Fic: Merlin; Equilibrium - Chapter 2
Title: Equilibrium (2/?)
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: G/PG
Wordcount: This part: 5642, Overall ~44000
Pairing/Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, Percival (OC), Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash atm)
Disclaimer: If I owned Merlin, then the Gwen/Arthur would not even be starting to emerge. It would only be a cover story. I don’t, it isn’t.
Warnings: Vague corruption of Arthurian Legend
Spoilers: Up to the Gates of Avalon
Author’s Note: Many thanks to wrennette for the beta work.
Summary: In this part: Arthur tries to come to terms with what has happened and goes looking for help. What he finds isn’t quite what he was looking for, however. Meanwhile Percival is cautiously settling into his new role
Chapter 1
Arthur awoke to the dawn, again. He had forgotten to draw the curtains the night before and, given that his room faced east, the rising sun shone right onto his face in the mornings. He groaned and turned over, but there was something not completely right. There was a nagging feeling that something was… off. He brought his hand up to his face in exasperation, intending to run his fingers across his forehead.
As soon as his hand touched his forehead he knew there was something wrong. Instead of, as usual, pushing past the soft thin layer of his hair, his hand touched coarser hair that felt… curly. He pushed himself upright and looked around then down at his hands.
Or what should have been his hands.
“What…?” he asked the empty room. Unsurprisingly, there was no response. The walls kept their own counsel.
He headed immediately for the window, and moved until he could see his reflection in it.
Or what should have been his reflection.
He looked over his shoulder carefully, to see if there was anyone else in the room. There wasn’t, which made no sense, because that was not his reflection, and they were five storeys up so it wasn’t like he was seeing through to the other side of the glass. The face was familiar, but he could not place it. It was a bit like remembering a dream - hazy and elusive, fading more every second that passed.
He threw on some clothes as fast as possible, trying to ignore the fact that he was not dressing his own body. Despite this he still found himself staring idly at unfamiliar arms and a strange stomach. Changes that would seem almost insignificant to most people (his skin was far too rough) were far more jarring when it was your own body they had happened to.
Once dressed uncomfortably in boots that should have fitted perfectly but were now a size too big for him, he left the room immediately.
Magic, it had to be magic; he must tell his father immediately.
Uther Pendragon always awoke at dawn, or before dawn in the late winter months when the nights were long, so Arthur had no qualms about talking to him so early. In fact, Uther would probably be glad that his son was up and about this early.
It was strange walking through the corridors in someone else’s body. His footsteps did not sound the same, and people pushed past him uncaringly, ignoring the fact that he was even there. He yelled at a young woman who almost knocked him off his feet and she looked at him with such exasperation and disdain that he had spluttered incoherently as she had walked away shaking her head.
The palace guard were standing outside his father’s door as they always did and Arthur walked up to open the door. He had just raised his hand towards the knob when a hand grabbed his upper arm firmly.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His father’s guard asked him in a hard voice.
“I’m going to see my father,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He had never been stopped before and it took his a second to realise that, in his current state, they would have no idea of his true identity. The guard raised an eyebrow in vague amusement.
“I don’t think your father is in the King’s chambers, boy,” he said.
“Yes… he is,” Arthur began, taking a deep breath. “I know that I look different but… I’m Arthur, I’m the Prince.” This got a full bellied laugh from both of the guards, but the one holding him did not relax his grip. He would have to commend them for their dedication to duty when this was all sorted out.
“Go home and sleep it off, son,” the other told him. He was a middle aged man with a scraggly beard and Arthur knew he must have seen him many times over the years, but he could not, for the life of him, remember the man’s name.
“No - you don’t understand…” he began, feeling something that was definitely not panic (because Princes did not feel panic, especially not Pendragon Princes) building in his stomach. “There’s been some kind of an incident. It has to be sorcery, that’s the only possible explanation. I’m the Prince… only I… I don’t look like me.”
The faces of the two guards hardened as the word ‘sorcery’ was spoken.
“Look, son. Just turn around and go home. You’re drunk and you’re going to regret this in the morning, especially when you end up in the Castle dungeons.” Arthur growled in disbelief.
“I’m not some drunken servant!” he snapped. “I am the Crown Prince of Camelot and you will let me see my father.” The hand on his arm shoved him back hard but, used to fighting, even in this ungainly body, he merely rocked back on his heels.
“Get out of here, kid… and don’t come back until you’ve got some sense of self-preservation.” Arthur opened his mouth to argue again, but realised that it would do no good. He could not convince these men that he was who he was, and he could not see his father to convince him without getting past the guards. He could fight the guards and he would win, but that would hardly lend credence to any idea that he was not some sort of assassin. He took a deep breath and turned on his heel, stalking away in a way that was so uniquely his that the elder of the guards gave him a curious look.
“Wish I had some of whatever he’s been at,” the other one muttered, breaking the moment and they chuckled to themselves. This was shaping up to be quite a day.
***
Morgana, Arthur decided. She was the person in the castle who knew him best, and he knew he could get into her chambers without being accosted by guards. He took the next right and headed for her rooms, hoping to God that she at least let him speak before calling for the guards.
He was halfway there and caught up in his own thoughts when he walked into another person.
“Whoa… sorry!” Merlin’s voice cut into his thoughts and Arthur caught hold of his manservant’s arm without even thinking about it. Merlin looked at him curiously and waited for some kind of explanation.
“Merlin, you have to help me,” he said quickly.
“Have we met?” Merlin asked blankly. Arthur cursed again. It seemed as though no one had been overlooked. He had hoped that Merlin might have been insignificant enough to be ignored, but apparently not.
“You don’t recognise me?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. Merlin shook his head apologetically.
“I’m sorry… do you live here in the castle?”
“Ye-… apparently not.” Arthur corrected himself. “Sorry.”
“No… it’s fine.” Merlin shrugged with a grin. “I’m sure his highness can wait a few more minutes to yell at me. He’ll probably be happier if I’m late, actually: It’ll give him more to moan about.” Arthur opened his mouth to reprimand him, but bit back his response as soon as he could. He could not fall into their usual insult match, although it was refreshing to find that Merlin spoke the same way about him behind his back as to his face. He managed a weak smile, which was responded to by an increase in Merlin’s grin. For a moment he didn’t feel quite so alone.
“So, how can I help?” Merlin asked, clasping his hands behind his back, every bit the obedient manservant. Arthur wondered why he couldn’t be so well behaved when he was himself, and why he was so quick to help strangers, but grumbled every step of the way when Arthur asked him to sharpen his sword. The loneliness crashed down again and he realised that he had no one he could turn to.
“Don’t worry… it’s nothing,” he said, “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He turned away, letting Merlin go from the grip he had not been aware he still had on him. Merlin blinked, a little confused but shrugged.
“Alright… but if you decide you can’t. I’m more than willing.” Arthur nodded and listened as Merlin walked away, his pace faster than it had been before. For all his words, he was still trying to get to his room on time. Arthur almost laughed at that.
He refocused himself seconds later though, he needed to speak to Morgana, that much was certain, but he needed to figure out what he was going to say when he did. He could not just run in half-prepared as he had done when he tried to contact his father. He had to have a plan. That was his job, after all, to have a strategy. True, this situation was neither normal nor did it have a precedent, but he would just have to use his imagination.
He found a spot, near the bottom of the west tower, under the stairs, that he had used to use as a hiding place when he was younger and avoiding his tutors, and sat with his back against the wall, trying to work out what he should do.
He and Morgana had grown up together, they were practically siblings and, over those years, they must have had some sort of inside joke or personal secret that would tell Morgana he was really him. He wracked his brains desperately to try and find one that no one else knew.
Of course, one of the main problems of growing up in a castle as the heir to the throne: everybody knew your business. It was difficult to find something that just the two of them knew.
It took him a little while, but he finally came up with something and leapt to his feet. If he was lucky they could get this all sorted out before lunch time. Although how that was going to happen without the aid of magic (and he would be damned if he was staying in this body for the rest of his life) was beyond him.
***
Percival felt every inch the country bumpkin as he walked into the castle in Camelot. As he had walked, awestruck into the town, people had bowed to him and stepped out of his way and the closer he had got to the castle the more pronounced the deference had become. So far five people had called him ‘sire’ and he was really getting into this. It was uplifting not to be treated like something unpleasant on the bottom of people’s boots. He could feel his back straightening out and his shoulders relaxing as he walked further in.
He was still overcome by the sheer opulence that surrounded him and he sort of understood Arthur’s attitude the other day now he saw where it came from. Once you had seen a place like this, everything else faded into insignificance.
He was wandering through the castle aimlessly when he almost walked into a young man with dark brown hair and pale skin whose ears were a little too large for his head. He made to walk past him when the other man fell into step with him. Apparently he knew this boy. He schooled his face into the best Princely expression he could.
“Are you feeling okay?” the unknown servant asked.
“Yes, of course. Why?” It was probably best if he kept his sentences short. There was less chance of someone noticing that he did not really know what he was doing. It was a bonus that the short sentences made him sound unreasonable and demanding, two qualities that he at least knew the Prince had.
“You look a little… uncomfortable,” the persistent man continued. Apparently he and the Prince knew each other quite well. It seemed that this would be his first test.
“Well, I’m fine, so maybe you should go back to whatever you were doing.” He glanced, nervously, at the other man out of the corner of his eye. He was smiling in an unnerving way and he was fairly certain that servants were not supposed to laugh at Princes like that. He sped up a bit, hoping that the boy would get the hint and leave him alone. Instead he just sped up as well, falling into step one pace behind him, as though this were a usual occurrence. No wonder the Prince was so insufferable if he had to deal with this.
“I was going to find you…” the other said and Percival almost cursed out loud, catching himself at the last moment and biting his lip. Apparently getting rid of this man was not going to be easy. “Like you told me to last night… remember?” He nodded.
“Well, I’m fine like I told you, so find someone else to bother,” he snapped, realising as he spoke that he was completely lost. The people who had built the castle had apparently spared no thought for those people who did not know their way around. Every corridor, lined with tapestries and doors, look identical. He would turn a corner and find himself in somewhere that looked exactly like where he had just been.
“But that’s my job, sire. I am your manservant after all.” There was something about the way he said sire that made Percival’s teeth clench. This boy was laughing at him, the Prince, and a small part of his mind still had enough detachment to wonder at how easily he had come to think of himself like that.
“Fine…” he snapped angrily. “Just shut up and follow me then. I’m sure I’ll find something for you to do.”
This was not going to work, he though frantically as they continued on through the palace, walking at an increasing speed. He was lost in what was supposed to be his own castle with his manservant whose name he had no idea of. He was going to be discovered in about five seconds. The man at his heels seemed a little too quick and the way he spoke to him, he was not going to be able to order him about unthinking.
5… he pushed a door open and found himself walking across the gallery of a great hall.
4… It was all he could do not to stare in amazement at the room below him: the floors, the pillars, the sheer size of it. He had not been aware that rooms could be built that big. Why didn’t the ceiling fall down?
3… He risked a look upwards at the high vaulted ceiling and swallowed a gasp at the beams there. He winced, imagining what would happen if they were to give way.
2… The chandeliers that hung from the ceiling seemed very precarious on their ropes. The flames of the candle flickered and he wondered how someone could eat in a room like that with such huge things hanging over their head.
1.
“Where are we going?” his manservant asked from behind him. The question sounded innocent, but Percival heard a note of suspicion.
“My chambers,” he said without thinking. Immediately the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. He should have just told the man to mind his own business. He was a Prince he could go wherever he wanted.
“They’re in the opposite direction.” The manservant supplied uncertainly.
“Oh…” Percival halted abruptly, and the other man just barely managed to prevent himself from walking into his shoulder. “Of course they are… I was just.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” the other asked, looking at him intently. Percival shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny and tried his best to look royal. “Did you catch something on that patrol yesterday? I know it was cold, but you seemed alright when I left last night.”
“I’m fine…”
“If you insist… but I can go and get Gaius if you want.” Gaius… Gaius, he had heard the name before somewhere, but where? He was aware of Arthur’s manservant (his manservant) watching him curiously. Gaius - the local physician in the village had mentioned him; that was where he had heard the name. That made sense, if the man thought he was ill he would call for the court physician. He relaxed a little. Maybe he would be able to work through this if he tried hard enough. After all, it would just be for a couple of days until Arthur learned his lesson. Then everything would go back to normal…
“Arthur?” A female voice startled both him and his manservant and they turned, as one to look at the newcomer.
Percival felt his breath catch in his throat. He had thought that the woman in the forest had been beautiful, but she paled in comparison to the woman standing across from them. He struggled to maintain his composure once more, reminding himself that he was a Prince now and could not start going incoherent at the first pair of pretty eyes he saw… and pretty lips, and pretty hair and pretty… other things.
“Merlin,” the lady walked up to them and smiled at his manservant kindly. He couldn’t believe his luck: firstly possibly the best looking woman he had ever seen was speaking to him, secondly he had found out his manservant’s name without looking like an idiot.
“Lady Morgana,” Merlin responded with a similar smile and a slight bow, almost definitely not enough for her status, Percival reasoned, but he was beginning to think that Merlin was some sort of inept servant, yet far too quick for his own good. That was going to be a problem.
“Morgana…” he tried out her name and she turned to him, looking deeply unimpressed. What was it with these people? He was a Prince, and yet none of them treated him with the respect he deserved.
“So… where were you last night?” she asked, her tone one of playful teasing. Percival started slightly though, causing Merlin to glance at him in confusion. He tried to cover the movement up by shifting his weight to his other foot, but the servant continued to look at him as though he was some sort of puzzle.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, wondering what Arthur - the real Arthur - had been supposed to do last night with this lady, and why on earth he had missed such an event.
“Gwen tells me she saw you walking back into the castle less than an hour ago.” Gwen? He didn’t know a Gwen. He shrugged, slightly disconcerted that people were actually relaying his actions to others. The only reason anyone noticed him back in the village was if the fireplace had run out of wood, or they wanted something to throw things at. But that was being a Prince, he supposed: people cared about where you were and what you did.
“I just… went for a walk, early. To clear my head.”
“Worked really well,” Merlin muttered next to him and Percival glared at him. Apparently that was Arthur-like enough to pass muster because the servant stopped staring at him like he was some sort of mad man.
“Oh…” Morgana did not sound like she believed him and Percival frowned in irritation. This was not going to be easy at all. They were all suspicious of him - with no reason.
***
Arthur, the real Arthur, was heading through the great hall on his way to Morgana’s chambers when he heard a voice that sounded peculiarly familiar.
“…clear my head.” He stopped, frozen in place and looked up, aware that his entire skin was crawling. There was something about hearing yourself from outside your own head that was wrong on some deep subconscious level. As he caught sight of himself, talking to Morgana with Merlin by his side, he felt his mind rebel against the image. He was here, on the lower floor, watching the conversation. He couldn’t possibly be up there as well, could he?
Everything suddenly made a sick sort of sense. He opened his mouth to yell up at the imposter but clamped his mouth shut before the noise could get out, remembering his previous encounter with the guards. True, he had been intending to talk to Morgana and convince her of his identity but who would believe him when he was standing right there. He cursed under his breath and as he did so there was a movement on the balcony.
Alarmed, he thought he might have drawn his own attention to himself. No doubt the person who had assumed his position would recognise him despite the alterations and he was not sure that he wanted that to happen just yet. It was better to stay silent and out of the way than attract too much attention. Luckily - although just how fortunate an occurrence it was would be debatable - it was Merlin, not Arthur (the other Arthur) who had caught sight of him.
Of course, the idiot had no idea what was going on and there was no way to communicate with him over the distance without everyone else being aware. He tried to indicate that he wanted to talk with him, after all, he was his manservant, he was supposed to help him, and he had offered earlier. Merlin indicated with his eyes and a slight nod of his head that while Arthur was there he couldn’t really leave.
Arthur repeated the gestures the same as before only with greater agitation. As he did so, Merlin began to look confused, glancing between him and the imposter before shaking his head.
Arthur schooled the clumsy unknown features into the best stubborn face he could make and Merlin finally gave a reluctant nod. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He was not the person he would have chosen to talk to, but it seemed that he was the only one available.
***
Percival was quite impressed with himself. He had managed to maintain a conversation for a good few minutes without anyone realising that he was not actually Prince Arthur. Morgana was smiling at him and Merlin was not even paying that much attention to the conversation. He gave his manservant a closer look and noticed that, rather than staring into space as he had assumed he was, his eyes were actually focussed on something. He twisted his head round abruptly to look down at the great hall.
There was a corner of cloth disappearing round one of the pillars. He smiled in relief. It was probably just some serving girl in the castle who he had an arrangement with and didn’t want the Prince to find out about. He sighed and turned just as Morgana began to excuse herself.
“Gwen will be waiting for me,” she smiled again and brushed past them, leaving him staring after her absently. Merlin nudged him with his elbow.
“Uhm… I just remembered, I had something I had to do this morning,” he said awkwardly, darting looks back down at whoever the girl waiting for him was. “You wouldn’t mind if I ducked out for a bit and came back later, would you?” the manservant offered a hopeful smile which Percival was angry to find, almost worked on him.
“You’re my manservant, not my friend, Merlin.” He missed the slight tightening of Merlin’s face as he spoke; he was so busy concentrating on keeping his stance correct. From what he had seen of the Prince in their brief meeting, he was not the sort of person who slouched. “You’re here to work not socialise.”
“I know… I mean that, I was just hoping that-”
“Well, I can’t spare you at the moment and I asked you to come early today for a reason.” He didn’t know what that reason was, but he was sure that there had been one the night before.
“I know. I know… the feast tonight.” Merlin said with a tone of long-suffering. “We have to decide on what you’re going to wear, and you have to lecture me again on the proper etiquette for servants and that I’m there to keep your glass full not gossip or chat up Gwen - who, for the last time, I am not interested in.” He paused, leaving Percival gaping slightly. The sheer cheek of the other boy astounded him. He was a Prince now, and yet no one really seemed to be treating him like one. “So, you see. I already know all that. And you’ll decide to wear the red coat and tunic - you always do, so why don’t we just skip or… I don’t know, speed it up a bit, and I’ll be there in a little while?”
“No,” Percival said flatly. “For a start, you’re supposed to do as I say, aren’t you? And second… who says I always wear the red coat and tunic. Now… we’re going back to my chambers.”
“Yes sire.” The manservant was clearly unhappy and Percival found himself sympathising slightly as he glared at him, but only slightly. He had never been allowed to get away with anything that insolent in the inn, yet here was a man, working for people of infinitely higher rank than he had, behaving like that. Apparently it was not only Arthur who needed to be taken down a peg or two.
***
Down in the main hall, Arthur risked another glance up at the gallery. He could tell from the look on Merlin’s face that his double was berating him for something or other: insubordination most likely or just being an idiot. It amused him that Merlin was already exasperating this person after mere minutes.
“Try living with him,” he muttered under his breath as the ‘Prince’ stalked off. There was something jarring about his gait that had Arthur seething. If someone was going to steal his body, the least they could do was treat it with respect instead of walking like they were climbing a mountain. He looked over at Merlin again, willing him to notice the inconsistencies with the imposter’s movement, but Merlin was looking at him, shrugging and indicating ‘Arthur’ with a nod of his head.
Apparently his pretender was being unreasonable. For a second he pondered whether he had been seen ducking behind a pillar, but then pushed it from his mind. No doubt there would have been a bigger uproar if he had. Glaring at Merlin as he had often done over the course of their acquaintance he held up all of his fingers and then pointed firmly at the floor. From the number of times Merlin had managed to shirk off his duties with him, he should have no problem slipping away from his double…
…who was currently stopped at the door, looking back at Merlin.
“Merlin… are you coming?” Arthur winced. Did he really sound like that? Merlin was unmoved by the words though so, apparently, he did.
“On my way,” Merlin said twisting around in a way that looked as though it should end with him flat on his face. He hurried off, casting one last look at Arthur (the real Arthur) before he went. Arthur just stared him down as his counterpart on the balcony spoke again.
“And Merlin, I seem to be a little lost. Which way are my chambers exactly?”
The real Arthur knocked his head against the pillar weakly. As if it weren’t already bad enough, the imposter was going to have everyone thinking he was mad.
***
It was more than ten minutes later when Merlin walked back into the room - the main section though, not the gallery - and Arthur was pacing with growing anger and self recrimination.
He should have kept to the plan and gone after Morgana instead of standing there waiting for someone who had barely known him a couple of months. If only it had been her to glance over the banister at him, not Merlin.
He cursed and lashed out at the pillar next to him, much to the alarm of a small boy - a kitchen servant he imagined - who was hurrying past. Arthur almost asked him what he was looking at, but restrained himself at the last minute. It would not do to draw attention to himself. He did, however, allow himself a cutting glare at the boy, who merely pushed out his tongue at him before scampering away. If he had been himself then the boy would have been in the stocks, at least, for such an example of disrespect. But he was not himself.
It was already beginning to get to him: the lack of status and respect. No one looked at him the same, there was no fear in their eyes, true, but no acknowledgement at all. He was faceless and nobody in a sea of other nobodies. People looked through him as though he was nothing. He straightened his back unconsciously, trying to smother his discomfort with his usual haughty grandeur and turned his mind from the problem to a subject always able to distract him: Merlin.
“Where is he?” he asked the room at large. He knew that Merlin did not recognise him but he still felt slighted by the other man’s inability to be prompt. Although, why lateness in his manservant should start to bother him so much now, when it had been going on since Merlin had begun to work for him, was beyond him.
“Hey…” Merlin’s voice came breathlessly from the main door and Arthur swivelled on the spot to glare at him.
“Why are you never on time?” he asked in exasperation. Merlin gave him a bemused look as he walked further into the room.
“We only met this morning…” he pointed out. Arthur rolled his eyes, not noticing as Merlin blinked in surprise.
“Look, Merlin,” he took a deep breath. It seemed that this was the best he was going to get at the moment so he might as well get it over with. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’ll probably just make a mess of it.”
“Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” Merlin suggested, ignoring the insult. “So - do we know each other?”
“Yes.” Arthur snapped, grateful as the thick unnatural voice took on a tone that was more like his own. “More is the pity.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.” He shook his head slowly, looking Arthur up and down blankly. “I mean, there’s something familiar about you I just can’t place it.” Arthur blinked and looked back up at him in surprise. Apparently he was not as big an idiot as he made out to be.
“Well, you wouldn’t, that’s what I’m trying to tell you…” He paused but as he was opening his mouth to speak again Morgana’s maidservant looked in and caught sight of Merlin. She called out his name and Arthur cursed under his breath. Of all the least opportune moments in the world.
“Gwen?” Merlin asked and Arthur rolled his eyes again. No doubt he would be lucky to get a second glance now. “What’s the matter?”
“Arthur’s yelling for you again,” she said with a tone of amused long-suffering.
“No I’m…” the Prince said before he could check himself. She, of course, meant the other Arthur. This was probably going to get highly confusing, he could already feel a headache forming, although that could just be his usual reaction to Merlin’s incompetence. “Sorry,” he corrected himself hastily. She smiled at him slightly, clearly not recognising him at all. It was odd to see that look on the face of someone he had known for years and who had grown up knowing who he was.
“Can’t he wait a few minutes?” Merlin asked looking back at Arthur, who nodded hopefully.
“You know him…” she said, shrugging. “He says that his boots are missing…”
“I dropped them back in his room yesterday after spending half the morning cleaning them.” Merlin said with annoyance. Arthur looked down guiltily at the pair of clean boots that were on his feet and winced a little. For once it wasn’t Merlin’s fault, although he’d really prefer it if his doppelganger did not have access to his entire wardrobe. He would have to burn it all when everything was sorted out.
“Well he can’t find them.” Gwen told him quietly, looking worried but Merlin just chuckled.
“Come on, Gwen. How bad can it be?” he was grinning. “He’s not as bad as he sounds…”
“Maybe not anymore,” she admitted slowly, “but you remember how he was when you first got here.” Merlin winced slightly and she nodded. “Precisely. And he sounds like he used to then, now. If I were you, I wouldn’t push him today.”
“He did seem a little off earlier,” Arthur wanted to bash their heads together, but that would hardly convince them of his identity. He sufficed for shooting a venomous glance at Gwen for her comments on his personality and turning to see Merlin’s decision.
“Ignore him,” he said simply. Merlin laughed, as though had not done the very same thing without prompting a dozen times before.
“Look, I won’t be long. Just hang on and I’ll see what he wants, alright?” He did not wait for an answer before hurrying off, leaving Gwen staring at Arthur, her head cocked to one side slightly as she watched him curiously.
“Doesn’t seem like I have much choice, does it?” he asked himself as Merlin disappeared around the corner. Gwen shook her head as though clearing it and smiled again.
“Do you need anything?” she asked politely.
“My life back,” he said skulking back into the shadow of the pillar, crossing his arms firmly and leaning against the wall. She sighed and left pretty quickly.
***
On to Chapter 3
-
Fandom: Merlin
Rating: G/PG
Wordcount: This part: 5642, Overall ~44000
Pairing/Characters: Merlin, Arthur, Gwen, Percival (OC), Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash atm)
Disclaimer: If I owned Merlin, then the Gwen/Arthur would not even be starting to emerge. It would only be a cover story. I don’t, it isn’t.
Warnings: Vague corruption of Arthurian Legend
Spoilers: Up to the Gates of Avalon
Author’s Note: Many thanks to wrennette for the beta work.
Summary: In this part: Arthur tries to come to terms with what has happened and goes looking for help. What he finds isn’t quite what he was looking for, however. Meanwhile Percival is cautiously settling into his new role
Chapter 1
Arthur awoke to the dawn, again. He had forgotten to draw the curtains the night before and, given that his room faced east, the rising sun shone right onto his face in the mornings. He groaned and turned over, but there was something not completely right. There was a nagging feeling that something was… off. He brought his hand up to his face in exasperation, intending to run his fingers across his forehead.
As soon as his hand touched his forehead he knew there was something wrong. Instead of, as usual, pushing past the soft thin layer of his hair, his hand touched coarser hair that felt… curly. He pushed himself upright and looked around then down at his hands.
Or what should have been his hands.
“What…?” he asked the empty room. Unsurprisingly, there was no response. The walls kept their own counsel.
He headed immediately for the window, and moved until he could see his reflection in it.
Or what should have been his reflection.
He looked over his shoulder carefully, to see if there was anyone else in the room. There wasn’t, which made no sense, because that was not his reflection, and they were five storeys up so it wasn’t like he was seeing through to the other side of the glass. The face was familiar, but he could not place it. It was a bit like remembering a dream - hazy and elusive, fading more every second that passed.
He threw on some clothes as fast as possible, trying to ignore the fact that he was not dressing his own body. Despite this he still found himself staring idly at unfamiliar arms and a strange stomach. Changes that would seem almost insignificant to most people (his skin was far too rough) were far more jarring when it was your own body they had happened to.
Once dressed uncomfortably in boots that should have fitted perfectly but were now a size too big for him, he left the room immediately.
Magic, it had to be magic; he must tell his father immediately.
Uther Pendragon always awoke at dawn, or before dawn in the late winter months when the nights were long, so Arthur had no qualms about talking to him so early. In fact, Uther would probably be glad that his son was up and about this early.
It was strange walking through the corridors in someone else’s body. His footsteps did not sound the same, and people pushed past him uncaringly, ignoring the fact that he was even there. He yelled at a young woman who almost knocked him off his feet and she looked at him with such exasperation and disdain that he had spluttered incoherently as she had walked away shaking her head.
The palace guard were standing outside his father’s door as they always did and Arthur walked up to open the door. He had just raised his hand towards the knob when a hand grabbed his upper arm firmly.
“Where do you think you’re going?” His father’s guard asked him in a hard voice.
“I’m going to see my father,” he said as though it were the most obvious thing in the world. He had never been stopped before and it took his a second to realise that, in his current state, they would have no idea of his true identity. The guard raised an eyebrow in vague amusement.
“I don’t think your father is in the King’s chambers, boy,” he said.
“Yes… he is,” Arthur began, taking a deep breath. “I know that I look different but… I’m Arthur, I’m the Prince.” This got a full bellied laugh from both of the guards, but the one holding him did not relax his grip. He would have to commend them for their dedication to duty when this was all sorted out.
“Go home and sleep it off, son,” the other told him. He was a middle aged man with a scraggly beard and Arthur knew he must have seen him many times over the years, but he could not, for the life of him, remember the man’s name.
“No - you don’t understand…” he began, feeling something that was definitely not panic (because Princes did not feel panic, especially not Pendragon Princes) building in his stomach. “There’s been some kind of an incident. It has to be sorcery, that’s the only possible explanation. I’m the Prince… only I… I don’t look like me.”
The faces of the two guards hardened as the word ‘sorcery’ was spoken.
“Look, son. Just turn around and go home. You’re drunk and you’re going to regret this in the morning, especially when you end up in the Castle dungeons.” Arthur growled in disbelief.
“I’m not some drunken servant!” he snapped. “I am the Crown Prince of Camelot and you will let me see my father.” The hand on his arm shoved him back hard but, used to fighting, even in this ungainly body, he merely rocked back on his heels.
“Get out of here, kid… and don’t come back until you’ve got some sense of self-preservation.” Arthur opened his mouth to argue again, but realised that it would do no good. He could not convince these men that he was who he was, and he could not see his father to convince him without getting past the guards. He could fight the guards and he would win, but that would hardly lend credence to any idea that he was not some sort of assassin. He took a deep breath and turned on his heel, stalking away in a way that was so uniquely his that the elder of the guards gave him a curious look.
“Wish I had some of whatever he’s been at,” the other one muttered, breaking the moment and they chuckled to themselves. This was shaping up to be quite a day.
***
Morgana, Arthur decided. She was the person in the castle who knew him best, and he knew he could get into her chambers without being accosted by guards. He took the next right and headed for her rooms, hoping to God that she at least let him speak before calling for the guards.
He was halfway there and caught up in his own thoughts when he walked into another person.
“Whoa… sorry!” Merlin’s voice cut into his thoughts and Arthur caught hold of his manservant’s arm without even thinking about it. Merlin looked at him curiously and waited for some kind of explanation.
“Merlin, you have to help me,” he said quickly.
“Have we met?” Merlin asked blankly. Arthur cursed again. It seemed as though no one had been overlooked. He had hoped that Merlin might have been insignificant enough to be ignored, but apparently not.
“You don’t recognise me?” he asked, though he already knew the answer. Merlin shook his head apologetically.
“I’m sorry… do you live here in the castle?”
“Ye-… apparently not.” Arthur corrected himself. “Sorry.”
“No… it’s fine.” Merlin shrugged with a grin. “I’m sure his highness can wait a few more minutes to yell at me. He’ll probably be happier if I’m late, actually: It’ll give him more to moan about.” Arthur opened his mouth to reprimand him, but bit back his response as soon as he could. He could not fall into their usual insult match, although it was refreshing to find that Merlin spoke the same way about him behind his back as to his face. He managed a weak smile, which was responded to by an increase in Merlin’s grin. For a moment he didn’t feel quite so alone.
“So, how can I help?” Merlin asked, clasping his hands behind his back, every bit the obedient manservant. Arthur wondered why he couldn’t be so well behaved when he was himself, and why he was so quick to help strangers, but grumbled every step of the way when Arthur asked him to sharpen his sword. The loneliness crashed down again and he realised that he had no one he could turn to.
“Don’t worry… it’s nothing,” he said, “I’m sure I’ll be fine.” He turned away, letting Merlin go from the grip he had not been aware he still had on him. Merlin blinked, a little confused but shrugged.
“Alright… but if you decide you can’t. I’m more than willing.” Arthur nodded and listened as Merlin walked away, his pace faster than it had been before. For all his words, he was still trying to get to his room on time. Arthur almost laughed at that.
He refocused himself seconds later though, he needed to speak to Morgana, that much was certain, but he needed to figure out what he was going to say when he did. He could not just run in half-prepared as he had done when he tried to contact his father. He had to have a plan. That was his job, after all, to have a strategy. True, this situation was neither normal nor did it have a precedent, but he would just have to use his imagination.
He found a spot, near the bottom of the west tower, under the stairs, that he had used to use as a hiding place when he was younger and avoiding his tutors, and sat with his back against the wall, trying to work out what he should do.
He and Morgana had grown up together, they were practically siblings and, over those years, they must have had some sort of inside joke or personal secret that would tell Morgana he was really him. He wracked his brains desperately to try and find one that no one else knew.
Of course, one of the main problems of growing up in a castle as the heir to the throne: everybody knew your business. It was difficult to find something that just the two of them knew.
It took him a little while, but he finally came up with something and leapt to his feet. If he was lucky they could get this all sorted out before lunch time. Although how that was going to happen without the aid of magic (and he would be damned if he was staying in this body for the rest of his life) was beyond him.
***
Percival felt every inch the country bumpkin as he walked into the castle in Camelot. As he had walked, awestruck into the town, people had bowed to him and stepped out of his way and the closer he had got to the castle the more pronounced the deference had become. So far five people had called him ‘sire’ and he was really getting into this. It was uplifting not to be treated like something unpleasant on the bottom of people’s boots. He could feel his back straightening out and his shoulders relaxing as he walked further in.
He was still overcome by the sheer opulence that surrounded him and he sort of understood Arthur’s attitude the other day now he saw where it came from. Once you had seen a place like this, everything else faded into insignificance.
He was wandering through the castle aimlessly when he almost walked into a young man with dark brown hair and pale skin whose ears were a little too large for his head. He made to walk past him when the other man fell into step with him. Apparently he knew this boy. He schooled his face into the best Princely expression he could.
“Are you feeling okay?” the unknown servant asked.
“Yes, of course. Why?” It was probably best if he kept his sentences short. There was less chance of someone noticing that he did not really know what he was doing. It was a bonus that the short sentences made him sound unreasonable and demanding, two qualities that he at least knew the Prince had.
“You look a little… uncomfortable,” the persistent man continued. Apparently he and the Prince knew each other quite well. It seemed that this would be his first test.
“Well, I’m fine, so maybe you should go back to whatever you were doing.” He glanced, nervously, at the other man out of the corner of his eye. He was smiling in an unnerving way and he was fairly certain that servants were not supposed to laugh at Princes like that. He sped up a bit, hoping that the boy would get the hint and leave him alone. Instead he just sped up as well, falling into step one pace behind him, as though this were a usual occurrence. No wonder the Prince was so insufferable if he had to deal with this.
“I was going to find you…” the other said and Percival almost cursed out loud, catching himself at the last moment and biting his lip. Apparently getting rid of this man was not going to be easy. “Like you told me to last night… remember?” He nodded.
“Well, I’m fine like I told you, so find someone else to bother,” he snapped, realising as he spoke that he was completely lost. The people who had built the castle had apparently spared no thought for those people who did not know their way around. Every corridor, lined with tapestries and doors, look identical. He would turn a corner and find himself in somewhere that looked exactly like where he had just been.
“But that’s my job, sire. I am your manservant after all.” There was something about the way he said sire that made Percival’s teeth clench. This boy was laughing at him, the Prince, and a small part of his mind still had enough detachment to wonder at how easily he had come to think of himself like that.
“Fine…” he snapped angrily. “Just shut up and follow me then. I’m sure I’ll find something for you to do.”
This was not going to work, he though frantically as they continued on through the palace, walking at an increasing speed. He was lost in what was supposed to be his own castle with his manservant whose name he had no idea of. He was going to be discovered in about five seconds. The man at his heels seemed a little too quick and the way he spoke to him, he was not going to be able to order him about unthinking.
5… he pushed a door open and found himself walking across the gallery of a great hall.
4… It was all he could do not to stare in amazement at the room below him: the floors, the pillars, the sheer size of it. He had not been aware that rooms could be built that big. Why didn’t the ceiling fall down?
3… He risked a look upwards at the high vaulted ceiling and swallowed a gasp at the beams there. He winced, imagining what would happen if they were to give way.
2… The chandeliers that hung from the ceiling seemed very precarious on their ropes. The flames of the candle flickered and he wondered how someone could eat in a room like that with such huge things hanging over their head.
1.
“Where are we going?” his manservant asked from behind him. The question sounded innocent, but Percival heard a note of suspicion.
“My chambers,” he said without thinking. Immediately the words were out of his mouth he regretted them. He should have just told the man to mind his own business. He was a Prince he could go wherever he wanted.
“They’re in the opposite direction.” The manservant supplied uncertainly.
“Oh…” Percival halted abruptly, and the other man just barely managed to prevent himself from walking into his shoulder. “Of course they are… I was just.”
“Are you sure you’re all right?” the other asked, looking at him intently. Percival shifted uncomfortably under the scrutiny and tried his best to look royal. “Did you catch something on that patrol yesterday? I know it was cold, but you seemed alright when I left last night.”
“I’m fine…”
“If you insist… but I can go and get Gaius if you want.” Gaius… Gaius, he had heard the name before somewhere, but where? He was aware of Arthur’s manservant (his manservant) watching him curiously. Gaius - the local physician in the village had mentioned him; that was where he had heard the name. That made sense, if the man thought he was ill he would call for the court physician. He relaxed a little. Maybe he would be able to work through this if he tried hard enough. After all, it would just be for a couple of days until Arthur learned his lesson. Then everything would go back to normal…
“Arthur?” A female voice startled both him and his manservant and they turned, as one to look at the newcomer.
Percival felt his breath catch in his throat. He had thought that the woman in the forest had been beautiful, but she paled in comparison to the woman standing across from them. He struggled to maintain his composure once more, reminding himself that he was a Prince now and could not start going incoherent at the first pair of pretty eyes he saw… and pretty lips, and pretty hair and pretty… other things.
“Merlin,” the lady walked up to them and smiled at his manservant kindly. He couldn’t believe his luck: firstly possibly the best looking woman he had ever seen was speaking to him, secondly he had found out his manservant’s name without looking like an idiot.
“Lady Morgana,” Merlin responded with a similar smile and a slight bow, almost definitely not enough for her status, Percival reasoned, but he was beginning to think that Merlin was some sort of inept servant, yet far too quick for his own good. That was going to be a problem.
“Morgana…” he tried out her name and she turned to him, looking deeply unimpressed. What was it with these people? He was a Prince, and yet none of them treated him with the respect he deserved.
“So… where were you last night?” she asked, her tone one of playful teasing. Percival started slightly though, causing Merlin to glance at him in confusion. He tried to cover the movement up by shifting his weight to his other foot, but the servant continued to look at him as though he was some sort of puzzle.
“I don’t know what you mean,” he said, wondering what Arthur - the real Arthur - had been supposed to do last night with this lady, and why on earth he had missed such an event.
“Gwen tells me she saw you walking back into the castle less than an hour ago.” Gwen? He didn’t know a Gwen. He shrugged, slightly disconcerted that people were actually relaying his actions to others. The only reason anyone noticed him back in the village was if the fireplace had run out of wood, or they wanted something to throw things at. But that was being a Prince, he supposed: people cared about where you were and what you did.
“I just… went for a walk, early. To clear my head.”
“Worked really well,” Merlin muttered next to him and Percival glared at him. Apparently that was Arthur-like enough to pass muster because the servant stopped staring at him like he was some sort of mad man.
“Oh…” Morgana did not sound like she believed him and Percival frowned in irritation. This was not going to be easy at all. They were all suspicious of him - with no reason.
***
Arthur, the real Arthur, was heading through the great hall on his way to Morgana’s chambers when he heard a voice that sounded peculiarly familiar.
“…clear my head.” He stopped, frozen in place and looked up, aware that his entire skin was crawling. There was something about hearing yourself from outside your own head that was wrong on some deep subconscious level. As he caught sight of himself, talking to Morgana with Merlin by his side, he felt his mind rebel against the image. He was here, on the lower floor, watching the conversation. He couldn’t possibly be up there as well, could he?
Everything suddenly made a sick sort of sense. He opened his mouth to yell up at the imposter but clamped his mouth shut before the noise could get out, remembering his previous encounter with the guards. True, he had been intending to talk to Morgana and convince her of his identity but who would believe him when he was standing right there. He cursed under his breath and as he did so there was a movement on the balcony.
Alarmed, he thought he might have drawn his own attention to himself. No doubt the person who had assumed his position would recognise him despite the alterations and he was not sure that he wanted that to happen just yet. It was better to stay silent and out of the way than attract too much attention. Luckily - although just how fortunate an occurrence it was would be debatable - it was Merlin, not Arthur (the other Arthur) who had caught sight of him.
Of course, the idiot had no idea what was going on and there was no way to communicate with him over the distance without everyone else being aware. He tried to indicate that he wanted to talk with him, after all, he was his manservant, he was supposed to help him, and he had offered earlier. Merlin indicated with his eyes and a slight nod of his head that while Arthur was there he couldn’t really leave.
Arthur repeated the gestures the same as before only with greater agitation. As he did so, Merlin began to look confused, glancing between him and the imposter before shaking his head.
Arthur schooled the clumsy unknown features into the best stubborn face he could make and Merlin finally gave a reluctant nod. Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. He was not the person he would have chosen to talk to, but it seemed that he was the only one available.
***
Percival was quite impressed with himself. He had managed to maintain a conversation for a good few minutes without anyone realising that he was not actually Prince Arthur. Morgana was smiling at him and Merlin was not even paying that much attention to the conversation. He gave his manservant a closer look and noticed that, rather than staring into space as he had assumed he was, his eyes were actually focussed on something. He twisted his head round abruptly to look down at the great hall.
There was a corner of cloth disappearing round one of the pillars. He smiled in relief. It was probably just some serving girl in the castle who he had an arrangement with and didn’t want the Prince to find out about. He sighed and turned just as Morgana began to excuse herself.
“Gwen will be waiting for me,” she smiled again and brushed past them, leaving him staring after her absently. Merlin nudged him with his elbow.
“Uhm… I just remembered, I had something I had to do this morning,” he said awkwardly, darting looks back down at whoever the girl waiting for him was. “You wouldn’t mind if I ducked out for a bit and came back later, would you?” the manservant offered a hopeful smile which Percival was angry to find, almost worked on him.
“You’re my manservant, not my friend, Merlin.” He missed the slight tightening of Merlin’s face as he spoke; he was so busy concentrating on keeping his stance correct. From what he had seen of the Prince in their brief meeting, he was not the sort of person who slouched. “You’re here to work not socialise.”
“I know… I mean that, I was just hoping that-”
“Well, I can’t spare you at the moment and I asked you to come early today for a reason.” He didn’t know what that reason was, but he was sure that there had been one the night before.
“I know. I know… the feast tonight.” Merlin said with a tone of long-suffering. “We have to decide on what you’re going to wear, and you have to lecture me again on the proper etiquette for servants and that I’m there to keep your glass full not gossip or chat up Gwen - who, for the last time, I am not interested in.” He paused, leaving Percival gaping slightly. The sheer cheek of the other boy astounded him. He was a Prince now, and yet no one really seemed to be treating him like one. “So, you see. I already know all that. And you’ll decide to wear the red coat and tunic - you always do, so why don’t we just skip or… I don’t know, speed it up a bit, and I’ll be there in a little while?”
“No,” Percival said flatly. “For a start, you’re supposed to do as I say, aren’t you? And second… who says I always wear the red coat and tunic. Now… we’re going back to my chambers.”
“Yes sire.” The manservant was clearly unhappy and Percival found himself sympathising slightly as he glared at him, but only slightly. He had never been allowed to get away with anything that insolent in the inn, yet here was a man, working for people of infinitely higher rank than he had, behaving like that. Apparently it was not only Arthur who needed to be taken down a peg or two.
***
Down in the main hall, Arthur risked another glance up at the gallery. He could tell from the look on Merlin’s face that his double was berating him for something or other: insubordination most likely or just being an idiot. It amused him that Merlin was already exasperating this person after mere minutes.
“Try living with him,” he muttered under his breath as the ‘Prince’ stalked off. There was something jarring about his gait that had Arthur seething. If someone was going to steal his body, the least they could do was treat it with respect instead of walking like they were climbing a mountain. He looked over at Merlin again, willing him to notice the inconsistencies with the imposter’s movement, but Merlin was looking at him, shrugging and indicating ‘Arthur’ with a nod of his head.
Apparently his pretender was being unreasonable. For a second he pondered whether he had been seen ducking behind a pillar, but then pushed it from his mind. No doubt there would have been a bigger uproar if he had. Glaring at Merlin as he had often done over the course of their acquaintance he held up all of his fingers and then pointed firmly at the floor. From the number of times Merlin had managed to shirk off his duties with him, he should have no problem slipping away from his double…
…who was currently stopped at the door, looking back at Merlin.
“Merlin… are you coming?” Arthur winced. Did he really sound like that? Merlin was unmoved by the words though so, apparently, he did.
“On my way,” Merlin said twisting around in a way that looked as though it should end with him flat on his face. He hurried off, casting one last look at Arthur (the real Arthur) before he went. Arthur just stared him down as his counterpart on the balcony spoke again.
“And Merlin, I seem to be a little lost. Which way are my chambers exactly?”
The real Arthur knocked his head against the pillar weakly. As if it weren’t already bad enough, the imposter was going to have everyone thinking he was mad.
***
It was more than ten minutes later when Merlin walked back into the room - the main section though, not the gallery - and Arthur was pacing with growing anger and self recrimination.
He should have kept to the plan and gone after Morgana instead of standing there waiting for someone who had barely known him a couple of months. If only it had been her to glance over the banister at him, not Merlin.
He cursed and lashed out at the pillar next to him, much to the alarm of a small boy - a kitchen servant he imagined - who was hurrying past. Arthur almost asked him what he was looking at, but restrained himself at the last minute. It would not do to draw attention to himself. He did, however, allow himself a cutting glare at the boy, who merely pushed out his tongue at him before scampering away. If he had been himself then the boy would have been in the stocks, at least, for such an example of disrespect. But he was not himself.
It was already beginning to get to him: the lack of status and respect. No one looked at him the same, there was no fear in their eyes, true, but no acknowledgement at all. He was faceless and nobody in a sea of other nobodies. People looked through him as though he was nothing. He straightened his back unconsciously, trying to smother his discomfort with his usual haughty grandeur and turned his mind from the problem to a subject always able to distract him: Merlin.
“Where is he?” he asked the room at large. He knew that Merlin did not recognise him but he still felt slighted by the other man’s inability to be prompt. Although, why lateness in his manservant should start to bother him so much now, when it had been going on since Merlin had begun to work for him, was beyond him.
“Hey…” Merlin’s voice came breathlessly from the main door and Arthur swivelled on the spot to glare at him.
“Why are you never on time?” he asked in exasperation. Merlin gave him a bemused look as he walked further into the room.
“We only met this morning…” he pointed out. Arthur rolled his eyes, not noticing as Merlin blinked in surprise.
“Look, Merlin,” he took a deep breath. It seemed that this was the best he was going to get at the moment so he might as well get it over with. “I don’t even know why I’m telling you this. You’ll probably just make a mess of it.”
“Perhaps you should start at the beginning,” Merlin suggested, ignoring the insult. “So - do we know each other?”
“Yes.” Arthur snapped, grateful as the thick unnatural voice took on a tone that was more like his own. “More is the pity.”
“I’m sorry, I don’t remember.” He shook his head slowly, looking Arthur up and down blankly. “I mean, there’s something familiar about you I just can’t place it.” Arthur blinked and looked back up at him in surprise. Apparently he was not as big an idiot as he made out to be.
“Well, you wouldn’t, that’s what I’m trying to tell you…” He paused but as he was opening his mouth to speak again Morgana’s maidservant looked in and caught sight of Merlin. She called out his name and Arthur cursed under his breath. Of all the least opportune moments in the world.
“Gwen?” Merlin asked and Arthur rolled his eyes again. No doubt he would be lucky to get a second glance now. “What’s the matter?”
“Arthur’s yelling for you again,” she said with a tone of amused long-suffering.
“No I’m…” the Prince said before he could check himself. She, of course, meant the other Arthur. This was probably going to get highly confusing, he could already feel a headache forming, although that could just be his usual reaction to Merlin’s incompetence. “Sorry,” he corrected himself hastily. She smiled at him slightly, clearly not recognising him at all. It was odd to see that look on the face of someone he had known for years and who had grown up knowing who he was.
“Can’t he wait a few minutes?” Merlin asked looking back at Arthur, who nodded hopefully.
“You know him…” she said, shrugging. “He says that his boots are missing…”
“I dropped them back in his room yesterday after spending half the morning cleaning them.” Merlin said with annoyance. Arthur looked down guiltily at the pair of clean boots that were on his feet and winced a little. For once it wasn’t Merlin’s fault, although he’d really prefer it if his doppelganger did not have access to his entire wardrobe. He would have to burn it all when everything was sorted out.
“Well he can’t find them.” Gwen told him quietly, looking worried but Merlin just chuckled.
“Come on, Gwen. How bad can it be?” he was grinning. “He’s not as bad as he sounds…”
“Maybe not anymore,” she admitted slowly, “but you remember how he was when you first got here.” Merlin winced slightly and she nodded. “Precisely. And he sounds like he used to then, now. If I were you, I wouldn’t push him today.”
“He did seem a little off earlier,” Arthur wanted to bash their heads together, but that would hardly convince them of his identity. He sufficed for shooting a venomous glance at Gwen for her comments on his personality and turning to see Merlin’s decision.
“Ignore him,” he said simply. Merlin laughed, as though had not done the very same thing without prompting a dozen times before.
“Look, I won’t be long. Just hang on and I’ll see what he wants, alright?” He did not wait for an answer before hurrying off, leaving Gwen staring at Arthur, her head cocked to one side slightly as she watched him curiously.
“Doesn’t seem like I have much choice, does it?” he asked himself as Merlin disappeared around the corner. Gwen shook her head as though clearing it and smiled again.
“Do you need anything?” she asked politely.
“My life back,” he said skulking back into the shadow of the pillar, crossing his arms firmly and leaning against the wall. She sighed and left pretty quickly.
***
On to Chapter 3
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