Fic: Fool On The Hill, Part One, Continued with a link to fanfiction.net
Title: Fool on the Hill
Author: dyspraxicsheep
Rating: R
Word count: 33, 363 words
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Arthur pairing, Merlin, Arthur, Guinevere, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, OCs, Morgana (mentioned), Uther (mentioned), Gaius (mentioned), Guinevere/Lancelot
Warnings: The canon of this story goes up to the end of series two and then branches off into an AU from that point. The warnings are character hurt, sex, blood, death, and imprisonment. Also very slightly implied non-consent, but you have to look hard to find it. If anyone finds a warning that I missed, please let me know!
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC. I make absolutely no money from this, it's just something that I've written for fun.
Summary: It has been seven years since Arthur became the King of Camelot, and just as long since Merlin fled the kingdom. Arthur is finally taking steps to legalise the use of magic within his kingdom once and for all. Needing to secure an alliance with Rhewogydd, one of the most prosperous kingdoms to promote magic, where even the heir to the throne is a sorcerer, Arthur travels with Guinevere and his knights to the kingdom of ice.
Author Notes: A brief note on my timeline because I don't really mention it fully in the story; when Merlin flees Camelot, he is twenty-five, and Arthur is twenty-seven. When the story starts, Merlin is thirty-two, and Arthur is thirty-four. I began writing this story a few months before series five aired, and have been writing it on and off ever since. This morning, I finally finished it, and I am happy to share it with you all! In the near future, I'll be uploading the fanfic as an ebook for anyone who wants to be able to read this from their iPad/Kindle/etc.! I've posted this before to the community merlin_tv. This story was inspired by the Peter Cincotti cover, Fool On The Hill/Nature Boy, which you can listen to here. The words to the song are as follows:
There was a boy, a very strange, enchanted boy. They say he wandered very far, very far over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye, but very wise was he. Then one day, one magic day, he came my way, and as we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me; "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
Fool on the Hill
by dyspraxicsheep
Taran smiled beatifically at his guest and Arthur’s eyes turned to him.
“I understand,” the king was saying. “I understand the difficulties your kingdom has faced and I know how your kingdom has viewed magic in the past. I can assure you,” he said and picked up his goblet and drained it, not even batting an eye when a nearby servant filled it again almost instantly, “That no harm shall come to you during your stay here. The laws of our land are ours and to be obeyed by all those within our realm.” This was something of a veiled threat, Arthur knew; disturb the peace, and we shall not be a friend to you or to Camelot. “And I hope that your convoy will remember this.”
It was the first day of negotiations and the second day since their arrival; Arthur’s eyes closed, blocking out the image of the king that sat beside him as he gave his nod of ascent. He had expected as much as this; everyone had, it seemed, from his council to his knights alike, they had all warned him. The knights had been much more fierce, of course, and had sworn a premature vengeance on any who might attempt to harm their king. It had taken some time to make the decision to travel to Rhewogydd, though Arthur’s hesitation had not emerged from fear; he was simply unused to the concept of traveling quite so far. It was more often than not the court of Camelot that hosted royal parties from distant lands.
He had heard extensively of both the frost that covered the land and of the kingdom’s attitude towards sorcery; he had heard of a man, an ill-kept secret whom sat at the right hand of the King and had been named heir should the unmarried and childless Taran ever meet an untimely end. The arrival of Arthur in Rhewogydd was the proof he needed that Camelot’s stance on magic was indeed changing. It was time for him to show to both his own people, and to any travellers who might wish to stay within the bounds of his realm, that those who practiced sorcery would no longer be punished. Unless, of course, they used their powers for evil. By visiting Taran’s kingdom and by drawing up an unneeded treaty that would unite them under terms that satisfied both sides, he would show his subjects and everyone else that he no longer held the fear that his father had instilled in him throughout his life. In his time as a prince and finally as a king, Arthur had seen both sides of magic and now, in the seventh year of his reign, he was finally working to show his understanding; that sorcerers, just like people, common and noble alike, came in all forms. This included the good and the bad. He would not make the same mistake again.
But Arthur was not stupid. He knew for a fact that Rhewogydd’s power lay in the heir to the throne and it was for this reason that so little was known about him. Arthur himself was yet to see the sorcerer; none of his consort had seen him either, and that included his wife and knights. There had been an apology, of course, when he had inquired as to the absence. There had been an apology and obvious surprise that he had known about the heir at all.
Taran had explained his missing heir and council member away by remarking that he had left for one of the lower villages; he had gone under his own volition to help with the frozen river that had diminished the village’s water supplies to almost nothing. It was a noble deed and Arthur’s understanding had come with solemnity. If the gossip he had overheard from passing servants was anything to go by, the sorcerer was also planning on finding a way to bring warmth and heat in spite of the ice to every home and hovel in the kingdom; no one would die of cold this winter if he had anything to do with it, no matter how long it may take him.
It only served to prove to the king that magic was indeed not evil; it was the person in command of it that divined its purpose.
#
He awoke early in the second week of their stay by a commotion of sudden noise that came from the courtyard outside the window of the chambers that he and Guinevere had been given. There was excitement and chatter and a joy that he could both feel and hear even in the cold silence of their own room. Leaving his slumbering wife’s side, he crept up and out of the bed, careful to allow her to sleep on. Even as a great king he still slept in a pair of breeches in the way that he had done for the majority of his life; he sometimes rarely bothered with that, though the chill prevented him from doing so here, making itself known now in the prickling of his skin. His wife offered little warmth between the sheets, heavy velvets and furs. With no need to dress himself, he groped for the curtains and pulled them open in the dark, allowing nothing but more darkness to seep into the room.
Sounds of happiness were faint, muffled as they were by the thick glass of the window, but he didn’t open it; he knew just how cold it was beyond that pane of glass. He could feel the frost radiating from it.
He looked down through the falling snow and onto the path that was covered with white, winding as it was about the frozen lake that led to the castle. He could see a small crowd gathered about a man on horseback whose hood was drawn up to protect him from the cold. Tall and slender, he seemed to emanate power as he handed the reigns to a servant who steadied the horse quite needlessly. The man climbed down and accepted the hand of someone who could only Taran, the king, though it was difficult to tell through the mask of the heavy snow. It was then that Arthur finally noticed a staff strapped to the man’s back, humble and made of what could only be wood, he couldn’t help but admire it, in spite of being able to see little of its detail from afar; he could barely make out a large, blue stone set at the uppermost point.
It took only a moment for him to make the connection and to realise that this must be the court sorcerer, the man whom he had heard so much about. The two men embraced on the path and the snow swirled about them; and then, before Arthur had scarcely time to blink, the sorcerer was led by the king into the castle. He never saw past the velvet hood that cloaked the man’s face from view.
With the realisation that he would be meeting this man soon, Arthur returned to the bed and climbed beside his still-sleeping wife. He edged close to her for warmth, the type that body heat provided; he was appreciative of it more than he could say after having stood in the cold room for- he didn’t know how long it had been. He couldn’t pinpoint the stretch of time that he had spent standing and staring out of the window, but it had been long enough to leave him chilled to his very core. He would speak to a servant about restocking the fuel for their fire if it ever ran low again in the nights to come.
It took some time for sleep to finally reach him and it seemed that as soon as he had found it, there was a gentle knocking on the door. Guinevere was bustling about and then she was opening it, letting unwanted light into the room. Awake once more, the king sat up groggily. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked over to the door, catching a brief glimpse of one of the court members they had met earlier in the week. He told the queen that Rhewogydd’s king had requested their presence at a feast that night in honour of the return of his heir. Guinevere had accepted the extended invitation without doing so much as turn around to check that Arthur was awake, much less to see whether he agreed or not. Their years of marriage had seen to it that she knew him well now, and that she even understood him enough to know that he wanted to both meet and speak with this sorcerer. She knew that he wanted to atone for his crimes against magic; both his father’s and his own. But most importantly his own. He would never forgive himself for what he had done to Merlin.
#
It had been a month into Arthur’s reign when he had discovered Merlin’s true nature. He had thrown him into the dungeons without so much as stopping to blink. He had needed time to think without seeing him. The warning bells had rung mere hours later and the King’s manservant had never been seen in Camelot again.
For years, he had thought it was because Merlin had been guilty of something; just having magic was a crime, after all.
It had been a long time before Arthur had realised that he had run because he was afraid.
He had discovered only a few months prior to his decision to begin a movement that would show his ultimate support for magic that it had been his own knights with their superior knowledge of the guard circulation and with the free run of the castle that came with a knighthood whom had helped Merlin escape.
He had been fine with it, in the end. But he understood why it had been kept a secret from him for so long. After all, he had held his father’s views on magic. And who could have really blamed him at the time? Every magical being he had ever come in contact with as far as he knew up until then had done him some harm or other ill intent. Still, he could have used his brain, he couldn’t help but think, and he could have actually realised that in all these years, all the years of closeness and all the bullying… Had Merlin ever meant him anything but kindness and protection, he would have killed him years ago. Arthur probably would have deserved it, the fool he’d been back then.
But he still didn’t know that it accounted for the lies. Perhaps at the start he wouldn’t have taken to Merlin’s magic kindly. After all, he had been arrogant then. Arrogant enough to believe that the only righteousness in the world came from his father and, by his very birthright, from himself. And Arthur had never questioned any of his father’s choices until Merlin came along. He had gone along blindly with the executions that seemed to have a weekly place in the castle’s courtyard, had never questioned the evil of every single person that practiced magic and therefore went against his father’s will. And then, Merlin, the stupid idiot, had gone and got himself poisoned. For the first time in his life, Arthur had disobeyed Uther in a matter that wasn’t something as trivial as “stop pulling Morgana’s hair”. Saving Merlin’s life, the life of a servant who had willingly given his own to save Arthur’s, had been a cause that he wouldn’t have given up for anything. Thrown in the dungeons for his trouble, Arthur had rejoiced when Merlin finally recovered, though he had remained shaky and unstable for a good week after Gaius had purged the poisons from his system. Arthur had disobeyed his father and done a thing that he believed was right and good; he had gone against Uther’s will and yet he had not performed any sort of evil act. He thought now that Merlin could have told him then and Arthur would have sworn never to tell anyone, to keep his magic a secret.
There had been so, so many chances where Merlin could have told Arthur the truth. And that had stung as much as anything else, that he’d not been trusted enough to know the truth. But there had come a time when Merlin’s confession would have been met as bitterly as it had in reality. It had been left too long and too many horrific things had happened to Arthur in the name of magic. His father’s death had been the true blow. Left too late, Merlin had continued to hide from him until he had been caught out, doing something so stupid as to read a book of magic in the physician’s rooms and, when asked if the book belonged to his uncle, Merlin had denied it. Rumour had spread fast and that had been it. Arthur could not be seen to make excuses, could not be seen to make exceptions, not for a man who had lied to him so many times and for so long. His execution had been planned for the next morning, but he had escaped long before justice could be taken.
The warrant for Merlin’s arrest was still active and would be until the moment Arthur made magic legal in Camelot. Perhaps he would return then. Arthur doubted it, somehow, and the truth burned unpleasantly in his stomach, a poisonous feeling that had taken root there ever since he had realised all of the reasons why Merlin had never told him about his magic. It had been fear. Not fear of dying, no, not when he had proved time and time again that he was willing to sacrifice his life for Arthur and Camelot. It was fear of Arthur himself and fear of what he would do.
#
"You look every bit a King," Guinevere told him from where she sat at the dressing table, running a horse-hair brush through her dark curls, the last thing for her to do before she placed her crown on her head. She stood when she had finished and stepped across the room until she reached him, her arms going about his neck as she drew him into a kiss.
It was a hollow one. They had been hollow for some years now, and though they both felt it, neither would ever say so, too afraid of disrupting the delicate balance of their union. It had always been delicate. Arthur had just never seen it until after they had married; he had never realised it until he had been drunk one night and he had staggered to their chambers and seen Guinevere poorly concealed behind a tapestry with Lancelot.
He had known and understood who she truly loved for some time now. And, surprising even himself, he had accepted it. She supported him in matters of state and was at his side when he needed her. This was all that he could ask, especially when her heart belonged to another. Had probably always belonged to another.
They parted and he offered his arm to her. They would be here for a month and it was important that appearances be kept.
And so, after perhaps spending too long in their chambers delaying the inevitable and therefore losing all semblance they might have had of being punctual, the King and Queen of Camelot made their way to their official welcome feast. It really was remarkable how she understood delicate matters like this, though Arthur had always thought that she had simply managed to learn well in Morgana's service. She may have learned more about defiance, not that it showed, but she had been privy to matters of state that many serving girls wouldn't have had a chance of dealing with. And yet, here was Guinevere. Guinevere who had served King Uther's ward for the majority of her life, and now, she was able to understand something even so subtle as this show of power.
It would have brushed most people past and, if they'd been informed about it, it would be them who said that it was subtle. To Arthur, it was glaring. Glaring and entirely obvious and the sort of thing his father had done on many occasions. Arthur led them as he took his seat at the long table to the left of the head table, close to the King and in the place that spoke of the honour of the guests in attendance. It was a far cry for the round table in Camelot. His knights had already arrived, as had all those but Taran and his infamous ward. Various noblemen sat along the table to the right, but the head table contained other select members of Taran's house.
There was Taran's brother whose name Arthur still did not know and a woman whom he could only assume was his wife, and, alongside them, their two small children, one of whom was concentrating incredibly hard on levitating the empty goblet in front of her. It was a good thing when a combination of Guinevere's gentle nudge and the mother scolding her child prevented the goblet from rising further and allowing it to drop back down with a gentle, tinkling thump to the table. Arthur had been far too entranced by the display. Apparently, Taran's brother didn't like the innocent act of magic any more than Uther would have, if his gritted teeth were anything to go by.
Arthur made a mental note of several things in that moment. First, that he would have to check his own fascination by magic being done out in the open and without the fear of execution. He couldn't be seen to gawp at it as though it were something he had never seen before in spite of the fact that it was; he had lifted the ban on magic within Camelot after careful consideration, but his people still did not seem to believe it. It was either the fact that they feared a trap and that they would be caught and killed the moment they began to practice openly or that there simply were not that many sorcerers in Camelot. He didn't think that was true at all; there had always been a plentiful supply before. But... Arthur had once wondered if it hadn't been his manservant's power that had attracted so much magic to Camelot under Uther's ban. When he had fled, the magic had gone with him, it seemed. Second, he had to make a note of Taran's brother. He had to find out his name and just what his opinion on the laws of this land were. Perhaps he could even find out more about the King's ward from speaking with him. Even the disdainful words that he already found himself expecting to hear would add to Arthur's knowledge about this man. So far, all he had heard was praise, and that truly was it. It wasn't enough to build an opinion of someone on.
He had once learned a lesson, a long, long time ago when his father had been alive. It was one that Uther himself had taught him. To learn about a person, you had to observe what they said and what they did and that you would also learn much from what the people around them said. How others observed them would be tantamount to learning as much as you could about someone.
He turned to Leon and relayed a small request that he speak with Taran's brother and find out what he could.
Not only did he want to learn about the ward, something that might be closed off to Camelot's King, but he also wanted to find out whether or not this man would be a threat to Camelot's hope of accepting magic into its kingdom.
The buzz of the room fell to a quiet as King Taran stepped through the double doors behind the high-backed chairs of the head table, his ward following behind him, head bowed briefly, apparently checking his footing, strands of long dark hair guarding his face that fell out of the way as he lifted his head to regard those already seated.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat and his fist clenched, eyes wide and brows knitted together.
It was Merlin.
Continue on Fanfiction.net
Author: dyspraxicsheep
Rating: R
Word count: 33, 363 words
Characters/Pairings: Merlin/Arthur pairing, Merlin, Arthur, Guinevere, Gwaine, Leon, Elyan, Percival, Lancelot, OCs, Morgana (mentioned), Uther (mentioned), Gaius (mentioned), Guinevere/Lancelot
Warnings: The canon of this story goes up to the end of series two and then branches off into an AU from that point. The warnings are character hurt, sex, blood, death, and imprisonment. Also very slightly implied non-consent, but you have to look hard to find it. If anyone finds a warning that I missed, please let me know!
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to the BBC. I make absolutely no money from this, it's just something that I've written for fun.
Summary: It has been seven years since Arthur became the King of Camelot, and just as long since Merlin fled the kingdom. Arthur is finally taking steps to legalise the use of magic within his kingdom once and for all. Needing to secure an alliance with Rhewogydd, one of the most prosperous kingdoms to promote magic, where even the heir to the throne is a sorcerer, Arthur travels with Guinevere and his knights to the kingdom of ice.
Author Notes: A brief note on my timeline because I don't really mention it fully in the story; when Merlin flees Camelot, he is twenty-five, and Arthur is twenty-seven. When the story starts, Merlin is thirty-two, and Arthur is thirty-four. I began writing this story a few months before series five aired, and have been writing it on and off ever since. This morning, I finally finished it, and I am happy to share it with you all! In the near future, I'll be uploading the fanfic as an ebook for anyone who wants to be able to read this from their iPad/Kindle/etc.! I've posted this before to the community merlin_tv. This story was inspired by the Peter Cincotti cover, Fool On The Hill/Nature Boy, which you can listen to here. The words to the song are as follows:
There was a boy, a very strange, enchanted boy. They say he wandered very far, very far over land and sea. A little shy and sad of eye, but very wise was he. Then one day, one magic day, he came my way, and as we spoke of many things, fools and kings, this he said to me; "The greatest thing you'll ever learn is just to love and be loved in return.
Fool on the Hill
by dyspraxicsheep
Taran smiled beatifically at his guest and Arthur’s eyes turned to him.
“I understand,” the king was saying. “I understand the difficulties your kingdom has faced and I know how your kingdom has viewed magic in the past. I can assure you,” he said and picked up his goblet and drained it, not even batting an eye when a nearby servant filled it again almost instantly, “That no harm shall come to you during your stay here. The laws of our land are ours and to be obeyed by all those within our realm.” This was something of a veiled threat, Arthur knew; disturb the peace, and we shall not be a friend to you or to Camelot. “And I hope that your convoy will remember this.”
It was the first day of negotiations and the second day since their arrival; Arthur’s eyes closed, blocking out the image of the king that sat beside him as he gave his nod of ascent. He had expected as much as this; everyone had, it seemed, from his council to his knights alike, they had all warned him. The knights had been much more fierce, of course, and had sworn a premature vengeance on any who might attempt to harm their king. It had taken some time to make the decision to travel to Rhewogydd, though Arthur’s hesitation had not emerged from fear; he was simply unused to the concept of traveling quite so far. It was more often than not the court of Camelot that hosted royal parties from distant lands.
He had heard extensively of both the frost that covered the land and of the kingdom’s attitude towards sorcery; he had heard of a man, an ill-kept secret whom sat at the right hand of the King and had been named heir should the unmarried and childless Taran ever meet an untimely end. The arrival of Arthur in Rhewogydd was the proof he needed that Camelot’s stance on magic was indeed changing. It was time for him to show to both his own people, and to any travellers who might wish to stay within the bounds of his realm, that those who practiced sorcery would no longer be punished. Unless, of course, they used their powers for evil. By visiting Taran’s kingdom and by drawing up an unneeded treaty that would unite them under terms that satisfied both sides, he would show his subjects and everyone else that he no longer held the fear that his father had instilled in him throughout his life. In his time as a prince and finally as a king, Arthur had seen both sides of magic and now, in the seventh year of his reign, he was finally working to show his understanding; that sorcerers, just like people, common and noble alike, came in all forms. This included the good and the bad. He would not make the same mistake again.
But Arthur was not stupid. He knew for a fact that Rhewogydd’s power lay in the heir to the throne and it was for this reason that so little was known about him. Arthur himself was yet to see the sorcerer; none of his consort had seen him either, and that included his wife and knights. There had been an apology, of course, when he had inquired as to the absence. There had been an apology and obvious surprise that he had known about the heir at all.
Taran had explained his missing heir and council member away by remarking that he had left for one of the lower villages; he had gone under his own volition to help with the frozen river that had diminished the village’s water supplies to almost nothing. It was a noble deed and Arthur’s understanding had come with solemnity. If the gossip he had overheard from passing servants was anything to go by, the sorcerer was also planning on finding a way to bring warmth and heat in spite of the ice to every home and hovel in the kingdom; no one would die of cold this winter if he had anything to do with it, no matter how long it may take him.
It only served to prove to the king that magic was indeed not evil; it was the person in command of it that divined its purpose.
#
He awoke early in the second week of their stay by a commotion of sudden noise that came from the courtyard outside the window of the chambers that he and Guinevere had been given. There was excitement and chatter and a joy that he could both feel and hear even in the cold silence of their own room. Leaving his slumbering wife’s side, he crept up and out of the bed, careful to allow her to sleep on. Even as a great king he still slept in a pair of breeches in the way that he had done for the majority of his life; he sometimes rarely bothered with that, though the chill prevented him from doing so here, making itself known now in the prickling of his skin. His wife offered little warmth between the sheets, heavy velvets and furs. With no need to dress himself, he groped for the curtains and pulled them open in the dark, allowing nothing but more darkness to seep into the room.
Sounds of happiness were faint, muffled as they were by the thick glass of the window, but he didn’t open it; he knew just how cold it was beyond that pane of glass. He could feel the frost radiating from it.
He looked down through the falling snow and onto the path that was covered with white, winding as it was about the frozen lake that led to the castle. He could see a small crowd gathered about a man on horseback whose hood was drawn up to protect him from the cold. Tall and slender, he seemed to emanate power as he handed the reigns to a servant who steadied the horse quite needlessly. The man climbed down and accepted the hand of someone who could only Taran, the king, though it was difficult to tell through the mask of the heavy snow. It was then that Arthur finally noticed a staff strapped to the man’s back, humble and made of what could only be wood, he couldn’t help but admire it, in spite of being able to see little of its detail from afar; he could barely make out a large, blue stone set at the uppermost point.
It took only a moment for him to make the connection and to realise that this must be the court sorcerer, the man whom he had heard so much about. The two men embraced on the path and the snow swirled about them; and then, before Arthur had scarcely time to blink, the sorcerer was led by the king into the castle. He never saw past the velvet hood that cloaked the man’s face from view.
With the realisation that he would be meeting this man soon, Arthur returned to the bed and climbed beside his still-sleeping wife. He edged close to her for warmth, the type that body heat provided; he was appreciative of it more than he could say after having stood in the cold room for- he didn’t know how long it had been. He couldn’t pinpoint the stretch of time that he had spent standing and staring out of the window, but it had been long enough to leave him chilled to his very core. He would speak to a servant about restocking the fuel for their fire if it ever ran low again in the nights to come.
It took some time for sleep to finally reach him and it seemed that as soon as he had found it, there was a gentle knocking on the door. Guinevere was bustling about and then she was opening it, letting unwanted light into the room. Awake once more, the king sat up groggily. He wiped the sleep from his eyes and looked over to the door, catching a brief glimpse of one of the court members they had met earlier in the week. He told the queen that Rhewogydd’s king had requested their presence at a feast that night in honour of the return of his heir. Guinevere had accepted the extended invitation without doing so much as turn around to check that Arthur was awake, much less to see whether he agreed or not. Their years of marriage had seen to it that she knew him well now, and that she even understood him enough to know that he wanted to both meet and speak with this sorcerer. She knew that he wanted to atone for his crimes against magic; both his father’s and his own. But most importantly his own. He would never forgive himself for what he had done to Merlin.
#
It had been a month into Arthur’s reign when he had discovered Merlin’s true nature. He had thrown him into the dungeons without so much as stopping to blink. He had needed time to think without seeing him. The warning bells had rung mere hours later and the King’s manservant had never been seen in Camelot again.
For years, he had thought it was because Merlin had been guilty of something; just having magic was a crime, after all.
It had been a long time before Arthur had realised that he had run because he was afraid.
He had discovered only a few months prior to his decision to begin a movement that would show his ultimate support for magic that it had been his own knights with their superior knowledge of the guard circulation and with the free run of the castle that came with a knighthood whom had helped Merlin escape.
He had been fine with it, in the end. But he understood why it had been kept a secret from him for so long. After all, he had held his father’s views on magic. And who could have really blamed him at the time? Every magical being he had ever come in contact with as far as he knew up until then had done him some harm or other ill intent. Still, he could have used his brain, he couldn’t help but think, and he could have actually realised that in all these years, all the years of closeness and all the bullying… Had Merlin ever meant him anything but kindness and protection, he would have killed him years ago. Arthur probably would have deserved it, the fool he’d been back then.
But he still didn’t know that it accounted for the lies. Perhaps at the start he wouldn’t have taken to Merlin’s magic kindly. After all, he had been arrogant then. Arrogant enough to believe that the only righteousness in the world came from his father and, by his very birthright, from himself. And Arthur had never questioned any of his father’s choices until Merlin came along. He had gone along blindly with the executions that seemed to have a weekly place in the castle’s courtyard, had never questioned the evil of every single person that practiced magic and therefore went against his father’s will. And then, Merlin, the stupid idiot, had gone and got himself poisoned. For the first time in his life, Arthur had disobeyed Uther in a matter that wasn’t something as trivial as “stop pulling Morgana’s hair”. Saving Merlin’s life, the life of a servant who had willingly given his own to save Arthur’s, had been a cause that he wouldn’t have given up for anything. Thrown in the dungeons for his trouble, Arthur had rejoiced when Merlin finally recovered, though he had remained shaky and unstable for a good week after Gaius had purged the poisons from his system. Arthur had disobeyed his father and done a thing that he believed was right and good; he had gone against Uther’s will and yet he had not performed any sort of evil act. He thought now that Merlin could have told him then and Arthur would have sworn never to tell anyone, to keep his magic a secret.
There had been so, so many chances where Merlin could have told Arthur the truth. And that had stung as much as anything else, that he’d not been trusted enough to know the truth. But there had come a time when Merlin’s confession would have been met as bitterly as it had in reality. It had been left too long and too many horrific things had happened to Arthur in the name of magic. His father’s death had been the true blow. Left too late, Merlin had continued to hide from him until he had been caught out, doing something so stupid as to read a book of magic in the physician’s rooms and, when asked if the book belonged to his uncle, Merlin had denied it. Rumour had spread fast and that had been it. Arthur could not be seen to make excuses, could not be seen to make exceptions, not for a man who had lied to him so many times and for so long. His execution had been planned for the next morning, but he had escaped long before justice could be taken.
The warrant for Merlin’s arrest was still active and would be until the moment Arthur made magic legal in Camelot. Perhaps he would return then. Arthur doubted it, somehow, and the truth burned unpleasantly in his stomach, a poisonous feeling that had taken root there ever since he had realised all of the reasons why Merlin had never told him about his magic. It had been fear. Not fear of dying, no, not when he had proved time and time again that he was willing to sacrifice his life for Arthur and Camelot. It was fear of Arthur himself and fear of what he would do.
#
"You look every bit a King," Guinevere told him from where she sat at the dressing table, running a horse-hair brush through her dark curls, the last thing for her to do before she placed her crown on her head. She stood when she had finished and stepped across the room until she reached him, her arms going about his neck as she drew him into a kiss.
It was a hollow one. They had been hollow for some years now, and though they both felt it, neither would ever say so, too afraid of disrupting the delicate balance of their union. It had always been delicate. Arthur had just never seen it until after they had married; he had never realised it until he had been drunk one night and he had staggered to their chambers and seen Guinevere poorly concealed behind a tapestry with Lancelot.
He had known and understood who she truly loved for some time now. And, surprising even himself, he had accepted it. She supported him in matters of state and was at his side when he needed her. This was all that he could ask, especially when her heart belonged to another. Had probably always belonged to another.
They parted and he offered his arm to her. They would be here for a month and it was important that appearances be kept.
And so, after perhaps spending too long in their chambers delaying the inevitable and therefore losing all semblance they might have had of being punctual, the King and Queen of Camelot made their way to their official welcome feast. It really was remarkable how she understood delicate matters like this, though Arthur had always thought that she had simply managed to learn well in Morgana's service. She may have learned more about defiance, not that it showed, but she had been privy to matters of state that many serving girls wouldn't have had a chance of dealing with. And yet, here was Guinevere. Guinevere who had served King Uther's ward for the majority of her life, and now, she was able to understand something even so subtle as this show of power.
It would have brushed most people past and, if they'd been informed about it, it would be them who said that it was subtle. To Arthur, it was glaring. Glaring and entirely obvious and the sort of thing his father had done on many occasions. Arthur led them as he took his seat at the long table to the left of the head table, close to the King and in the place that spoke of the honour of the guests in attendance. It was a far cry for the round table in Camelot. His knights had already arrived, as had all those but Taran and his infamous ward. Various noblemen sat along the table to the right, but the head table contained other select members of Taran's house.
There was Taran's brother whose name Arthur still did not know and a woman whom he could only assume was his wife, and, alongside them, their two small children, one of whom was concentrating incredibly hard on levitating the empty goblet in front of her. It was a good thing when a combination of Guinevere's gentle nudge and the mother scolding her child prevented the goblet from rising further and allowing it to drop back down with a gentle, tinkling thump to the table. Arthur had been far too entranced by the display. Apparently, Taran's brother didn't like the innocent act of magic any more than Uther would have, if his gritted teeth were anything to go by.
Arthur made a mental note of several things in that moment. First, that he would have to check his own fascination by magic being done out in the open and without the fear of execution. He couldn't be seen to gawp at it as though it were something he had never seen before in spite of the fact that it was; he had lifted the ban on magic within Camelot after careful consideration, but his people still did not seem to believe it. It was either the fact that they feared a trap and that they would be caught and killed the moment they began to practice openly or that there simply were not that many sorcerers in Camelot. He didn't think that was true at all; there had always been a plentiful supply before. But... Arthur had once wondered if it hadn't been his manservant's power that had attracted so much magic to Camelot under Uther's ban. When he had fled, the magic had gone with him, it seemed. Second, he had to make a note of Taran's brother. He had to find out his name and just what his opinion on the laws of this land were. Perhaps he could even find out more about the King's ward from speaking with him. Even the disdainful words that he already found himself expecting to hear would add to Arthur's knowledge about this man. So far, all he had heard was praise, and that truly was it. It wasn't enough to build an opinion of someone on.
He had once learned a lesson, a long, long time ago when his father had been alive. It was one that Uther himself had taught him. To learn about a person, you had to observe what they said and what they did and that you would also learn much from what the people around them said. How others observed them would be tantamount to learning as much as you could about someone.
He turned to Leon and relayed a small request that he speak with Taran's brother and find out what he could.
Not only did he want to learn about the ward, something that might be closed off to Camelot's King, but he also wanted to find out whether or not this man would be a threat to Camelot's hope of accepting magic into its kingdom.
The buzz of the room fell to a quiet as King Taran stepped through the double doors behind the high-backed chairs of the head table, his ward following behind him, head bowed briefly, apparently checking his footing, strands of long dark hair guarding his face that fell out of the way as he lifted his head to regard those already seated.
Arthur's breath caught in his throat and his fist clenched, eyes wide and brows knitted together.
It was Merlin.
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