bbc merlin| In your hands my heart rests (Ch. 3/a)
The sky is low and dark over the camp as Arthur seats beside the fire; guards are already on their spots and his father has retired inside his tent.
It is at night that he misses Camelot, home, the most. He misses the soft light in the armory, his training with sir Abesforth and, even though he probably would never admit it out loud, he misses Merlin. He misses how easy it is to be around him and how safe he feels when they seat together in front of the fireplace in his chambers, reading some story out of old books or simply enjoying each other’s company.
Being out with his father is where he is supposed to be, but it is scary most of the time- the tension crackling in the air as they approach the border, the wind whistling between the tents at night. Arthur knows that he has to be brave and strong because one day he will be the one to guide these men, but sometimes, when he lies awake in his tent at night and all around him all the camp is asleep, he wishes he could have born a servant, like Merlin.
It confuses him how much he thinks about the other boy; even the smallest of things brings his mind back to Camelot and to his best friend- a hawk flying high over the hills, an apple redder than the others, a rabbit that crosses their path- all things that Merlin would notice. He doesn’t know why he keps thinking about Merlin, what he knows is that he wants to go back to Camelot, because then they will spend all the time together as they used to, and even more because Merlin is going to become his servant.
*
Then, on a clear evening they arrive at the border with Mercia. Arthur is by Uther’s side, looking down at the valley that opens at their feet. He can already spot the tents of the Mercian camp and the streaks of smoke rising up in the air.
The wind tugs at his hair and he barely registers what his father is telling to the knights, because his brain keeps revolving around the thoughts of blood and pain and the clanging of sword against word. He has only heard or read about battles, but the following day he will be right in the middle of one. He thinks of his mother, whishing she could be alive, whishing he could have her to go back to. Then, as he is looking at the orange sparks that the Mercian spears reflect under the setting sun, he remembers what Merlin told him, “You better drag your ass back here when you’re finished!”. It probably shouldn’t make him feel warm from the tip of his hair to his toes, but it does.
In this moment, while Uther talks about honor and bravery, Arthur knows that in Merlin he has a home to come back to.
*
Arthur blinks against the sweat dripping down his face and blurring his vision. His arms hurt with the effort of stopping the blows that are coming from every direction. This isn’t like sparring in the castle’s courtyard; the Mercians know that he is the king’s son and they just keep coming, more and more of them.
Somewhere something is burning, the smell of smoke filling Arthur’s nostrils. He barely hears sir Eldric telling him to look his back when a sharp pain cuts through his shoulder blade. Arthur tries to breathe, he really tries, but the dented armor presses down on his lungs, making it almost impossible. He barely manages to stop another blow before everything starts to sway in front of his eyes, swords and armors and horses. He can’t hear anything, though; there is just silence in his ears.
///
Merlin is out in the woods with Gwaine- Gaius has sent him to gather some herbs and the other boy has decided to tag along. Not that Merlin is complaining, being around Gwaine is refreshing, even though they always seem to end in improbable situations. Like the time when they decided to sneak into the tavern and ended up running thought the citadel, trying to shake off a man that had lost his money to Gwaine who had gambled quite shamelessly. When they reached the safety of Gaius’ workshop Merlin laughed so much that his stomach hurt.
“How do you even know which herbs to pick?”
Merlin rolls his eyes playfully.
“Well, even you could do that!”
Gwaine bumps their shoulders together.
“I’ll let you know that I’m really bright!”
Merlin chuckles.
“Oh, yeah? And who tells you that?”
“Well, me of course!”
Merlin is about to answer when every single muscle in his body seem to stop functioning. He simply stands there, rooted to the spot, his heart beating like a drum and echoing along his veins up up until it roars in his ears.
“Merlin? Are you alright?”
Merlin tries to open his mouth to say that no, he totally isn’t alright, but his lips won’t answer. All of sudden it is as though someone has lit a fire right underneath him; his skin seems to burn, his throat too tight to even swallow.
Gwaine’s hands are on his shoulder but pull away quickly.
“Blimey! You’re scorching!”
Gwaine grabs his wrist trying to pull him, but Merlin’s legs are like stone, planted into the warm earth of the underwood.
All the way back to the castle Gwaine carries him on his back and Merlin tries with all his might to make his body function again. When he realizes that it won’t work, tears form into his eyes, and those, yes, manage to fall and splash over Gwaine’s shirt.
“It’s going to be alright, Merlin! I promise!”
Another wave of heat washes over him, his interiors churning; this time his head begins to twirl until darkness falls.
*
When he opens his eyes again he is laying on Gaius’ bed and he is alone. His eyelids feel heavy as his limbs, but this time he manages to wriggle his fingers and raise his arms, even though it hurts like hell to do so.
He is about to call for Gaius, when a shiver runs down his spine, his hair stand up. A sharp pain cuts through his shoulder and Merlin gulps down air. Only a name manages to form in his mind clouded by the pain: Arthur.
His blood freezes, because in this moment he knows with certainty that something is wrong and that his best friend is in danger. It is as if every cell in his body is screaming for him to do something for Heaven’s sake!
Something warm swirls down his weak arms and around his fingers. His eyelids are heavy but Merlin forces his eyes open and his breath gets stuck somewhere deep inside his lungs. His hands are glowing, a soft golden light pulsing underneath his skin and spreading all around. Fear drips cold down his spine but there is no time for that; he lets his instincts guide him, like when he was a kid and used to follow his mother around, trying to put his feet where hers had left footprints in the soft earth.
He lets whatever is inside of him act, hoping that it will be enough. Something cracks inside of him, pressing against his ribcage and in this moment he is sure he can hear Arthur’s voice, feel his movements as he tries to scramble towards safety.
///
Arthur closes his eyes waiting for the blow to come, but nothing happens. He blinks his eyes open to find the Mercian soldier lying on the ground. He almost yelps in surprise as he realizes that there is some kind of light sliding over his armor, enveloping him like a blanket.
Quickly, he spins around, trying to spot the sorcerer that is casting such a spell on him, wondering if that light can seep through the armor and kill him. There is no one in sight, though; the battle is finally ebbing down, Mercian soldiers retreating, stumbling towards the hills.
Arthur falls on his knees, the light shifting gently around him. He realizes that he doesn’t feel the pain of the wound anymore, there is only warmth and a quiet buzz at the back of his mind. He sees sir Pelinore running towards him; realizing that he is finally safe he lets himself go, sliding to the ground.
A peaceful whiteness blossoms behind his closed eyelids. Quiet words reach his ears and he briefly wonders if he has died and is waiting to stumble his way into the afterlife.
“Come back home, please.”
///
The words slip through Merlin’s lips, even though he knows all too well that Arthur is miles away and can’t hear them.
“Come back home, please.”
Slowly his skin stops glowing and breathing becomes easier; somewhere deep inside he is certain that Arthur will come back. The relief isn’t long lived, though, because what he has done…what was that? He closes his eyes, listening to his heartbeat, to the regular rushing of blood along his veins.
The tears come without permission. Strings of possibilities form and dissolve in Merlin’s mind; what is he supposed to do? Has he had magic inside of him since the beginning? And if so why has it come out only now? What if someone discovers it?
A sob rolls past his dry lips as he imagines the look on his mother’s face, Uther’s hatred and Arthur’s disdain. He can’t afford to lose Arthur. If remaining by his side in Camelot means hiding who he is, he has no other choice but do it, bury this thing deep inside of him and never let it see the light again.
*
Night has already fallen when he wakes up again; Gaius is back and is busy preparing some kind of concoction, his back to him. Merlin shifts on the bed only to find that something heavy is settled on his legs; with some effort he props himself up on his elbows. He is startled to see that the weight he has felt is Gwaine’s head. The other boy is asleep, hair falling in front of his face. A sudden warmth blossoms inside of Merlin at the thought that Gwaine has remained by his side.
Memories of what has happened wash over him and a new surge of panic flares deep inside his bones. Gwaine probably wouldn’t be there if he knew what Merlin has done, if he knew what Merlin is.
Gaius finally turns and Merlin tries to blink back the tears that are already threatening to fall.
“Oh, you are awake, my boy! How are you feeling?”
Merlin’s throat feels too tight; the relief visible on Gaius’ features is almost unbearable. He feels as though he has betrayed him and his mother and everyone else. The old man must have noticed his distress because he quickly pads over to the bed; his hand is careful and gentle on Merlin’s shoulder and he wishes he was strong enough to shrug it off but the truth is he needs someone who can ground him to reality, who can make him feel safe.
Even though he is terrified that he could find out, Merlin wishes Arthur could be there.
“Merlin, talk to me. Does something hurt?”
Merlin lifts his gaze and meets Gaius’ worried one.
“Gaius…”
His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, broken and teary. A sharp gasp escapes him when Gaius presses his hand against his forehead to check his temperature and that traitorous thing hidden inside of him flares up at the contact.
Gaius’ eyes widen and Merlin’s heart slams against his ribcage over and over. Did Gaius feel it?
He is about to open his mouth to speak, hoping that he is able to form coherent words, when Gwaine stirs and blinks his eyes open. As soon as his gaze lands on Merlin he jerks up suddenly fully awake.
“Heavens! You’re alright, Merlin! Don’t you dare pass out on me like that again!”
And, really, Merlin knows he isn’t supposed to, but he can’t help laughing at Gwaine’s expression. The other boy grins, his hand curling around Merlin’s. His heart stutters in a new, unknown way, but magic doesn’t stir inside of him as it has done when Gaius touched him.
“I do think that Merlin will need some more rest now, Gwaine.”
Merlin’s heart jolts at Gaius’ words; he briefly contemplates asking Gwaine to stay, to keep holding his hand just like that, but if Gaius knows there was no way he can avoid it, stalling or running away would be no use.
“Oh, c’mon he just woke up!”
Merlin shyly squeezes Gwaine’s hand.
“It’s…it’s alright. I’ll…see you tomorrow?”
Gwaine looks at him carefully, as though he is looking for something, but finally he smiles and nods.
“Of course, Merlin! You won’t get rid of me that easily!”
Gaius waits until Gwaine has closed the workshop’s door behind his back before sitting at the end of the bed. Silence stretches between them and Merlin wants nothing more than break it and ask Gaius what is wrong with him, if there is something he can do to fix him.
When Gaius speaks his voice is gentle, as it was when Merlin was a kid and he told him about faraway lands and wonders.
“You don’t have to be afraid, my boy. I won’t tell. You and me…we are the same.”
“Wh…what does it mean?”
Gaius flashes a small, sad smile in his direction.
“It means I learnt how to use magic many years ago. It means I understand that you’re scared and confused right now.”
Merlin looks at his hands in his lap.
“I…I didn’t learn it…”
Gaius looks at him, an unreadable expression in his grey eyes.
“I know, my boy…”
“How…how could you know that?”
Merlin wishes he could understand, wishes things could stop spiraling out of his control.
“When I touched you before, your magic answered to mine, I could feel it.”
Merlin tilts his head to the side, forcing his brain to work faster despite the vestiges of tiredness.
“But…it had never happened before!”
“That is because your magic hadn’t been awake before.”
Merlin remains silent even though there are so many things he wants to ask, to understand.
“Don’t worry I will teach you what I know, even though, considering how strong the magic inside of you is, my knowledge is probably too poor.”
Merlin swallows.
“Is…is it really so strong? How…how can I manage to control it, then?”
Gaius smiles and pats his knee gently.
“Oh, that it is, but it’s yours, Merlin, and you will not have any problem in controlling it. Magic is not inherently evil as our King thinks and your heart is pure and strong, my boy. Your magic will be just as pure.”
Merlin’s head is spinning because of the mass of information that it is supposed to elaborate. He still feels uncertain and scared, but he wants to believe Gaius, he knows that he can trust the old man. Then his thoughts go to his mother.
“Does…does my mother know that…that I’m like this?”
Gaius takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“She…she might suspect it, yes, and before you ask, no she won’t hate you for this. You can tell her, she loves you and she will be proud of you.”
A sigh of relief escapes Merlin’s lips but another weight lands on his heart as he thinks of Arthur.
“And…what…what should I do with Arthur and Gwaine and…”
Gaius’ eyes grow wide.
“Oh, you cannot tell them, my boy! I know that you trust them and that they care about you but…it’s too dangerous, you know what is the punishment for sorcery here in Camelot.”
Merlin tilts his head back and looka at the stone ceiling blinking, his eyes already tingling with upcoming tears.
“I…my magic…it was for Arthur, I think. I…I sensed he was in danger.”
“That could be possible, my boy. Magic often comes entwined with emotions, particularly when it comes to those who have it inside of them since they were born, like you.”
Merlin takes a deep breath and another and another.
“I…what if I need to help him again, Gaius?”
“I suppose you can do it, Merlin, but…he must not know it.”
Something heavy settles at the bottom of Merlin’s stomach; he has never lied to Arthur and now he has to keep such a huge part of himself from him.
“I…I’ll try to do that.”
Gaius flashes a reassuring smile at him, his old hand gently squeezing his shoulder.
“I knew that you would understand, my boy.”
*
A couple of days later, news of the battle finally reach Camelot; the King and his knights are on their way back, Arthur has been injured but he has recovered quickly and the Mercian army has been defeated.
Merlin doesn’t manage to cheer as everyone else does. There is nothing he wants more than to see Arthur, but he is scared, scared about what lying to him will make of them.
Gwaine sticks to his side; he is there the morning after the talk Merlin has had with Gaius and he doesn’t ask questions, he is simply there without asking for permission or for anything in return. Spending time with the other boy is somehow freeing; it helps him forget about the magic that he is carrying inside, the magic that sometimes would wake him up at night, jolting behind his sternum.
More often than not Merlin doubts that Gaius has been right when he has told him that he could control it.
Chapter 3/b
It is at night that he misses Camelot, home, the most. He misses the soft light in the armory, his training with sir Abesforth and, even though he probably would never admit it out loud, he misses Merlin. He misses how easy it is to be around him and how safe he feels when they seat together in front of the fireplace in his chambers, reading some story out of old books or simply enjoying each other’s company.
Being out with his father is where he is supposed to be, but it is scary most of the time- the tension crackling in the air as they approach the border, the wind whistling between the tents at night. Arthur knows that he has to be brave and strong because one day he will be the one to guide these men, but sometimes, when he lies awake in his tent at night and all around him all the camp is asleep, he wishes he could have born a servant, like Merlin.
It confuses him how much he thinks about the other boy; even the smallest of things brings his mind back to Camelot and to his best friend- a hawk flying high over the hills, an apple redder than the others, a rabbit that crosses their path- all things that Merlin would notice. He doesn’t know why he keps thinking about Merlin, what he knows is that he wants to go back to Camelot, because then they will spend all the time together as they used to, and even more because Merlin is going to become his servant.
*
Then, on a clear evening they arrive at the border with Mercia. Arthur is by Uther’s side, looking down at the valley that opens at their feet. He can already spot the tents of the Mercian camp and the streaks of smoke rising up in the air.
The wind tugs at his hair and he barely registers what his father is telling to the knights, because his brain keeps revolving around the thoughts of blood and pain and the clanging of sword against word. He has only heard or read about battles, but the following day he will be right in the middle of one. He thinks of his mother, whishing she could be alive, whishing he could have her to go back to. Then, as he is looking at the orange sparks that the Mercian spears reflect under the setting sun, he remembers what Merlin told him, “You better drag your ass back here when you’re finished!”. It probably shouldn’t make him feel warm from the tip of his hair to his toes, but it does.
In this moment, while Uther talks about honor and bravery, Arthur knows that in Merlin he has a home to come back to.
*
Arthur blinks against the sweat dripping down his face and blurring his vision. His arms hurt with the effort of stopping the blows that are coming from every direction. This isn’t like sparring in the castle’s courtyard; the Mercians know that he is the king’s son and they just keep coming, more and more of them.
Somewhere something is burning, the smell of smoke filling Arthur’s nostrils. He barely hears sir Eldric telling him to look his back when a sharp pain cuts through his shoulder blade. Arthur tries to breathe, he really tries, but the dented armor presses down on his lungs, making it almost impossible. He barely manages to stop another blow before everything starts to sway in front of his eyes, swords and armors and horses. He can’t hear anything, though; there is just silence in his ears.
///
Merlin is out in the woods with Gwaine- Gaius has sent him to gather some herbs and the other boy has decided to tag along. Not that Merlin is complaining, being around Gwaine is refreshing, even though they always seem to end in improbable situations. Like the time when they decided to sneak into the tavern and ended up running thought the citadel, trying to shake off a man that had lost his money to Gwaine who had gambled quite shamelessly. When they reached the safety of Gaius’ workshop Merlin laughed so much that his stomach hurt.
“How do you even know which herbs to pick?”
Merlin rolls his eyes playfully.
“Well, even you could do that!”
Gwaine bumps their shoulders together.
“I’ll let you know that I’m really bright!”
Merlin chuckles.
“Oh, yeah? And who tells you that?”
“Well, me of course!”
Merlin is about to answer when every single muscle in his body seem to stop functioning. He simply stands there, rooted to the spot, his heart beating like a drum and echoing along his veins up up until it roars in his ears.
“Merlin? Are you alright?”
Merlin tries to open his mouth to say that no, he totally isn’t alright, but his lips won’t answer. All of sudden it is as though someone has lit a fire right underneath him; his skin seems to burn, his throat too tight to even swallow.
Gwaine’s hands are on his shoulder but pull away quickly.
“Blimey! You’re scorching!”
Gwaine grabs his wrist trying to pull him, but Merlin’s legs are like stone, planted into the warm earth of the underwood.
All the way back to the castle Gwaine carries him on his back and Merlin tries with all his might to make his body function again. When he realizes that it won’t work, tears form into his eyes, and those, yes, manage to fall and splash over Gwaine’s shirt.
“It’s going to be alright, Merlin! I promise!”
Another wave of heat washes over him, his interiors churning; this time his head begins to twirl until darkness falls.
*
When he opens his eyes again he is laying on Gaius’ bed and he is alone. His eyelids feel heavy as his limbs, but this time he manages to wriggle his fingers and raise his arms, even though it hurts like hell to do so.
He is about to call for Gaius, when a shiver runs down his spine, his hair stand up. A sharp pain cuts through his shoulder and Merlin gulps down air. Only a name manages to form in his mind clouded by the pain: Arthur.
His blood freezes, because in this moment he knows with certainty that something is wrong and that his best friend is in danger. It is as if every cell in his body is screaming for him to do something for Heaven’s sake!
Something warm swirls down his weak arms and around his fingers. His eyelids are heavy but Merlin forces his eyes open and his breath gets stuck somewhere deep inside his lungs. His hands are glowing, a soft golden light pulsing underneath his skin and spreading all around. Fear drips cold down his spine but there is no time for that; he lets his instincts guide him, like when he was a kid and used to follow his mother around, trying to put his feet where hers had left footprints in the soft earth.
He lets whatever is inside of him act, hoping that it will be enough. Something cracks inside of him, pressing against his ribcage and in this moment he is sure he can hear Arthur’s voice, feel his movements as he tries to scramble towards safety.
///
Arthur closes his eyes waiting for the blow to come, but nothing happens. He blinks his eyes open to find the Mercian soldier lying on the ground. He almost yelps in surprise as he realizes that there is some kind of light sliding over his armor, enveloping him like a blanket.
Quickly, he spins around, trying to spot the sorcerer that is casting such a spell on him, wondering if that light can seep through the armor and kill him. There is no one in sight, though; the battle is finally ebbing down, Mercian soldiers retreating, stumbling towards the hills.
Arthur falls on his knees, the light shifting gently around him. He realizes that he doesn’t feel the pain of the wound anymore, there is only warmth and a quiet buzz at the back of his mind. He sees sir Pelinore running towards him; realizing that he is finally safe he lets himself go, sliding to the ground.
A peaceful whiteness blossoms behind his closed eyelids. Quiet words reach his ears and he briefly wonders if he has died and is waiting to stumble his way into the afterlife.
“Come back home, please.”
///
The words slip through Merlin’s lips, even though he knows all too well that Arthur is miles away and can’t hear them.
“Come back home, please.”
Slowly his skin stops glowing and breathing becomes easier; somewhere deep inside he is certain that Arthur will come back. The relief isn’t long lived, though, because what he has done…what was that? He closes his eyes, listening to his heartbeat, to the regular rushing of blood along his veins.
The tears come without permission. Strings of possibilities form and dissolve in Merlin’s mind; what is he supposed to do? Has he had magic inside of him since the beginning? And if so why has it come out only now? What if someone discovers it?
A sob rolls past his dry lips as he imagines the look on his mother’s face, Uther’s hatred and Arthur’s disdain. He can’t afford to lose Arthur. If remaining by his side in Camelot means hiding who he is, he has no other choice but do it, bury this thing deep inside of him and never let it see the light again.
*
Night has already fallen when he wakes up again; Gaius is back and is busy preparing some kind of concoction, his back to him. Merlin shifts on the bed only to find that something heavy is settled on his legs; with some effort he props himself up on his elbows. He is startled to see that the weight he has felt is Gwaine’s head. The other boy is asleep, hair falling in front of his face. A sudden warmth blossoms inside of Merlin at the thought that Gwaine has remained by his side.
Memories of what has happened wash over him and a new surge of panic flares deep inside his bones. Gwaine probably wouldn’t be there if he knew what Merlin has done, if he knew what Merlin is.
Gaius finally turns and Merlin tries to blink back the tears that are already threatening to fall.
“Oh, you are awake, my boy! How are you feeling?”
Merlin’s throat feels too tight; the relief visible on Gaius’ features is almost unbearable. He feels as though he has betrayed him and his mother and everyone else. The old man must have noticed his distress because he quickly pads over to the bed; his hand is careful and gentle on Merlin’s shoulder and he wishes he was strong enough to shrug it off but the truth is he needs someone who can ground him to reality, who can make him feel safe.
Even though he is terrified that he could find out, Merlin wishes Arthur could be there.
“Merlin, talk to me. Does something hurt?”
Merlin lifts his gaze and meets Gaius’ worried one.
“Gaius…”
His voice sounds foreign to his own ears, broken and teary. A sharp gasp escapes him when Gaius presses his hand against his forehead to check his temperature and that traitorous thing hidden inside of him flares up at the contact.
Gaius’ eyes widen and Merlin’s heart slams against his ribcage over and over. Did Gaius feel it?
He is about to open his mouth to speak, hoping that he is able to form coherent words, when Gwaine stirs and blinks his eyes open. As soon as his gaze lands on Merlin he jerks up suddenly fully awake.
“Heavens! You’re alright, Merlin! Don’t you dare pass out on me like that again!”
And, really, Merlin knows he isn’t supposed to, but he can’t help laughing at Gwaine’s expression. The other boy grins, his hand curling around Merlin’s. His heart stutters in a new, unknown way, but magic doesn’t stir inside of him as it has done when Gaius touched him.
“I do think that Merlin will need some more rest now, Gwaine.”
Merlin’s heart jolts at Gaius’ words; he briefly contemplates asking Gwaine to stay, to keep holding his hand just like that, but if Gaius knows there was no way he can avoid it, stalling or running away would be no use.
“Oh, c’mon he just woke up!”
Merlin shyly squeezes Gwaine’s hand.
“It’s…it’s alright. I’ll…see you tomorrow?”
Gwaine looks at him carefully, as though he is looking for something, but finally he smiles and nods.
“Of course, Merlin! You won’t get rid of me that easily!”
Gaius waits until Gwaine has closed the workshop’s door behind his back before sitting at the end of the bed. Silence stretches between them and Merlin wants nothing more than break it and ask Gaius what is wrong with him, if there is something he can do to fix him.
When Gaius speaks his voice is gentle, as it was when Merlin was a kid and he told him about faraway lands and wonders.
“You don’t have to be afraid, my boy. I won’t tell. You and me…we are the same.”
“Wh…what does it mean?”
Gaius flashes a small, sad smile in his direction.
“It means I learnt how to use magic many years ago. It means I understand that you’re scared and confused right now.”
Merlin looks at his hands in his lap.
“I…I didn’t learn it…”
Gaius looks at him, an unreadable expression in his grey eyes.
“I know, my boy…”
“How…how could you know that?”
Merlin wishes he could understand, wishes things could stop spiraling out of his control.
“When I touched you before, your magic answered to mine, I could feel it.”
Merlin tilts his head to the side, forcing his brain to work faster despite the vestiges of tiredness.
“But…it had never happened before!”
“That is because your magic hadn’t been awake before.”
Merlin remains silent even though there are so many things he wants to ask, to understand.
“Don’t worry I will teach you what I know, even though, considering how strong the magic inside of you is, my knowledge is probably too poor.”
Merlin swallows.
“Is…is it really so strong? How…how can I manage to control it, then?”
Gaius smiles and pats his knee gently.
“Oh, that it is, but it’s yours, Merlin, and you will not have any problem in controlling it. Magic is not inherently evil as our King thinks and your heart is pure and strong, my boy. Your magic will be just as pure.”
Merlin’s head is spinning because of the mass of information that it is supposed to elaborate. He still feels uncertain and scared, but he wants to believe Gaius, he knows that he can trust the old man. Then his thoughts go to his mother.
“Does…does my mother know that…that I’m like this?”
Gaius takes a deep breath before speaking again.
“She…she might suspect it, yes, and before you ask, no she won’t hate you for this. You can tell her, she loves you and she will be proud of you.”
A sigh of relief escapes Merlin’s lips but another weight lands on his heart as he thinks of Arthur.
“And…what…what should I do with Arthur and Gwaine and…”
Gaius’ eyes grow wide.
“Oh, you cannot tell them, my boy! I know that you trust them and that they care about you but…it’s too dangerous, you know what is the punishment for sorcery here in Camelot.”
Merlin tilts his head back and looka at the stone ceiling blinking, his eyes already tingling with upcoming tears.
“I…my magic…it was for Arthur, I think. I…I sensed he was in danger.”
“That could be possible, my boy. Magic often comes entwined with emotions, particularly when it comes to those who have it inside of them since they were born, like you.”
Merlin takes a deep breath and another and another.
“I…what if I need to help him again, Gaius?”
“I suppose you can do it, Merlin, but…he must not know it.”
Something heavy settles at the bottom of Merlin’s stomach; he has never lied to Arthur and now he has to keep such a huge part of himself from him.
“I…I’ll try to do that.”
Gaius flashes a reassuring smile at him, his old hand gently squeezing his shoulder.
“I knew that you would understand, my boy.”
*
A couple of days later, news of the battle finally reach Camelot; the King and his knights are on their way back, Arthur has been injured but he has recovered quickly and the Mercian army has been defeated.
Merlin doesn’t manage to cheer as everyone else does. There is nothing he wants more than to see Arthur, but he is scared, scared about what lying to him will make of them.
Gwaine sticks to his side; he is there the morning after the talk Merlin has had with Gaius and he doesn’t ask questions, he is simply there without asking for permission or for anything in return. Spending time with the other boy is somehow freeing; it helps him forget about the magic that he is carrying inside, the magic that sometimes would wake him up at night, jolting behind his sternum.
More often than not Merlin doubts that Gaius has been right when he has told him that he could control it.
Chapter 3/b