan of pain, but his mouth was sour, and… oddly colored lights exploded behind his eyelids, blooming and withering. He smelled ash, and that should mean something…
"Take it easy," someone said, in a low smooth voice he appreciated to the point of tears, but without recognizing. "Don't rush yourself – you took a bang to the head, but you're safe, and you'll be okay. I promise."
The words reassured him – until the familiarity of the tone twisted round and raised its eyebrows. No one should use those words in that sequence without respectful qualifiers – Sire, my lord, Your Highness – except two men. And this voice did not belong to an old man; it held too much energy and impudence.
He cracked his eyelids open, dry like eggshells, and saw no color. Dark leaves mottling a light sky and moving. His stomach lurched and he tried to roll, instinctively avoiding vomiting while lying on his back, face-up.
Except – there was the stranger, knelt on the ground just beyond arms' reach, rummaging in an open pack.
No armor, like that which weighted Arthur's chest. No knife in his belt. No jacket, no cap – faded blue sleeves rolled to bony elbows, messy black hair divided by the tip of the ear. Unidentified packets on the ground beside a worn buckled boot as he searched for something he could not find.
Arthur searched for recognition in much the same way, and found his pack of memories empty.
Who are you. Where am I. Why are we here. Where are my men.
"What happened?" he managed.
"The cockatrice," the young man said. "Got a good swipe in before I managed to dispatch it. Don't worry, it's dead. And I remembered to burn it, so Gaius will have no cause to snort and fume. Gwen, however…" He turned abruptly, pouring something from a little glass bottle onto a dingy rag, and reaching it in almost the same motion for Arthur's head.
He flinched reactively, but had no time to gather himself enough to move – he smelled something sweet and metallic – cherries? lightning?
"How's that?" the young man said cheerfully.
Better, surprisingly. How come Gaius didn't use… if this young man knew Gaius, why didn't the physician use…
His companion sat back, pleased with himself through the exhaustion and exertion now apparent. "By the time we get back, Gwen won't even be able to tell you were hurt, so unless you want her to follow through on her threats one of these days, you can keep the secret, too."
Gwen? Morgana's maid? How come she made… threats to this other servant. Whom he clearly didn't know, or else he'd have dismissed him immediately because of his attitude. Or, well… maybe he'd keep him around for that little potion of pain-dispelling whatever-it-was. Or make him teach Gaius how to make it, and then sack him.
"It's only just noon, and we're not far," the young man said, considering some aspect of Arthur's face, then dipping more of the solution to smear lightly at his temples and behind his ear. "We can wait for a patrol or we can avoid them and ride in whenever you like. And you can tell the story of your cleverness and courage, or face the trouble you'll be in for tracking the beast alone. Because I told you, I clearly said, maybe take one or two of the others, Leon or Gwaine, or Percival and Elyan, because I'm not certain the two of us alone can handle it, but no – you were convinced that a king should be able to face anything-"
"Stop… talking," Arthur said, feeling battered by the barrage of words.
"Oh." The young man frowned. "Right. Sorry, Arthur."
Irritating as sand in the corner of his eye. "And use a term of respect."
Total incomprehension stared back at him. An idiot, then, for all his little bottle of pain-relieving solution.
"Sire," Arthur provided, finding energy to speak shortly. The air itself pressed in around his skull, squeezing with discomfort, though not actual pain. "My lord. When you speak to your. Crown prince."
"Crown prince," the young man scoffed, draping the rag over the filthy knee of his trousers and beginning to repack the bag. "That's funny. How hard did you hit your head?"
A single sardonic glance turned into two, caught and held, and the fear in the rude young man's face catapulted doubt through Arthur's entire being.
And he hated it.
"Doesn't matter. How hard I hit… Still your prince, aren't I? Still – owe me respect, don't you? If I was… upright, I could…"
"Take me apart one-handed?" the young man guessed, still with complete disrespect, but an overwhelming dismay. "Arthur - don't you know who I am?"
"Nobody," he managed. "Nobody important."
Cover weakness with certainty, he'd been taught, and allow no one to question. And he ignored the devastation that splintered through his companion's posture and expression. He cursed, low and foul like Arthur didn't tolerate from servants, and reached to finger Arthur's scalp through his hair. It felt… not completely terrible, so he endured.
"But it doesn't hurt any longer?" the young man demanded.
Arthur hummed a barely-sufficient negative.
"And what's the last thing you remember?"
He ignored the hope and agony of his companion's expression – how foolish, to simply allow the world to see your every thought or feeling – to try to focus through the fog. One day much like the next. Breakfast – training – all eyes on him – riding out – removing armor… papers to analyze and sign? reports to be made?... No, it all ran together.
Holidays? Tournaments? Cockatrice, his companion said, which prompted nothing, but… hunts, he remembered.
"Gwen," the young man suggested hoarsely.
"Morgana's maid," Arthur said.
"Leon?"
That was further back, he knew. "Knighted… last year? Posted to… posted to…" Was it important, where they'd sent Leon? "I haven't seen him in a while."
I miss him.
Where had that come from? He'd been taught not to miss anyone's companionship, except… maybe he did.
"Okay…" The young man took a deep breath, and hardened his eyes around the desolation inside. "Arthur, I think… you've lost your recent memories. Maybe… quite a bit of time. Do you trust me to-"
"How much time?" Arthur asked, trying to gauge the season more exactly by the look and feel and smell of the forest around them. Midsummer? "Days, weeks?"
"Years?" the young man ventured.
Arthur scoffed his disbelief. "Get me up, I'm not in pain anymore – Gaius will be able to…"
Bands of tension tightened behind his neck, down his chest, over his shoulders as he tried to push up, and the chainmail weighted him down. The young man promptly planted a knee and scooped his arms under Arthur's to draw him up, pressing the metal links painfully between them. He stank of sweat and smoke and something else that vanished when Arthur tried to put a name to it.
The earth still tilted under him – backside and heels and palms - with no promise of stopping soon. He recognized the Forest of Escetir, he thought – black earth, thick moss, gnarled oaks… smoldering carcass of something large and categorically unidentifiable. Why am I here without my men… fighting whatever a cockatrice is… with this peasant…
"And I came out here alone to fight that thing?" he said.
"You're very proud of your skills, my lord." And dammit, the term of respect didn't change his companion's tone one whit. Far too familiar… wry… subtly distraught.
"And who are you supposed to be?" he demanded.
"Your…" The young man cleared his throat and busied his hands. "Your manservant." He reached for the sword unsheathed next to Arthur's leg and Arthur clamped a hand over the blade, keeping it.
"You are not," he said immediately. "I'd never keep a servant so-"
"Outspoken?" the young man suggested.
It wasn't funny, dammit! Arthur said shortly, "You're fired."
"Yes, sire," the young man sighed, though the loss of whatever situation he might have enjoyed didn't seem to bother him in the least. "Feel like trying to stand?"
Not really. Maybe he shouldn't have fired the not-a-servant so fast, because if he succeeded in gaining his feet, he wasn't going to be able to keep them under him properly. "If I've lost time," he grunted, snapping his fingers – even a peasant fired from his job was still required to aid the crown prince. "How much do you figure?"
Not years, surely, but how would he know?
"Hard to say…"
His companion rose with ungainly grace, braced himself again, and hauled Arthur to his feet on the first try. Strong, or instinctive, or… something. The ground tilted, and two feet weren't nearly so stable as he wanted them to be, and his arm was lifted over his companion's shoulder.
"Best get you home," the young man decided, steering him over jutting roots, and – there were two saddled horses, a decent distance from the creature's carcass. "I hope you're right that Gaius can give you something, or else I'm going to have to…" He trailed off.
Arthur wasn't interested. He did his best to fight the dizziness, to support his own weight without stumbling, and the sunlight reached down through the leaves to squeeze his skull so his eyes ached dully and wanted to slip shut.
"That's it… steady, Arthur… nearly there…" The young man's voice was once against perfectly pitched to soothe, but for the words. Arthur.
"There's no way I let you use my given name," he said between gritted teeth.
"No, sire. I always just did it anyway, and you sort of… gave up trying to correct my manners."
Arthur grunted, having some sympathy for that retreat at the moment. It wasn't the horse he remembered, either, and that realization gave him pause.
"Your gray gelding?" his companion ventured.
And if he wasn't a servant of the citadel, how did he know that?
"Shot out from under you. Fighting Saxons. Last year."
Fighting Saxons. Arthur said,"Thought Mercia was holding them back?"
"They try…" A strong shoulder propped Arthur up, and quick hands made sure of his boot in the stirrup. "Can you make it, sire?"
A long way up to the saddle. At one point balance and perception were certain that the saddle was vertical and that was impossible. Impossible to seat himself without tumbling backwards again.
"Shall I ride behind you on your horse?" his companion suggested, and he heard more worry than amusement.
"I'm fine," he said stiffly, resisting the idea that he needed aid from this strange young man, clinging and trying not to show it.
Tree trunks and foliage bent and twisted in his vision, but instinct was nearly certain, and he followed it, holding the unfamiliar mount to an easy walk. His servant mounted like a trained horseman, and Arthur inward scoffed again. Servant – sure. Not a knight or a squire, obviously – maybe a minor nobleman's son? Learning from Gaius?
"How long have you been in Camelot?" he said without meaning to, once they'd reached the road. Less than an hour, unless he was mistaken.
"Sometimes it seems interminable."
Arthur scowled at the flippancy without facing his companion, who caught his mood almost immediately.
"Sorry. No – it's been a fair while?"
Years, he'd said.
Good to know Camelot was still standing, to see the turrets and pennants above the treetops, as they emerged from the forest. Good to anticipate nothing much had changed, no matter how long it had been.
"So I should tell you, there have been changes," his companion offered, unpermitted. "Good changes, I think, but-"
"Will you shut up," Arthur growled. "My head aches and this beast is slow and I'm not blind or stupid, I can clearly see for myself if there's been any major changes."
Wars? Damage? Deaths? He let no hesitation or apprehension show.
"In any case, I'm certain that my father will have kept Camelot safe and prosperous," he added.
His companion made a noise of disagreement, and if his head hadn't hurt so much, he'd have twisted about to glare balefully.
"Maybe it would be better…" the not-a-servant mumbled to himself. "Might cause loads of problems otherwise…" Mumble, mumble.
Arthur didn't understand any further words, and ignored the fact, focusing on each ripple and dip in the road. The feeling of urgency made him want to gallop, but pressure was increasing in the core of his skull.
"How's your head, sire?" his companion said suddenly. "I'm afraid with a lump like that you might have your vision disturbed, maybe your hearing. I won't say hallucinations, but-"
"I'll be fine," Arthur said brusquely. One of Gaius' tonics for pain, and a long night's sleep in his own bed. Maybe an easy day tomorrow, too…
Maybe a few easy days. The stone of the walls seemed to blur and glow, and small blank spots flitted through his vision. The people called to him familiarly as he rode the streets, and maybe because they could tell he looked injured. Maybe there was blood. His armor was unbearably heavy, and his body slumped in the saddle like a melting candle; he couldn't hold up all of it at once, there was too much.
The arched gateway was a cool shadow over him, and the courtyard was dim. Hurry and bustle sounded like a stream in his ears with none of the playful lightheartedness - gurgle choke murmurmurmurmurmur.
"Sire? Are you-"
"My lord-"
He squinted down, and recognized… the passage of time. Years. A scar, a wrinkle, gray hairs – new faces.
"I'm all right," he declared with as much authority as he could muster. "Return to your duties now – that's an order."
Not much obedience, very little alacrity. Way too much concern.
The young woman at the top of the stairs had long curly black hair – but no silk, and her figure was rounded rather than willowy, her skin dusky-brown rather than pale-white. Not Morgana.
"Arthur?" she called.
Hands reached to help him dismount, and he twitched his reins in annoyance to escape them. I can manage on my own, thank you very much.
"Merlin, what happened?" the young woman added.
His odd companion said swiftly, "There was an accident – he hit his head-"
Arthur was done with the fuss. He leaned forward to swing his leg clear of the saddle, kicked loose from the stirrup, and dropped to the cobblestones.
His head throbbed, the courtyard faded, and the cobblestones disappeared. Startled, he felt himself go limp-
"Catch him, he's going down!"
"Arthur!"
The world – his destiny – luck cushioned him, arresting his fall. Limbs sprawled and bruised and – heartbeat – his aching skull caught in the sling of a pair of steady, strong hands.
"He hit his head. I healed as much as I could-"
No one shouted, Go for Gaius! Someone go for Gaius… Arthur tried to move, to retake control of his muscles – to stand strong, and shout orders - but it wasn't happening.
"But he's lost a lot of memory-"
A lot?
"So especially everyone should be careful not to mention m-"
Darkness dropped like a curtain of peaceful silence.
…..*….. …..*….. …..*…..
He floated, cushioned in comfortable silence, every part of him weightless and free of pain.
But consciousness suggested a sense of responsibility, and maybe even of… anxiety. Something was wrong, out of place, unexpected…
He concentrated, and could hear the soft noises of someone stirring about his room. Manservant.
Which one? Because he'd endured a couple who really…
What was the name of his current… Or the one who claimed to be his…
Arthur struggled to open his eyes, to regain the ability to move against lethargy and ache – to resist soft sheets and luxurious covers and fat pillows – to sit up. He'd been undressed and bathed, he thought, and put into comfortable clothing to sleep in.
His room – his furniture – there the window, the shield on the wall…
Details different. The rug – the arrangement of tables and chairs – the pitcher on the side table with its collection of attendant goblets, the papers on his desk… a bookshelf?
"Majesty!" rumbled the room's other occupant, and he jumped to see a short broad man with a curly red beard and humor-lines crinkled beside dark eyes. "It's good to see you awake and upright. How was your night? How's your head?"
Plain cream tunic, plain brown trousers – servant.
"Who are you?" he said, managing to convince instincts that he need fear no threat in his own bedchamber in the citadel.
Curly red brows clumped down and closer together. "Merlin said you'd lost your memory, Majesty. You haven't regained it, then? I've been your manservant going on nine months, now."
"And Merlin is?" Arthur watched the man retrieve the breakfast tray and carry it from the table to the unoccupied side of the bed and set it down, careful not to spill.
"Merlin is a hard one to explain, Majesty. Was your manservant. Longer than any." Domed lids of silver were plucked up, and steam wafted forth.
"He's the one who was riding with me yesterday?" Arthur said. If his memory had left or was hidden and the only accessible information was years old, he needed to begin gathering new intelligence on his current situation.
"Yes. He goes with you most places. It might be said that he's the busiest man in Camelot." The red-bearded man backed a step, lids nested between broad fingers, and beamed. "Save yourself, of course."
"What does he do, though?" Arthur demanded, unsettled to discover that a single servant could be considered so important. "Is he nobility?"
The servant huffed derision at the suggestion, which was also very disconcerting – a menial so highly placed, and yet so free to express his own opinion in such a casual way, and he didn't seem to realize it was inappropriate. "He helps Gaius. First and foremost. Otherwise his duties are hard to define – organization, research, counsel, protection, investigation-"
Arthur held up one hand to stop the flow of words. "Has he got a title?"
"Of course." The red-haired servant turned away to set the lids down on the table, and a faint silvery chime lingered on the air, increasing in volume rather than dying away, and obscuring the servant's continued explanation.
Arthur tried to focus through the chime – tried to follow the servant's gesticulations – and points of his vision began to warp and blur. He had to squint against the morning sunlight from the open window, and his lungs refused to draw in air sufficient to order, Enough. That's enough – leave me.
"Hemley?" A female voice cut through the chime, disintegrating it beyond perception. "What are you doing? You know Merlin said we shouldn't… bother His Majesty with details. Like that."
It was the young woman from yesterday, at the stair. Long black curls, fine blue-green dress like nobility – prettier and more practical than he remembered most of Morgana's gowns – unadorned and unembellished and now he could see that the round tan face belonged to the blacksmith's daughter. Who'd found her courage and her tongue, it would seem. Maturity looked good on her.
Relief at cleared vision and hearing allowed him to lean back on the heel of one hand and watch the middle-aged servant flounder a bit to face the girl. "My lady. Yes, I know, and I didn't intend to – but His Majesty had questions."
A smile touched Gwen's full lips, and she nodded, gesturing to dismiss the older servant like she'd been doing it for a while.
"Finally, a face I recognize," Arthur drawled. "You've got a promotion, then, have you?"
She took two steps forward, then checked the inclination to join him. Bedchamber, after all. But she didn't blush and stammer to realize. "Something like that. How are you feeling? How's your head?"
"Better," he said only. "Have you got a message for me?" He began to pick through the breakfast tray – butter-brushed roll, fresh berries… "You can sit."
Her lips quirked wryly, and she seated herself – as much a lady in her manners as Morgana had ever been, he thought. "Gaius said, nothing strenuous today. No meetings, no training."
"Hm." Good, and too bad. He picked up the fork and speared one of the sausages. "And he can just decide that, without having a look at me at all?"
"Well, Merlin said-"
Arthur made a rude noise. "Merlin. Mer-lin. Where's he from, anyway, and how on earth did he get to be so important? That – servant who just left-"
In response to his snapped fingers, she supplied, "Hemley."
"Said he's not even nobility. Didn't my father have anything to say about that?"
"Lots."
Arthur looked closer and could see amusement coloring how seriously she was taking his condition.
"He saved your life, actually," she added. "Your father made him your manservant for that."
Arthur ignored the confusing welter of feelings her words provoked to say lightly, "No good deed goes unpunished."
Hadn't Merlin said how he'd given up trying to correct his manners? He'd have to see about that – except, Merlin had also saved his life yesterday, hadn't he. Or nearly. Or at least he'd been helpful with that whatever-it-was that smelled so… odd.
"Indeed," Gwen said, setting her jaw against another smile.
"Gaius' apprentice?" he tried, around a bite of sausage. If he hadn't been Arthur's manservant for going on nine months. I fired him, didn't I? But then, why had he gone to the woods with Arthur? The two of them alone against some unidentified beast. Not just hunting deer or boar.
"Sometimes," she hedged.
He liked how expressive her face was, when she wasn't self-conscious about her place in the room – behind Morgana, usually. Then no wonder no one could see her behind the demanding flash and fire of Camelot's Lady.
"Dogsbody?" he suggested.
"Always." That brought a full smile, and it was him to look away. She was actually kind of beautiful. And he shouldn't notice that.
"You know," he said deliberately. Virtuous to tell the truth, wasn't it? Virtuous – and distracting. "It was Merlin who took me out to the forest yesterday. Just the two of us against some wild beast. He told me not to tell you, you'd be upset."
For the first time it occurred to him, maybe because the two of them were together. Maybe Gwen was in love with the outspoken… nobody.
"Oh," she said, dismayed. "Oh, Arthur, you didn't. It's really not fair to him, even if you prefer…"
He watched her remember that he didn't remember, and it flustered her, though out of all the servants, he didn't think he minded her using his name one bit. Swiftly she vacated the chair and moved for the door, and he couldn't think of an official reason why he should order otherwise, at least not fast enough to keep her presence.
"Please be patient and obey Gaius," she said. "He was up most of the night trying to find a cure for your memory loss and Merlin made him go lie down but he won't leave the books for a minute even if I try to order him-"
That's it, Arthur decided. They must be together, if she was so concerned… Loneliness gave it a stab, trying to make him feel bad. "All right, all right," he said ungraciously. "I promise I'll behave."
"They'll be as quick as they can," she promised, halfway out the door. "We'll have you back to rights in no time."
Time ticked by exceedingly slowly.
The blurry spots returned to his vision, and swam lazily about the room whenever he tried to pace. He couldn't focus on his armor at all, the chainmail and shield and sword he kept in his bedchamber rather than the armory. And it was a new sword, he could tell in spite of the blurriness.
He decided to leave the room. Go tell Gaius that examining his sword gave him a splitting headache, and he ought to – ought to…
Ignoring the people around him didn't help. Ignoring the blurry spots and the under-water hearing affected his balance in a way he wasn't sure he could hide very long.
He made it halfway up the stairs to Gaius' tower, before retreating. He avoided the corridors leading to Morgana's room and his father's, hoping he wouldn't run into either of them. Probably Gaius had minimized the severity of the injury when he reported, so they wouldn't worry, if neither of them had come to see him or request he present himself for their personal scrutiny.
Twilight found him on the battlements. The vagaries of the wind playing with pennant and torch were pleasant in his ear and against his skin, and when he gazed over the far-stretching treetops to the horizons of Camelot, nothing blurred. Something to do with distance and focus, he assumed.
"Arthur?"
He turned involuntarily, stung to annoyance by the tone and familiar use of his name, to find that he'd been joined without permission by his companion from yesterday. "Oh, it's you."
The young black-haired servant moved forward, throat bare and sleeves rolled, to hitch himself up on the wall not far from Arthur's perch.
"Found a cure yet?" Arthur pressed, lightly sardonic.
A single uncomfortably-apologetic glance.
"Because everyone says, how important you are, how busy, how I must rely on you," he continued sardonically. "Even though I sacked you from my personal service, evidently."
Merlin's body swayed as he inhaled deeply, then released the breath. "Yeah…"
"Well, if you're useless, why do I keep you around?" Curiosity dug deeper than sarcasm. Why? Why someone like this, irreverent and uninhibited, untaught, of no social standing…
"I'm good for a laugh, sometimes," Merlin said softly.
"You're my fool, then." Arthur turned the word like the edge of a blade – and was surprised that it hurt him when Merlin winced.
"Here's the thing." The younger man didn't look up, or protest the word. "There is something I can try, but – it requires your cooperation."
"Why do you think I wouldn't give it?" Arthur demanded, annoyed again.
"It's-" Merlin tried a few words and rejected them before settling on, "complicated."
Irritation swarmed his chest. "I'm certain I can keep up."
"Complicated," Merlin repeated, "by the fact that I was trying to shield you from… certain changes that have taken place, and your potential reaction to them."
"What are you on about?" he said – but fear gripped his edges like ice round the verges of a deep, still pond. Changes – loss? death?
"I made it worse." The corner of Merlin's mouth quirked, but it wasn't with humor. "Well – unintentionally, of course. I didn't stop to consider… just how much I'd be shielding you from."
"How much of what?" Arthur said, hating to ask again. Hating to have to ask.
"That's what's… causing your blurry spots?" Merlin waved an embarrassed gesture as if it could help him explain. "And if you noticed anything wrong with your hearing?"
"You did that?" Arthur said. "With that, whatever it was you used yesterday? I thought it smelled funny!"
"Whatever I used…" Merlin stared a blank moment, before – "Oh! no, that was… that was something else."
"Merlin," Arthur gritted. "You are not making sense."
The younger man met his eyes, and held, and Arthur noticed him breathing. Noticed the gaunt circles beneath his eyes – up all night, Gwen said – and all humor had fled to allow… fear to creep in. That disturbed Arthur on some level he didn't want to examine – if Merlin was afraid… what did Merlin have to be-
"Magic," Merlin uttered.
Arthur's heart tripped, and his breath caught in his throat, but he didn't look away because Merlin wasn't calling some warning concerning their surroundings, he was saying…
"It would require magic to cure your amnesia," Merlin went on with fatalistic calm.
Absolutely not.
"And that requires your cooperation, we couldn't just – do it while you were sleeping, or something."
Nightmares of being defenseless in his bed, while someone crept in and-
"We?" Arthur managed.
Something shifted in Merlin's expression. "I have magic."
The moment slid toward eternity, and nothing changed – neither of them moved – and everything changed.
"What." Arthur was certain he must have misheard, or misunderstood. Because no one stood there calmly and confessed to magic before the crown prince of Camelot.
"Since I was born." Merlin was watching him just as carefully, with no hint of a joke, or a threat. "Since I came here, I used it to protect my friends, to defend the people-"
To kill a beast in the forest…
"You found out. You listened to what I had to say, and you decided… you lifted the Ban to allow - within reason, with safety protocols, and regulation-"
"So every time," Arthur said, trying to keep heartrate and breathing and tone all even, when every instinct wanted to panic and act. "Every time my vision blurred and my hearing wasn't clear – every time, that was magic being done on me."
"Well, actually," Merlin hedged.
"Being talked about in my presence, and being done. On me."
His skin was cold, his muscles tight. This was everything his father had ever warned him about. Running wild, twisting perception – can't trust it.
"If you remembered," Merlin pleaded softly. "You would understand…"
Arthur didn't look away, ready for any flash of gold magic from those blue eyes. He backed as he would from an armed threat; there was sure to be a man stationed at the door-
"Guards!"
Merlin's face fell, but he made no move to flee or attack. "Please let me help you remember?"
Oh, hell no. Not a bloody chance in hell.
Men in chainmail – two, by the sound of it – came jogging up behind him. Merlin's gaze shifted to them, but his expression of resignation didn't change.
"He's just confessed to me," Arthur stated, not looking at them – Leon just next, and someone with dark hair and beard just beyond, that he didn't recognize. "He has magic."
Neither man made a move.
"A sorcerer," Arthur added, to clarify. If they hadn't seen, maybe they wouldn't understand – but it didn't matter if they hadn't seen. "Arrest him immediately!"
"Arthur-" Leon said, surprisingly using his first name also; he didn't mind that so much, though.
"It's all right," Merlin said immediately. "I'll go. I'm not resisting."
He stepped forward and Arthur circled warily. Leon, looking unhappy, took a rather careless hold of his arm, bare below the rolled sleeve. The sorcerer stalked off, looking almost like he was leading the knight – Leon glanced back more than once as if expecting Arthur to countermand the order for some reason.
The dark-haired knight remained at Arthur's side, hand on the hilt of the sword in his belt, facing Arthur but watching til the other two were out of sight – through the door, down the corridor.
"I'm fine," Arthur told him, maybe intending for the knight to leave him alone, he wasn't sure. "He didn't hurt me."
A reproachful glance, smoothed to inscrutable study. "What are your orders concerning the sorcerer, sire?"
Arthur frowned. Arrest was enough – his father could-
"Shall we prepare for execution?" the knight added.
"Without a trial?" Arthur retorted.
"Your father rarely-"
He glared, and the knight swallowed whatever else he was going to say – but followed Arthur to the parapet and watched him lean over his elbows. The energy of the moment was beginning to drain away, the physical reaction to the supposition of danger that hadn't manifested.
"The law demands execution," the knight observed. Not quite respectfully.
"What's your name?" Arthur returned, considering outright dismissal. "I don't remember you. Nor do I recall asking for your opinion."
The knight seemed to chew his tongue for a moment. "No, my lord – I suppose I was… asking about yours."
"Opinions don't govern," Arthur said. "The law does that."
"So it's death for him, is it?"
Arthur resisted. And maybe it was weakness, but… bloody hells, he didn't want that, not in Merlin's case. Easier, he supposed, when a magic-user was swearing a storm and promising vengeance and actively attempting to kill people-
Not cure them-
Not enchant the prince under guise of curing him…
Except that everyone seemed to accept Merlin as Gaius' apprentice, and no one seemed afraid of him, so if he was powerful enough to enchant everyone, why on earth had he just confessed and walked to a cell…
Unless he didn't walk to a cell. Unless he'd enchanted Leon, and…
Arthur rubbed his fingertips into his eyes. Against the backs of his eyelids he felt Merlin's gentle touch, saw the devastation over the thin expressive face to realize memory loss.
"Is my father dead?" he asked the knight, without dropping his hands. Because Merlin had said, You listened – you decided. And now this one was acting like it was going to be his choice, what to do with the prisoner.
"Yes." So disrespectful, not a single term of polite address.
But this man stayed with him, and didn't excuse himself to duties, as a pang of loss and loneliness shot through him to hear the news of bereavement. He ignored it. Emotions changed nothing. He'd been born for this moment, and prepared.
"Merlin said I changed the law."
"You did."
"Was I enchanted when I did it?" Arthur eyed the man, leaning on his elbows and clasping his hands together. "Would you even know if I'd been enchanted?"
The knight gave him a sudden grin. "Merlin doesn't enchant people, even when he should."
Arthur grunted, startled but unimpressed. "And I suppose there was a great uproar when it happened, riots and magical attacks?"
"No. You were cautious about it. Strategic." Dark eyes leveled on him. "I've rarely been more proud that I swore my allegiance to you."
Some unidentifiable emotion turned over at the base of Arthur's breastbone. Not to Camelot. Not, to the king. He'd been sworn allegiance as a person, an individual, a man.
"I don't remember," he said hoarsely. Because that had never happened to him.
"It was before you found out about the magic," the knight told him. "Merlin told me you were a good man, and I believed him. And then I saw it for myself."
Merlin thought he was a good man. While he was still hiding magic…
Shaking his head, Arthur took a deep breath, and let it out. "So if I – refuse this magical cure, and reinstate the Ban and punish anyone who uses magic… then there would be riots. And magical attacks."
The knight watched himself scuff a boot against the base of the wall. "Probably not, if I'm being honest," he said softly. "Because Merlin wouldn't let that happen. He wouldn't want that to happen. He'd defend you and your choices – and go back to waiting and hoping. In exile, even, if he had to."
Arthur looked at him again. A swordsman, he thought, and not a young man. How did someone like this – mercenary? foreigner? he thought he'd recognize any one of Camelot's nobility his age, give or take a decade – come to his service?
"You'd go with him," he realized. In spite of that oath of allegiance.
Again that grin. "If he'd let me."
The second-busiest man in the kingdom. His manservant, sacked from the position. Nobody important. It was like waking to find his worst nightmare come true – magic in Camelot – except it wasn't a nightmare at all.
"Does he tell me what to do?" he asked.
The knight snorted derisively.
"Does he do what I tell him to do?" Arthur said, more narrowly.
The boot scuffed thoughtfully. "When it matters," the knight said. "But you don't really… order him around, anymore. Not like when he was your manservant and… would stand in the stocks all day and then sit up to mend your socks all night."
"Nonsense," Arthur scoffed.
No grin in sight. "Truth."
Bloody hells. When they decided they'd tell him what was going on, they didn't hold back, did they? Arthur kicked the wall too, then turned to pace. "So they all chose you to talk to me because, what? you're the most persuasive of the bunch?"
"I have been told," the knight conceded lightly. "But no – they all told me to steer clear of you if you found out before you remembered. Because I have a temper and Merlin is my friend."
Arthur shook his head. A sorcerer, and a friend. "Do I struggle with it?" he said. "Do I ever wish I'd never changed the law?"
What was this coming out of his mouth? He never questioned his own judgment, and certainly not in front of one of his men. He should be sprinting to amend the mistake of lifting the Ban; it felt like letting the walls around the citadel tumble down and leaving them lie while an unseen enemy was approaching.
The knight sighed. "You have your days," he allowed. "Your doubts. I personally think you're stronger for them, though. More certain of Merlin, after you… struggle."
"And the rest of the kingdom?" Arthur wondered. "Peaceful and content, with magic?"
"There are still enemies," the knight said slowly. "Some you inherited…"
Which meant, some he didn't. Some were enemies he'd made himself. "I should remember that," he said aloud. Should remember what he'd done, good and bad and whatever he'd learned from his mistakes, otherwise… they were wasted mistakes. Whatever hurt or harm anyone had borne, would be… otherwise wasted. "I should remember…"
"Yes, my lord." And now that the man was perfectly seriously respectful – he didn't feel he deserved it.
"Do you know what… it entails?" Arthur said awkwardly. "Potions, incense? Incantations, rituals?" Sacrifices?
The knight shook his head, smiling with just the right sort of sympathy. "Just Merlin."
Arthur breathed, feeling like he was about to order a battle charge that would fail and result in the death of all his men. All his people. "Let's get this over with, then."
The knight followed him, and didn't say a word. Every step Arthur took was doubt and judgment – my father is dead, and I dishonor him by favoring those he declared his enemies… I cannot even see clearly to determine right and wrong, only choose to trust men I don't know… men I shouldn't trust…
What would Gaius say. Perhaps magic prevented me from seeing him…
He saved your life, Gwen said. Your father made him your manservant… So he'd stayed, and served evidently in secret.
"How did my father die?" Arthur said to the knight as they descended the stairs into the dungeon. Firelight and blurred sections of stone – and how then could he hear all this about magic? Merlin must have… unshielded him.
"He took a knife meant for you," the knight told him, again with exactly the sort of sympathy that comforted. Did he know Arthur so well, then, too? that his words of succinct explanation carried a wave of comfort.
"And he didn't know?" Arthur checked. "About Merlin's magic?"
"Merlin hid from him most of all," the knight answered. "And to you he showed most of all."
Illogical, that. He didn't feel any different, but they were telling him that one of the greatest changes was… himself.
"Stay here," he told the knight, reaching the arched doorway to the corridor bisecting the barred cells.
He could see Leon all the way at the end, standing very close to the bars and speaking very earnestly to its occupant. Surprising, for any other prisoner. That said a lot – and he trusted Leon too, didn't he? Leon had fought magic with him.
"Arthur," the dark-haired knight spoke after him, and he turned. "I am very proud to be your man. I'm sorry this happened to you – it could have been any one of us. But you have nothing to blame yourself for."
Having nothing else to say, he told the man, "I'm going to remember you, y'know."
The knight grinned through the beard, dark eyes dancing. "I look forward to that."
How on earth did he tolerate such insubordination? But maybe that made the man's loyalty and respect more trustworthy, in the end, than if he pretended to a decorum he did not feel – or at least was unused to showing.
Leon alerted to his footsteps. "Sire?"
"Leave us, please," he said brusquely, self-conscious and hating it. To be so surrounded and handled by those who knew him better than he knew himself.
Leon glanced into the cell once before giving Arthur a nod that was also a bow, and retreating down the row toward his fellow knight.
"That was fast," Merlin commented. "You've made up your mind, then, what to do with me?"
Arthur looked at him. Pale in the torchlight and trying to smile. Gripping fists at his sides and maybe to stop his fingers trembling. Vulnerable, and uncertain – and he'd lost whatever balance of understanding the two of them had reached. Probably he felt his life threatened, in the moment.
He felt the exact same way. Magic. Cooperate. And if he was wrong, he was going to be catastrophically wrong.
"All right," he said determinedly. "Do whatever it is you've got to do. The… the magic."
"The memory charm?" Merlin said, incredulous and sounding stupid.
Arthur's heart pounded. He made an impatient gesture – the sorcerer stepped right up to the bars and he had to force himself to stand still and not back away.
"You're the bravest man I ever met," the sorcerer told him, and tears glistened in his eyes as he loosed a brilliant grin. "I still am and will always be, happy to be your servant til the day I die."
"Merlin," Arthur said, through unbearable tension. "Shut up and do the magic."
He reached through the bars, brushing his fingertips on the skin of Arthur's face and forehead before he could flinch away, and spoke a single long word, or a phrase – melodic and lingering and… not unfamiliar.
Arthur blinked, and all spots of blurriness washed away. Inhaled, and Merlin dropped his hand – to the outside of the cell where Arthur had first ordered him, upon finding out his secret.
Gwaine – and Percival – and Elyan – and more.
Morgana, and others.
And he wasn't alone – he didn't uphold the kingdom and the balance of peace and prosperity by himself. He remembered there were so many who loved him and held steady loyalty, forgave him and counseled him and followed him – and none more fully than the man he'd imprisoned. Again.
Another pang split his heart, and this was his mistake.
He sighed roughly, expelling the last of the pain, and reached to open the cell-door Leon hadn't even bothered locking. "We cannot keep doing this, Merlin."
Merlin released his own uncertainty and tension in a gushing laugh, stepping out to claim his freedom once again – and reached to touch Arthur once again, gaining his full attention. And smiled.
"There you are, sire."
I'm so glad you found me… "Next time someone tells me, there's a cockatrice in the Forest of Escetir," Arthur said, trying valiantly to bury emotion beneath sarcasm. "Let's bring a troop."
"Next time," Merlin agreed – and a gleam in his eye told Arthur, his sorcerer could see right through him, as always. "Now, about how much we're telling your wife?"
Arthur let his head tip back and his laughter echo down the citadel walls. It was so good to be home.
A/N: Playing with the amnesia trope. Next up, Merlin's turn – unconnected to this one, but definitely related… Also a nod to "Zorro", if you can spot the line!