Merlinfic: Born of Magic 1/12
Title: Born of Magic
Author: Destiny_Chicken
Characters: Arthur, Merlin, Uther, Gaius, OC Lord Aden, OC Lady Alys
Genre/pairing: Slash, Merlin/Arthur
Rating: MA Mature Adult due to language, and explicit sexual content
Word-count: 33,833
Chapters: 12
Spoilers: Mention of 1.1 (The Dragon’s Call), 2.8 (The Sins of the Father) and 2.13 (The Last Dragonlord)
Summary: Arthur suffers yet another blow to the head, but this one causes amnesia. He and Merlin are quarantined to Arthur’s chambers in an attempt to avoid revealing the amnesia to Uther. Once Arthur is cured by Merlin’s magic, strange incidents begin to occur.
Author’s Notes: Set between seasons 2 and 3 when Morgana is missing.
Thank you to the awesome queasy_mouse for the beta!
I made use of the web site http://www.oldenglishtranslator.co.uk/ for help with the Old English spells. Since my understanding of language tenses is quite sketchy, I can only say what I think these phrases mean or were meant to convey. If you can correct me, please do PM me on Live Journal at Destiny_Chicken.
The ASCII art used as a scene separator was generated at the website http://www.webestools.com/stylish-text-generator-nickname-message-msn-facebook-windows-live-messenger-text-accents-effect-ascii-text.html
Chapter 1
“And just who are you?”
Merlin wasn’t sure he heard that correctly, despite his large ears. “What?”
“Who are you?” Arthur repeated.
“That blow to the head must have been even worse than I thought,“ Merlin muttered. He knelt over Arthur’s position on the rocky ground, and looked into the Prince’s stunning blue eyes. He could see the pupils were unequal in size-a sure indicator of a head injury.
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Arthur Pendragon had had more than his fair share of blows to head and resulting bouts of unconsciousness. It rather came with the territory of being the Crown Prince of Camelot. Whether it was by bandits, skeleton warriors, or a magical beast, Arthur managed to get whacked on the head at a somewhat steady rate. Usually the after effects were minimal: a few minutes of unconsciousness and a longer-lasting headache. This time looked to be different.
The stress of the pressures of Court politics and the duties increasingly being placed on Arthur’s shoulders were beginning to take a toll on him. He had been beyond grouchy the past few weeks - never smiling, not sleeping well, picking at his food, and throwing things even more frequently than usual. Unfortunately, it was Merlin who was most acquainted with Arthur’s moods, and this meant he bore the shouting, the flying objects and extra work assignments. So it was Merlin who was actually most pleased when Arthur strode into his own chambers the day before his latest incident, shouting: “MER-lin, pack for a hunt tomorrow. We’ll leave at dawn.”
“How long will we be gone? Will the knights be coming?” Merlin asked, as he concentrated on the mental calculations of number of people going times the number of days times the amount of supplies needed.
“I told Father it would be a few days at least. And it is just you and me. The knights are still on patrol searching for Morgana.”
That meant this trip really wasn’t about the hunting at all. Arthur was just trying to get some time away from his duties and no doubt, away from Uther Pendragon. The father-son relationship was complicated and it, too, added to Arthur’s burdens. Merlin did believe that Uther loved his only son and heir, but he certainly did not demonstrate that love to Arthur. Arthur always seemed to feel himself left wanting when measured in Uther’s eyes. Most recently, there had been some drawn-out arguments between the two in front of the Council over the upcoming tax collection. Arthur truly loved his people and was a compassionate man. He often spoke out to reject higher taxes when the poorer families would be unable to pay and would starve. Angered at the public challenge from Arthur in front of the Council, Uther then, almost vindictively, proceeded to schedule visits to Camelot of potential brides for Arthur. The King knew that a political marriage was a sore subject for his son.
So Merlin stuffed the packs, organized the food, and readied the horses so the two of them could leave at dawn that morning. Other than the brace of hares caught this morning for dinner tonight, Arthur had not done any hunting so far. It was just two friends (although Arthur would not admit that out loud) amiably sharing a journey to nowhere. Already Arthur was more relaxed, with the furrows in his brow (formerly in danger of becoming permanent residents) easing as the day passed companionably.
As the sun had reached its highest point and had begun its descent to the horizon, Arthur directed their route southward. When they came across a broad swath of shale fragments that had accumulated against the rise ahead of them, they dismounted to lead their horses up the slope. Almost at the top, Arthur had turned back to Merlin to make a sharp retort to whatever challenge Merlin had just thrown Arthur’s way. Merlin realized later, with more than a twinge of guilt, that it was his fault. Because of his verbal jab, Arthur was not watching his footing on the loose rocks.
He lost his balance, fell to the talus, and his momentum carried him down the steep slope, sliding and tumbling. Luckily he had dropped the reins at once, so his horse was not sliding down the incline right behind him, possibly to land upon him. As Arthur’s body came to rest near the base of the slope, face down, it remained still. Merlin, with his heart hammering loudly, scrambled back down the shale, managing to slide down mostly on his arse. As he skittered to a stop near Arthur, he breathlessly called out, “Arthur, are you alright?” Arthur remained motionless and unresponsive.
Merlin knelt at his side and turned Arthur over. There were scratches and abrasions on his face, and he felt carefully around Arthur’s head. No broken skull but there was a cut bleeding in his hair and Merlin could sense the knot rising in Arthur’s scalp as he gently probed. He looked Arthur’s body over as well and found no broken bones, only scrapes and cuts--the most serious of those a severe abrasion on his jaw-besides the head injuries. His own heart began to slow to a normal beat, now seeing that Arthur’s condition was not as serious as it first appeared.
Merlin glanced up the incline and confirmed the well-trained horses were still in sight. He headed back up the slope towards them, watching his steps cautiously. At the top, he secured the horses to the scrub and removed their packs and supplies.
When he returned to Arthur with the supplies, over ten minutes had passed, and the prince still was unconscious. This was long enough to be troubling. “Arthur, wake up. C'mon you dollophead, time to get up!” He shook Arthur’s shoulder slightly, and was rewarded with a low moan.
A little firmer shake and he heard, “Mmmm…wha’ happen’d?”
“You fell. And hit your head. Again.”
“Yeah…it hurts.” At that statement, Arthur rolled to his side and retched whatever he had eaten that day. Once the heaving stopped, Merlin helped him roll back away from the pool of vomit, and allowed Arthur a few swigs of water from the skin. Settling down on his back, Arthur flung his arm over his eyes, and grumbled, “’S’too bright.”
As usual, Merlin carried emergency medical supplies in his pack: bandages, salves, herbs, and a pain-reducing potion. He reached for the potent green liquid. “Here, drink half of this. It’s another one of Gaius’ vile medicines that should relieve the pain a bit.” He helped Arthur sit up slightly once more, and he dutifully downed the liquid before returning to his back.
As usual, Arthur pulled a face in response to the awful taste, “What is that stuff? It tastes horrible.”
“Just another of Gaius’ specialties.”
“Who is Gaius? And just who are you? ” Arthur said, with a puzzled look at Merlin.
“What?”
“Who are you? And why are there two of you?” Arthur repeated, as he pinched the bridge of his nose to contain the pounding in his head, since the pain potion had not yet taken affect.
“Arthur, don’t you know who I am?” Merlin asked incredulously, looking directly at Arthur’s face.
“So my name is Arthur, is it?” His expression showed this was no joke.
Oh shite. At some point in Merlin’s limited medical education, Gaius had mentioned that amnesia was a possible reaction to head injuries, but Merlin never thought he’d have to deal with it by himself. The unconsciousness, the unequal pupil size, the double vision, and aversion to bright light all said ‘concussion.’ However, amnesia on top of that meant this was serious. Worse than just not knowing who Merlin was, evidently Arthur did not know who he was himself. Merlin swallowed hard and tried to steady himself with a familiar task of tending to Arthur’s injuries. He started by applying a salve to the abrasion on Arthur’s jaw.
“Well, my name is Merlin, and yes, yours is Arthur, Arthur Pendragon.” Arthur looked intently at the two Merlins. No sign of recognition flickered in Arthur’s face. Merlin continued, “I’m sure this is just a temporary side effect of the injury to your head. Just like the double vision. You’re going to have quite a lump on the back of your skull there. Can you sit up so I can bandage the cut in your scalp?“ Merlin offered his hand to pull Arthur to a seated position. Arthur wavered a bit, so Merlin scooted around so he could sit behind Arthur and support him as he wrapped his head with the bandage.
Merlin hoped he sounded more confident than he was, as he could sense Arthur was on the edge of panicking, as he came to realise his memories were not there. His breathing was ragged and his face very pale. “I am the ward of the Court Physician of Camelot, Gaius, and help him out sometimes, so I do have some medical knowledge,” Merlin offered as reassurance to his patient, despite the fact he had no experience with amnesia victims and couldn’t even recall if Gaius had ever described any treatments.
Arthur breathed deeply, trying to steady himself. He shook his head to clear his vision, but regretted it immediately as his head pounded more fiercely. He cleared his throat so his voice was firmer. “So, what are we doing here? Maybe if you tell me I’ll begin to remember.”
“Well, we are on a hunting trip.”
“Just the two of us? What are we hunting?”
“Nothing really, although you did get two rabbits this morning we’ll have for dinner tonight.”
“Just two of us on a hunting trip where we are not hunting anything. Well, I guess why bother to bring along a whole hunt party with dogs and beaters if you really aren’t hunting…” Arthur still looked confused, and narrowed his eyes as he looked at Merlin.
Merlin asked tentatively, “Do you know who you are, I mean, who your father is?”
“I told you I didn’t know my name, and no, I don’t know my father’s name either,” Arthur replied peevishly. “Why, is he well-known?”
Merlin snorted. “Yeah, a bit. He’s King Uther Pendragon of Camelot.” He waited for the reaction.
All the response he saw was Arthur’s brows knit together and his teeth began to worry his bottom lip. He spoke slowly, ‘So that means I have a title? I am a prince?”
“Crown Prince actually. Heir to the throne and all. ” Merlin stated. Arthur said nothing further for a bit, concentrating on remembering something, anything. Sighing deeply when nothing came to his mind, he continued his questioning, hoping to hit upon a topic of which he had some memory. “So who are you then, Merlin?”
It occurred to Merlin, that without Arthur’s memories to define their relationship, Merlin could say the truth. “I am your friend, your best friend.”
“Hmm. Nothing is coming back to me.” He studied Merlin’s face.
“We’ve known each other about two-and-a-half years. I protect you from danger, so you can fulfill your destiny and become the greatest King that Albion will ever know.”
Arthur snorted. “Protect me? I don’t think so.” He pointedly looked at Merlin, then at himself, and then at Merlin again.” I don’t think you could protect me from anything bigger than a gnat, as you aren’t the bodyguard type. I, on the other hand, am perfectly capable of protecting myself, and you as well, for that matter. I’ve been trained to kill since birth…” his voice trailing off as he realized what he said. “Now how did I know that? “
“I guess being a prat is so ingrained, you still remember that. I’ll have you know I have saved your life several times already. You fail to recognize the skills and talents I have.”
“Ri-i-ight.” Arthur rolled his eyes, unconvinced. “What else do you do besides be my bodyguard?”
“I clean your armour and keep it in good repair. I fetch your meals and serve you when you dine with the King or the Court. I keep your chambers and clothing clean. “
“You’re not a bodyguard, you’re my manservant!” Arthur shouted triumphantly.
“You’re remembering now? Merlin asked hopefully.
“No, just piecing it together from your description.” A frown crossed his face. “But a prince cannot be friends with his manservant.”
Merlin shut his eyes to hide his pain from Arthur over that last statement. It hurt that Arthur did not acknowledge their friendship. Arthur was his destiny, whether that was as a servant to his master, as equals and friends. Or even something more, that Merlin only dreamt of late at night alone in his bed.
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Merlin set about making camp not far from where Arthur came to a halt after his fall, while Arthur tried to rest. He brought the horses down from the top of the hill, and placed stones in a circle to form the fire pit. He set the rabbits to cooking over the fire on greenwood spits, and laid out two bedrolls near the fire. Once he finished, he returned to Arthur’s side where the prince had been dozing.
Arthur was grimacing in pain even while he slept, tossing and turning. Merlin woke him as gently as he could, but as Arthur opened his eyes, the brilliant blue darkened as he fought through the initial consciousness of the pain.
“Arthur, can you get up and walk over to the camp? I’ve built a fire and it will be warmer.”
He took Merlin’s offered hand and levered himself upright. The dizziness had him wobbling for a bit, but with Merlin’s hands on his shoulders, he steadied, and began to walk over to the fire with a bit of limp. He dropped to the bedroll and sat with one leg stretched out straight in front of him, the other bent at the knee.
“What’s wrong with your leg? Why are you limping?” Merlin demanded, always anxious about Arthur’s condition when injured.
“S’nothing.” Arthur was evasive as always about any sign of weakness.
“Arthur.” Merlin warned.
The prince glared at Merlin, and muttered “Must have twisted my left knee in the fall.” Then changing the subject (he was deft at doing that), he asked, “How come you call me Arthur, not m’Lord or Sire or Your Highness?”
Well, I call you Arthur because we are friends, despite what you think about the propriety of friendship between servant and master. I try not to do so when we are around others, especially around your father.”
“Why my father?”
“Well…I don’t think he likes me much, although he did ‘reward’ me by making me your servant for saving your life the first time. I fail to see the reward in it, myself.” His teasing comment failed to elicit any other response from Arthur besides a blank look.
Arthur fell silent as he stared into the flames and the red-hot coals forming underneath them. Merlin could see his weariness in his face and that the pain continued to plague him. He suspected that the weariness was intensified by the loss of his memory and his fear of not knowing himself.
Arthur’s hand plucked at the grasses by his bedroll, shredding them without even knowing what he was doing. Merlin filled the silence that hung over them, chattering, “Once it is daylight tomorrow, we’ll pack up and return to Camelot. We should make it there by mid-afternoon if we keep to a steady pace. I want Gaius to look you over as soon as we get back.”
Merlin served up the charred rabbit and offered Arthur some bread and some dried fruit from the supplies they’d brought. Merlin made a mental note that Arthur took only a few bites of the meat, and just toyed with the fruit. He did drink from the water skin, however.
“Do you want the last of the pain-relieving potion now or use it tomorrow when we’re travelling?”
Arthur considered. “It makes you drowsy, doesn’t it?” Merlin nodded. “Then I’ll take it tonight. I don’t want to fall asleep on the horse tomorrow and topple off.”
“It should help you get some better rest tonight then.” The firelight danced flickering shadows across Arthur’s face as Merlin tried to assess his mental state. He chanced asking what he suspected Arthur did not want to discuss, “Are you remembering anything, Arthur?”
Arthur spoke softly, as if he didn’t want to jinx any recovering memories by speaking too loudly. He rubbed at his temples and pinched the bridge of his nose in a futile attempt to get the headache under control. “Nothing cohesive. Just an occasional flash of a face or a place, and before I can recognize it, it’s gone.”
“You need to give it time. Be patient.”
“Not one of my usual qualities.” Arthur startled at what he said. “How did I know that?”
With a smile, Merlin said, “Not too hard to see you’re a man of action, Arthur.” He handed Arthur the last of the pain-relieving potion, and the prince downed it. Both men turned to their bedrolls and settled in to sleep as best they could through the night.
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