Fic: Within Sight (2/2)
From part one.
It was morning, early morning -- far earlier than Arthur had been rising recently -- and he was not happy about it. He groaned as the curtains were pulled back from his bed and the hot morning sun hit his face. “Go away, Merlin.”
“Good morning!” Merlin said brightly. “Sleep well?”
“I can have you put in the stocks, you know.”
“What's that?” Merlin said, snatching the counterpane and tugging. “You need help getting up? Why, of course I'll help.” Arthur made a grab for the bedclothes, but Merlin held onto them. “I have a bucket of water here if it will help the process.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Care to try me?” Merlin said, and Arthur found he didn't. “Come on, we're going out today.”
“Merlin….” Arthur said warningly. Merlin was digging through the wardrobe; Arthur could hear him dropping things.
“Gwen's made up a picnic lunch. We can ride out for the day.” Something landed on Arthur's face -- his shirt. “You could use the fresh air. You haven't left your room for three days.”
“I like my room,” Arthur said, tugging his nightshirt over his head reluctantly. “And I am not riding out so the peasants can gawk at me.”
“They're not going to gawk, most are too busy with their own chores to worry about what you're doing,” Merlin said, collecting Arthur's nightshirt. “And we'll be out in the country anyway.”
“I absolutely refuse,” Arthur said. “And that's the end of it.”
----
He really did have the absolute worst servant in the whole history of bad servants, Arthur reflected as they passed out of the lower town. With most servants, lying, shirking, and theft were about the worst of it, but this….
“I thought we might stop for lunch out on the other side of the falls. Mmm, I think Gwen slipped in some sweetmeats in as well.”
…This was intolerable, being strong-armed by his own servant; it really was the lowest--
“Wait. Sweetmeats?” Arthur asked.
“With raisins,” Merlin confirmed.
Arthur considered this. “It is rather nice near the falls, I suppose.”
---
It was, too. The falls weren't very grand, just a cascade where the creek ran down a wooded slope to a shallow pool, but there was a musicality to the sound of falling water, and it was cooler here, too.
“I came here often as a boy,” Arthur said as he dismounted, waiting for Merlin to tether the horses and collect him along with the basket. “Whenever I could escape my tutors, this was where I'd run to.”
“It's nice. Peaceful,” Merlin agreed, taking Arthur's hand and setting it on his elbow. They were used to this now, and it no longer felt so invasive. Arthur had become accustomed to keeping a step behind, and Merlin pointed out hazards automatically now. The bruises they'd both worn the first few weeks had faded. The dependency still frustrated Arthur a dozen times a day, but it could have been worse.
“Here's a good spot,” Merlin said. “Let me get the food set out.” He did so with a speed that surprised Arthur; Merlin could be quite quick when he wanted. He poured Arthur a glass of wine and Arthur sipped it.
They worked their way through ham, pheasant, sharp cheese, grapes, and an entire loaf of bread -- plus a rather generous measure of wine. Arthur wasn't sure how much he'd had; his glass never emptied.
“You should have watered this wine,” Arthur said, blinking sleepily.
“I would have if I'd known you'd drink so much,” Merlin said. “Here you are, the crown prince, three sheets to the wind. I hope no one sees you like this -- it can't be good for the image.”
“I'm not that drunk,” Arthur said, affronted. “I'm fine.”
Merlin snorted. “Can you even stand up without falling over?”
“I can do a good deal more than that,” Arthur said and launched himself at Merlin. He had to orient himself when he landed, but luckily Merlin was so surprised it took him a moment before he could react.
“What are you--ugh,” Merlin grunted as Arthur's elbow caught him in the stomach. Merlin recovered from his surprise and fought back, catching Arthur's wrist and trying to bend his arm behind his back. Arthur slipped out of it, twisting against Merlin's thumb to break his grip. He grinned as they scuffled; in this form of combat, at least, he didn't need his eyes. This was all feel and instinct.
Merlin had improved, but not enough. They'd rolled off the blanket, and Arthur got a face full of grass and dirt as Merlin unexpectedly changed directions. The move was a bad one, though; it allowed Arthur to shove him over onto his stomach, one arm snaking around Merlin's shoulder joint, immobilising his arm. Arthur's other arm caught Merlin's throat in the crook of his elbow. Arthur seized his own wrist, locking the choke hold. Merlin writhed for another minute, too stupid to know he'd been beaten. Tightening the hold, Arthur waited, and Merlin finally went limp.
Arthur gave him a little slack. “Do you yield?” Arthur caught the scent of lye soap and the clean sweat on the back of Merlin's neck. “Do you yield?”
“Yes, yes, fine. I yield. This is me yielding.” Arthur waited a moment more to make sure Merlin meant it and released him. “I had you there for a minute, though.”
“No you didn't; you only thought you did,” Arthur said smugly. Merlin helped him to his feet and they made their way back to the blanket, though for once, Merlin leaned more on Arthur rather than the other way 'round.
“I told you you'd have a good time today. I knew you would, even if--” Merlin cut himself off.
“Even if I'm blind?” Arthur said without heat, though the warmth the wine had given him dissipated.
“Erm. Yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean it like that,” Merlin said abashedly.
Arthur shrugged. “It's the truth.”
They sat a moment, and Arthur wondered what Merlin was thinking.
“Have you considered....” Merlin cleared his throat. “None of Gaius's remedies have worked.” Arthur waited for Merlin to go on, and after a lengthy pause, he cleared his throat again. “Maybe only magic can lift the curse.”
“Camelot's best knights have scoured the countryside, and my father has put a high price on the sorcerer's head,” Arthur replied. “What else can be done?” Merlin hesitated, drawing a deep breath. “Just say what's on your mind, already. I can practically hear it rattling around that thick skull.”
“Surely there are other sorcerers who would be able to undo the curse, if you could find them....”
“No,” Arthur said flatly. “My father would never allow it.”
“Does he need to know?” Merlin asked gently.
“I will not betray his trust,” Arthur said hotly. “And I will not betray Camelot for my own gain. Perhaps I am unfit to rule, but I am not so low as to introduce sorcery into court and undermine everything my father has worked for.”
“Of course not, Sire,” Merlin muttered, and started packing things away.
---
Merlin was uncharacteristically subdued on the ride back, but Arthur tried not to notice.
---
Merlin's quietude lasted until they'd retired for the evening, and he said almost angrily, “You're not 'unfit.'” He fumbled with the lacings on the front of Arthur's shirt. “Even if you never regained your sight -- which I'm sure you will, of course, but even if you didn't -- you would be a great king.”
“Merlin?”
“Yes?”
Arthur caught Merlin's hands, stilling them. “Shut up.”
“Okay.”
Arthur leaned forward, until his forehead met Merlin's shoulder. The material of his jacket was rough against Arthur's face. He dropped Merlin's hands so he could follow the curve of his arm up to embrace him.
“Erm, Arthur?”
“What did I just say?” He tugged the knot of Merlin's neckerchief and pulled it loose, leaving the smooth skin of Merlin's neck bare. Arthur dropped the bit of cloth and pressed his cheek to the warmth, his fingers curling in the soft hair behind Merlin's ear.
“Right,” Merlin said and his arm wound around Arthur's waist. “I'm shutting up … but….”
“Merlin, I can't do this if you're talking,” Arthur whispered, and his stomach twisted as it occurred to him that Merlin might not want him to do this. Arthur both wished he could see Merlin's expression and was relieved that he couldn't.
Merlin leaned into him, a full-body press that Arthur instinctively recognised as an invitation. Arthur gently nipped the skin above Merlin's pulse, and Merlin jumped but for once held his tongue. Arthur backed him toward the bed, and Merlin managed to keep them from going afoul of the furniture. They stumbled into the bed, collapsing in an ungainly heap. Grabbing a fistful of shirt, Merlin pulled Arthur to him. Arthur resisted, floundering until he found Merlin's wrists, pinning them above his head and pushing him down into the mattress.
“Hold still,” Arthur commanded, and reluctantly released him. Merlin didn't move.
Arthur shifted until he straddled Merlin's waist, accidentally catching Merlin's nose with an elbow in the process. Merlin was breathing heavily, his ribs rising and falling under Arthur's hands. Tugging Merlin's shirt free from his belt, Arthur pushed it up slowly. He'd forgot to unfasten the cuffs, and the shirt caught at Merlin's wrists. Arthur struggled with the buttons, but then left them, Merlin's wrists still tangled in the material.
Propped up on one arm, Arthur trailed the back of his fingers down the side of Merlin's face and followed the curve of Merlin's cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. The skin was hot, betraying Merlin's blush. Along Merlin's temple, Arthur paused to push the hair from his forehead, his fingers carding through the soft strands. Arthur wondered how Merlin looked flushed and tousled, and the thought made him heat in turn.
With the tips of his fingers, Arthur brushed the delicate skin of Merlin's eyelids, which drifted shut under his touch, and traced the hollows under his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the gentle intent above his lip. Merlin's mouth parted slightly as Arthur drew a finger across his lower lip. The barest tip of his finger teased the sensitive skin on the inside of Merlin's lip before he retreated. His palm cupped Merlin's jaw, and his fingers came up to lightly pinch the lobe of Merlin's ear. Merlin shuddered, grunting a little. Arthur smiled and leaned forward to lick the shell of Merlin's ear.
That produced a little keening whine, and Merlin tilted his head to allow Arthur better access. Arthur sucked on the lobe, worrying it with his teeth. When he pulled back, Merlin started to whimper a protest, but Arthur kissed him. Merlin immediately yielded, opening to Arthur's kiss, his own tongue slipping into Arthur's mouth.
They kissed, back and forth, and Arthur had to pin Merlin's wrists again when he tried to cheat. Arthur's perception contracted to the slick juncture of their mouths, and he was aware of nothing but the feel of Merlin's tongue and lips and teeth against his. Finally though, he broke the kiss to move his attentions to Merlin's neck and collarbone. His hands wandered along Merlin's sides, and Arthur was startled by just how easily he could find each rib and by the sharp jut of Merlin's hips. Morgana had been right; Merlin was too thin. Guilt prickled at the back of his mind, and he suspected he knew what had run Merlin so ragged. Arthur pushed that unhappy thought away, pausing with his hand over Merlin's heart. The beat under his palm was strong and steady.
“You're beautiful, you know,” Merlin whispered, his voice husky and choked. The unexpected words jarred Arthur out of his reverie.
Arthur smiled sweetly and covered Merlin's mouth with his hand. “Don't make me gag you.”
Merlin bit him, though his teeth slipped against Arthur's sweaty palm, failing to pinch the skin.
Arthur exacted swift revenge, bringing his free hand up between Merlin's legs to fondle him through the cloth of his breeches. Merlin made a strangled noise through Arthur's hand and jerked as though he had been burned. Arthur cupped him a moment longer, feeling Merlin twist and tremble beneath him, and then reached for Merlin's belt, unbuckling it with one hand.
Merlin was taking gasping, noisy breaths, so quickly that he was almost panting. Arthur's own fingers almost shook as he eased the front of Merlin's trousers open and took him in hand. The head of his cock was already damp and leaking. Arthur gave it a couple experimental strokes, but he was unused to the angle and it felt awkward.
Arthur let go, ignoring Merlin's unhappy moan, and laid next to him so their sides pressed together. Arthur spit in his hand and groped for Merlin's cock again. Much better, he decided; he could work Merlin with the same practised stroke he used on himself. He went slower, though, drawing it out, fascinated by the feel of flesh under his fingers.
Merlin wasn't making any noise now besides the uneven sound of his breathing. Arthur shifted again, working his left arm under Merlin's neck so his hand could caress Merlin's face. Arthur could feel the ridge of Merlin's forehead where his brows were drawn together, and his mouth was open. Merlin's face turned toward Arthur's searching fingers, and his mouth caught the first two, sucking them in to the second knuckle. Arthur shuddered convulsively and nearly forgot to keep stroking.
Merlin stopped sucking to cry out abruptly, and then shuddered and went still as he spilled himself over Arthur's fist. They were both quiet as Merlin's breathing slowed, but Arthur's own cock was hard and insistent. Merlin was still slack and boneless as Arthur hesitated, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious, and then undid his own breeches. It was distinctly unfair that Merlin got to see him when he couldn't see Merlin, but he was not so bothered by the inequity to keep from stroking himself.
“I can--” Merlin said, and Arthur kissed him to shut him up -- a strategy that worked rather well, actually. Arthur manoeuvred himself over Merlin, thrusting against the slickness on his belly. Merlin's lips pressed against Arthur's temple, and he was whispering something, but Arthur was too focused on his own need and the sensation of skin on skin to care. It only took a few ungainly thrusts before he added to the mess on Merlin's belly.
With effort, Arthur rolled off Merlin, his limbs feeling heavy and cumbersome. He had let his eyes close when he heard Merlin rise.
“Stay,” Arthur said, and then added, “If you want. The bed's big enough.”
“Oh. Um,” Merlin said. “Let me get cleaned up a bit first, all right?”
Arthur grunted an affirmation, reaching for a pillow. His boots were already off, so it was merely a question of getting under the bedclothes with as little effort as possible. He heard water being poured as Merlin cleaned himself up. By the time Merlin crawled in behind him, one arm over his waist, Arthur was asleep.
---
The bed was empty when Arthur awoke.
“Merlin?” he called, trying to sound imperious and not lonely.
“I'm here,” Merlin answered.
Arthur sighed and stretched thoroughly. “I don't suppose you've got breakfast ready?”
“I'm afraid you'll have to wait for breakfast,” Merlin answered. “Your father has called you for an audience.”
---
Uther was waiting in the formal audience chamber.
“You called for me, Sire?” Arthur said and released Merlin's elbow. Merlin retreated, leaving him to stand alone before the throne, and Arthur felt a pang of regret, but he could hardly cling to his manservant's arm like a child to his mother's apron.
“Ah, Arthur, how are you?” Uther asked, and his voice echoed against the arched ceiling of the hall.
“Very well. Thank you,” Arthur replied stiffly.
“Ah, good. Glad to hear it. Is there anything you need?”
“No, Sire,” Arthur said, struggling to keep from gritting his teeth at Uther's uncharacteristic display of concern.
“Good,” Uther repeated. “Very good. I've called you here to inform you I've invited Sir Degrave of Lavain to come stay with us as my special guest. I expect you to be courteous and welcoming to him as he settles in. He'll be helping with the knights, so you'll need to be on hand to answer any of his questions.”
Arthur had to work a moment to swallow the lump in his throat. “Of course, father.”
“That is all.”
Arthur bowed and Merlin was at his side again.
---
“He wants me to train my own replacement!” Arthur said as soon as they were safely behind closed doors. He found his way to the bed and flung himself down onto it.
“So he's getting some extra help with the knights, so what. It doesn't mean anything.”
“You're either patronising me or a complete moron,” Arthur said. “Or both!”
Merlin sighed. “The man hasn't even arrived yet....”
“Merlin, when my father said he can't have a blind heir, he was serious. It's been nearly two months, and I haven't improved, and he's losing hope that I ever will.” Arthur rolled onto his back, his head lolling over the edge of the bead. “So now he's auditioning lords for the role of crown prince, and if it's not this one, there will be others.”
Merlin was silent, but the bed shook a little as he climbed onto it. He didn't come any closer, though, until Arthur held out hand in invitation.
“When does he arrive, then?” Arthur asked in resignation as Merlin settled beside him, managing to dig his extremely bony elbow into Arthur's ribs. Arthur shifted until they were a position more to his liking, Merlin's knee between his own and his head pillowed against Merlin's arm.
“Tomorrow morning,” Merlin said, sounding unhappy. “Arthur, please trust me ... it's going to be all right.”
“Right, of course,” Arthur said.
---
Horse hooves clattered over the cobblestones of the courtyard. Arthur stood with Morgana to his right and Merlin to his left and a step behind. The sun was hot, and sweat threatened to soak through his shirt, doubtlessly ruining the princely effect he'd been hoping for.
“Here he comes,” Merlin said.
“What's he look like?”
“Ugly. Even uglier than you. Face like a turnip.”
Morgana hushed them, but Merlin continued in a loud whisper. “Big too, lots of hair, heavy brow. Did I mention the ugly?”
Arthur struggled to keep from grinning as Uther called out the formal greeting and welcomed the Lord Degrave to Camelot.
“My ward, Morgana,” Uther said, and her skirts rustled as she curtsied. “And this is my son, Arthur.”
“I am at your service, my prince,” Sir Degrave said, and Arthur thought that he sounded ugly.
“You'll have be patient with my son; he's suffered a tragic accident,” Uther said, probably worried that Arthur would embarrass himself.
“My condolences, Sire,” Degrave said slowly and loudly. “Are you feeling well today?”
“Quite well, though my father must not have told you -- I'm merely blind, there is nothing wrong with my ears and my mind works as well as it ever did.”
“I meant no offence, Sire,” Degrave said, but Uther interrupted.
“I'm sure you're feeling quite fatigued by this morning's excitement, Arthur. Why don't you retire to your room.” There was no mistaking it as anything but an order.
Arthur bowed and turned, Merlin catching his arm.
“They're watching,” Merlin said. “Morgana looks amused and Degrave's mouth is hanging open. Your father looks none too pleased.”
“Good,” Arthur said emphatically. “I hope I've disgraced myself sufficiently.”
---
Arthur was obliged to endure a tour of the keep, and he even remained civil as Degrave remarked on the extent of the armoury and asked about the knights' practice tournament. Clearly he was already planning the improvements he intended to make.
“Ah! The arm's attached, you know,” Merlin said as Arthur's grip tightened in response to Degrave's observation that they should look into upgrading their practice lances.
Arthur eased up, taking a deep breath. “Sorry.”
---
Arthur informed Degrave that Merlin was at his personal disposal the rest of the afternoon and returned to his room alone. Arthur couldn't see Merlin's expression of horror and betrayal, but he didn't need to.
He returned to his room and packed a spare shirt, flint, and supplies he'd stolen from the kitchen -- cheese, apples, and bread. He didn't bother with his mail, but he took his sword. It was a foolish gesture, but he found its familiar weight comforting.
---
Arthur made good progress through the lower town and left by the western gates. He stretched his legs, walking as quickly as he dared. Still, it would have been much faster on horseback. He pushed that thought from his mind -- he'd finish this if he had to crawl the entire way.
The road grew rougher as it wound its way up through the hills. His ankle turned in a rut and he fell hard, skinning his knees.
“Brilliant,” he muttered, pushing himself up and probing his injuries. Blood trickled down his shins, but his throbbing ankle held his weight.
He felt certain he would soon reach the crest of the hill, but it just continued on. Half an hour, then an hour. Or maybe not; he could hardly judge the time. The land levelled out -- the top of the hill, finally. He didn't know if this was near the place he'd first met with the sorcerer, but it seemed close enough.
“Sorcerer,” he said, but his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sorcerer! If you can hear me, I call you to single combat. Come now or prove yourself a coward.” Arthur stopped and listened.
A mocking bird called in the distance; he refused to take it as a sign.
He tried again on the next hill.
---
And on the one after that.
---
“Treacherous, filthy, lying sorcerer!” he finished, frustrated as his challenge went unanswered. He sat down and propped his elbows on his knees.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up a moment before someone said, “Well. This really is quite a sight.” The voice was male, mellow, and infinitely amused.
Arthur scrambled to his feet, his ankle twinging.
“You are him, aren't you,” Arthur said, and though he hadn't heard the sorcerer's voice during the attack, he was sure. “The sorcerer who cursed me.”
“You've been bleating for me like a lamb that's wandered from its ewe.” The sorcerer chuckled and Arthur's cheeks heated.
“Yet you wait until now to show yourself.”
“You would have too, if you were me -- really, you are too amusing. Please understand, entertainment out here is hard to come by. One must take it where one finds it.”
“You were toying with me.”
“That, too,” the sorcerer agreed amiably.
“This ends here and now,” Arthur said, drawing his sword. It felt good and familiar in his hand. He hoped he was brandishing it in the right direction. “Lift the curse now and I will let you live. Failure to do so means your death.”
“That is a rather grand threat from a lost lamb like you,” the sorcerer said. “I don't think I will lift it. I've had more than enough Pendragons on the throne as it is.”
Arthur bellowed in outrage and charged, swinging his sword around wildly, but met nothing. Something caught him on the shoulder, and a jolt went through his arm. He held onto his sword, but only just. When he touched his arm, his fingers came away wet with blood, though he didn't think the wound was bad. He thought of the armour he'd left behind.
“Really, now. I'm embarrassed for you.” The sorcerer was behind him now. Arthur whirled, but found nothing. The sorcerer struck again, opening a long cut along Arthur's ribs.
“How long are you going to play at this?” The voice came from another direction entirely, somewhere over Arthur's left shoulder.
Arthur was confused now, unsure where the edge of the hill was. If he fell down the slope, he was sure to break his neck or back on the rocky outcroppings. Arthur raised his sword again, but hesitated, a faint sound suddenly drawing his attention. Someone was shouting his name. Merlin.
He could hear the hoof beats now, and Merlin's voice grew stronger, though Arthur could catch none of the words but his own name. And maybe stupid.
“Excellent,” the sorcerer said. “I was afraid he would be late.” They both waited as Merlin drew closer.
“What do you think you are doing?” Merlin said, with a little grunt as he dismounted. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“I'm challenging this sorcerer--”
“You really are, aren't you? Trying to get yourself killed, I mean. Of all the unbelievably stupid things--” Merlin broke off, overwhelmed. He grabbed Arthur's shoulders, and Arthur winced at the strength of Merlin's grip. “We're going home.”
“Get out of here, Merlin.” Arthur freed himself. “I will return to Camelot in triumph. Or I will not return at all.” He swallowed. “This is not your quarrel.”
“He really has no idea, does he?” the sorcerer said, exasperated.
“No, he really doesn't,” Arthur snapped, almost amused that Merlin's gormlessness was obvious to even those who'd just met him.
“He's talking to me, Arthur,” Merlin said quietly.
Arthur opened his mouth, but of all the questions he wanted to ask, the one he managed was “What?”
“So, you've told him nothing,” the sorcerer gloated. “This will be good.”
“Shut it, you,” Merlin snapped.
“Merlin, do you know this, this sorcerer?” Arthur demanded.
“No!” Merlin quickly protested. “Er, well, not really. We've only met the once. It's not like we're friends.”
“Oh good, you're not friends. What a relief.” Arthur took a breath to steady himself. “Merlin, what is going on?”
“The thing of it is,” Merlin started, sounding choked, “that there may be a tiny, little, insignificant thing you don't know about me. And really, in the grander scheme, there's so much that we don't know about each other that this one little thing hardly matters.”
“Merlin,” Arthur warned, and he could actually hear as Merlin swallowed.
Merlin didn't reply, but he cupped Arthur's face in his hands. Arthur jumped at the sudden contact, but then relaxed under the familiar feel of Merlin's fingers. Merlin started whispering strings of syllables Arthur didn't understand but recognised as magic, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He wanted to shove Merlin away, but found he couldn't move, couldn't hear beyond the soft sound of Merlin's voice, couldn't feel anything but the warmth of his hands and the caress of his breath on Arthur's cheek.
Arthur felt as though he were falling, and his eyes were hurting, but -- light, he could see light! His tears streamed down his face as Merlin's face came into focus. His hair was mussed, and his eyes glinted gold before fading into their customary blue.
When it was clear that Arthur wouldn't fall over, Merlin released him and stepped back.
“You're a sorcerer,” Arthur said, wiping his damp cheeks.
Merlin ducked his head in that way he had when he expected a cuffing. “Sort of. Yes. He was using you to get to me.”
Arthur turned away, feeling nauseated. The sorcerer stood with arms crossed, watching the scene impassively. He seemed smaller than Arthur remembered, but no less threatening. A wave of rage washed over Arthur and receded just as quickly.
“You see, Emrys?” The sorcerer's voice was soft and cajoling now. “You knew this would happen. You reveal yourself and meet only hatred. It's why you didn't tell him.”
Merlin ignored the sorcerer, instead turning to Arthur. “Please, Arthur--”
“A sorcerer?! All this time, you've watched magic destroy my father's kingdom, and you were right there, lying to all of us, laughing behind our backs.”
“You know it wasn't like that,” Merlin said. “I only ever used magic in your service, to protect you.”
“Yet you let me languish for months, while the cure was in your grasp.”
“I wanted to help you, more than anything,” Merlin said frantically. “But I couldn't without, without--”
“Revealing yourself?” Arthur supplied with a sneer. “My father was going to disown me.”
“I wasn't going to let that happen. I was working on it!” Merlin held out his hands in entreaty. “Arthur, your father would have me killed.”
“And you think I would tell him? Deliver you up to be killed?”
It was the sorcerer who said what Merlin was clearly thinking, “Yes, that's what Pendragons do.”
Merlin wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes. “I would die for you, Sire ... but it's not my first choice.”
“Come, Emrys,” the sorcerer said, holding a hand out to Merlin. “We must away.” Merlin hesitated, his eyes rimmed in red. “You know you must come -- you've done your duty by your princeling, now you must do your duty to yourself and your people.”
“Arthur?” Merlin's voice was small and uncertain.
“Your place is with me,” Arthur said in his most authoritative tone, drawing his aching body to its full height.
“He is not yours to command,” the sorcerer said, and though he didn't raise his voice, the air crackled. “The choice is yours, Emrys. But how do you think it will go with your prince?”
“I won't betray him,” Arthur interjected, though he hadn't been certain he wouldn't until he spoke.
“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow,” the sorcerer replied. “But what if the crops fail? Or the plague strikes a village, and the cows go barren? How long will it take before you start to wonder who is to blame? And how long would it be before you turned to the sorcerer in your midst?”
“It won't be like that,” Arthur said, flushing angrily.
“You sound so certain. But at the back of your mind, there will always be doubt -- can you trust a sorcerer? One who lied to you? One who could have ended your blindness in a moment, but left you to suffer for months?”
“Hey,” Merlin snapped, affronted. “I didn't do it for fun.”
The sorcerer turned back to Merlin. “And can you live under the same roof as a man who has put hundreds of your kind to death? Knowing his son can condemn you to the same fate?”
“I trust Arthur.”
The sorcerer laughed bitterly. “If that were true, you would have told him months ago.”
“Er, well. It was complicated!” Merlin protested, turning from the sorcerer to Arthur. He raised a hand in entreaty. Arthur flinched.
“You see?” the sorcerer crowed. “Even now he fears you will turn him into a frog.”
Merlin's eyes widened in hurt, and Arthur nearly took a swing at the sorcerer; only knowing that the blow would never land stayed his fist.
“Merlin, don't listen to him,” Arthur said, closing the space between them. Merlin tensed, looking uncertain. Arthur forced himself to relax as he reached out for Merlin and embraced him. Merlin was stiff and unyielding, but slowly he relaxed in Arthur's arms.
Merlin's hands came up to hold Arthur's face, searching for something.
“Your eyes are bluer than I remember,” Arthur said, surprised.
Merlin smiled crookedly and then kissed Arthur. For a moment, Arthur was startled, but then his eyes drifted shut as the familiarity of it washed over him.
“I should have guessed,” he heard the sorcerer mutter behind them, but neither of them paid him any mind, and when they broke the kiss, the sorcerer was gone.
“Then we're going back?” Merlin said.
“Yes, we've got to send dear Lord Degrave on his way,” Arthur replied, swinging up onto Merlin's horse and turning to help Merlin up behind him in the saddle. He paused and said, “You know, I've just realised something -- I've never seen you naked.”
Merlin blushed to the tips of his ears and tucked his head as he held tight to Arthur's waist. “Well. That can be remedied.”
It was morning, early morning -- far earlier than Arthur had been rising recently -- and he was not happy about it. He groaned as the curtains were pulled back from his bed and the hot morning sun hit his face. “Go away, Merlin.”
“Good morning!” Merlin said brightly. “Sleep well?”
“I can have you put in the stocks, you know.”
“What's that?” Merlin said, snatching the counterpane and tugging. “You need help getting up? Why, of course I'll help.” Arthur made a grab for the bedclothes, but Merlin held onto them. “I have a bucket of water here if it will help the process.”
“You wouldn't.”
“Care to try me?” Merlin said, and Arthur found he didn't. “Come on, we're going out today.”
“Merlin….” Arthur said warningly. Merlin was digging through the wardrobe; Arthur could hear him dropping things.
“Gwen's made up a picnic lunch. We can ride out for the day.” Something landed on Arthur's face -- his shirt. “You could use the fresh air. You haven't left your room for three days.”
“I like my room,” Arthur said, tugging his nightshirt over his head reluctantly. “And I am not riding out so the peasants can gawk at me.”
“They're not going to gawk, most are too busy with their own chores to worry about what you're doing,” Merlin said, collecting Arthur's nightshirt. “And we'll be out in the country anyway.”
“I absolutely refuse,” Arthur said. “And that's the end of it.”
----
He really did have the absolute worst servant in the whole history of bad servants, Arthur reflected as they passed out of the lower town. With most servants, lying, shirking, and theft were about the worst of it, but this….
“I thought we might stop for lunch out on the other side of the falls. Mmm, I think Gwen slipped in some sweetmeats in as well.”
…This was intolerable, being strong-armed by his own servant; it really was the lowest--
“Wait. Sweetmeats?” Arthur asked.
“With raisins,” Merlin confirmed.
Arthur considered this. “It is rather nice near the falls, I suppose.”
---
It was, too. The falls weren't very grand, just a cascade where the creek ran down a wooded slope to a shallow pool, but there was a musicality to the sound of falling water, and it was cooler here, too.
“I came here often as a boy,” Arthur said as he dismounted, waiting for Merlin to tether the horses and collect him along with the basket. “Whenever I could escape my tutors, this was where I'd run to.”
“It's nice. Peaceful,” Merlin agreed, taking Arthur's hand and setting it on his elbow. They were used to this now, and it no longer felt so invasive. Arthur had become accustomed to keeping a step behind, and Merlin pointed out hazards automatically now. The bruises they'd both worn the first few weeks had faded. The dependency still frustrated Arthur a dozen times a day, but it could have been worse.
“Here's a good spot,” Merlin said. “Let me get the food set out.” He did so with a speed that surprised Arthur; Merlin could be quite quick when he wanted. He poured Arthur a glass of wine and Arthur sipped it.
They worked their way through ham, pheasant, sharp cheese, grapes, and an entire loaf of bread -- plus a rather generous measure of wine. Arthur wasn't sure how much he'd had; his glass never emptied.
“You should have watered this wine,” Arthur said, blinking sleepily.
“I would have if I'd known you'd drink so much,” Merlin said. “Here you are, the crown prince, three sheets to the wind. I hope no one sees you like this -- it can't be good for the image.”
“I'm not that drunk,” Arthur said, affronted. “I'm fine.”
Merlin snorted. “Can you even stand up without falling over?”
“I can do a good deal more than that,” Arthur said and launched himself at Merlin. He had to orient himself when he landed, but luckily Merlin was so surprised it took him a moment before he could react.
“What are you--ugh,” Merlin grunted as Arthur's elbow caught him in the stomach. Merlin recovered from his surprise and fought back, catching Arthur's wrist and trying to bend his arm behind his back. Arthur slipped out of it, twisting against Merlin's thumb to break his grip. He grinned as they scuffled; in this form of combat, at least, he didn't need his eyes. This was all feel and instinct.
Merlin had improved, but not enough. They'd rolled off the blanket, and Arthur got a face full of grass and dirt as Merlin unexpectedly changed directions. The move was a bad one, though; it allowed Arthur to shove him over onto his stomach, one arm snaking around Merlin's shoulder joint, immobilising his arm. Arthur's other arm caught Merlin's throat in the crook of his elbow. Arthur seized his own wrist, locking the choke hold. Merlin writhed for another minute, too stupid to know he'd been beaten. Tightening the hold, Arthur waited, and Merlin finally went limp.
Arthur gave him a little slack. “Do you yield?” Arthur caught the scent of lye soap and the clean sweat on the back of Merlin's neck. “Do you yield?”
“Yes, yes, fine. I yield. This is me yielding.” Arthur waited a moment more to make sure Merlin meant it and released him. “I had you there for a minute, though.”
“No you didn't; you only thought you did,” Arthur said smugly. Merlin helped him to his feet and they made their way back to the blanket, though for once, Merlin leaned more on Arthur rather than the other way 'round.
“I told you you'd have a good time today. I knew you would, even if--” Merlin cut himself off.
“Even if I'm blind?” Arthur said without heat, though the warmth the wine had given him dissipated.
“Erm. Yeah. Sorry. I didn't mean it like that,” Merlin said abashedly.
Arthur shrugged. “It's the truth.”
They sat a moment, and Arthur wondered what Merlin was thinking.
“Have you considered....” Merlin cleared his throat. “None of Gaius's remedies have worked.” Arthur waited for Merlin to go on, and after a lengthy pause, he cleared his throat again. “Maybe only magic can lift the curse.”
“Camelot's best knights have scoured the countryside, and my father has put a high price on the sorcerer's head,” Arthur replied. “What else can be done?” Merlin hesitated, drawing a deep breath. “Just say what's on your mind, already. I can practically hear it rattling around that thick skull.”
“Surely there are other sorcerers who would be able to undo the curse, if you could find them....”
“No,” Arthur said flatly. “My father would never allow it.”
“Does he need to know?” Merlin asked gently.
“I will not betray his trust,” Arthur said hotly. “And I will not betray Camelot for my own gain. Perhaps I am unfit to rule, but I am not so low as to introduce sorcery into court and undermine everything my father has worked for.”
“Of course not, Sire,” Merlin muttered, and started packing things away.
---
Merlin was uncharacteristically subdued on the ride back, but Arthur tried not to notice.
---
Merlin's quietude lasted until they'd retired for the evening, and he said almost angrily, “You're not 'unfit.'” He fumbled with the lacings on the front of Arthur's shirt. “Even if you never regained your sight -- which I'm sure you will, of course, but even if you didn't -- you would be a great king.”
“Merlin?”
“Yes?”
Arthur caught Merlin's hands, stilling them. “Shut up.”
“Okay.”
Arthur leaned forward, until his forehead met Merlin's shoulder. The material of his jacket was rough against Arthur's face. He dropped Merlin's hands so he could follow the curve of his arm up to embrace him.
“Erm, Arthur?”
“What did I just say?” He tugged the knot of Merlin's neckerchief and pulled it loose, leaving the smooth skin of Merlin's neck bare. Arthur dropped the bit of cloth and pressed his cheek to the warmth, his fingers curling in the soft hair behind Merlin's ear.
“Right,” Merlin said and his arm wound around Arthur's waist. “I'm shutting up … but….”
“Merlin, I can't do this if you're talking,” Arthur whispered, and his stomach twisted as it occurred to him that Merlin might not want him to do this. Arthur both wished he could see Merlin's expression and was relieved that he couldn't.
Merlin leaned into him, a full-body press that Arthur instinctively recognised as an invitation. Arthur gently nipped the skin above Merlin's pulse, and Merlin jumped but for once held his tongue. Arthur backed him toward the bed, and Merlin managed to keep them from going afoul of the furniture. They stumbled into the bed, collapsing in an ungainly heap. Grabbing a fistful of shirt, Merlin pulled Arthur to him. Arthur resisted, floundering until he found Merlin's wrists, pinning them above his head and pushing him down into the mattress.
“Hold still,” Arthur commanded, and reluctantly released him. Merlin didn't move.
Arthur shifted until he straddled Merlin's waist, accidentally catching Merlin's nose with an elbow in the process. Merlin was breathing heavily, his ribs rising and falling under Arthur's hands. Tugging Merlin's shirt free from his belt, Arthur pushed it up slowly. He'd forgot to unfasten the cuffs, and the shirt caught at Merlin's wrists. Arthur struggled with the buttons, but then left them, Merlin's wrists still tangled in the material.
Propped up on one arm, Arthur trailed the back of his fingers down the side of Merlin's face and followed the curve of Merlin's cheekbone with the pad of his thumb. The skin was hot, betraying Merlin's blush. Along Merlin's temple, Arthur paused to push the hair from his forehead, his fingers carding through the soft strands. Arthur wondered how Merlin looked flushed and tousled, and the thought made him heat in turn.
With the tips of his fingers, Arthur brushed the delicate skin of Merlin's eyelids, which drifted shut under his touch, and traced the hollows under his eyes, the bridge of his nose, the gentle intent above his lip. Merlin's mouth parted slightly as Arthur drew a finger across his lower lip. The barest tip of his finger teased the sensitive skin on the inside of Merlin's lip before he retreated. His palm cupped Merlin's jaw, and his fingers came up to lightly pinch the lobe of Merlin's ear. Merlin shuddered, grunting a little. Arthur smiled and leaned forward to lick the shell of Merlin's ear.
That produced a little keening whine, and Merlin tilted his head to allow Arthur better access. Arthur sucked on the lobe, worrying it with his teeth. When he pulled back, Merlin started to whimper a protest, but Arthur kissed him. Merlin immediately yielded, opening to Arthur's kiss, his own tongue slipping into Arthur's mouth.
They kissed, back and forth, and Arthur had to pin Merlin's wrists again when he tried to cheat. Arthur's perception contracted to the slick juncture of their mouths, and he was aware of nothing but the feel of Merlin's tongue and lips and teeth against his. Finally though, he broke the kiss to move his attentions to Merlin's neck and collarbone. His hands wandered along Merlin's sides, and Arthur was startled by just how easily he could find each rib and by the sharp jut of Merlin's hips. Morgana had been right; Merlin was too thin. Guilt prickled at the back of his mind, and he suspected he knew what had run Merlin so ragged. Arthur pushed that unhappy thought away, pausing with his hand over Merlin's heart. The beat under his palm was strong and steady.
“You're beautiful, you know,” Merlin whispered, his voice husky and choked. The unexpected words jarred Arthur out of his reverie.
Arthur smiled sweetly and covered Merlin's mouth with his hand. “Don't make me gag you.”
Merlin bit him, though his teeth slipped against Arthur's sweaty palm, failing to pinch the skin.
Arthur exacted swift revenge, bringing his free hand up between Merlin's legs to fondle him through the cloth of his breeches. Merlin made a strangled noise through Arthur's hand and jerked as though he had been burned. Arthur cupped him a moment longer, feeling Merlin twist and tremble beneath him, and then reached for Merlin's belt, unbuckling it with one hand.
Merlin was taking gasping, noisy breaths, so quickly that he was almost panting. Arthur's own fingers almost shook as he eased the front of Merlin's trousers open and took him in hand. The head of his cock was already damp and leaking. Arthur gave it a couple experimental strokes, but he was unused to the angle and it felt awkward.
Arthur let go, ignoring Merlin's unhappy moan, and laid next to him so their sides pressed together. Arthur spit in his hand and groped for Merlin's cock again. Much better, he decided; he could work Merlin with the same practised stroke he used on himself. He went slower, though, drawing it out, fascinated by the feel of flesh under his fingers.
Merlin wasn't making any noise now besides the uneven sound of his breathing. Arthur shifted again, working his left arm under Merlin's neck so his hand could caress Merlin's face. Arthur could feel the ridge of Merlin's forehead where his brows were drawn together, and his mouth was open. Merlin's face turned toward Arthur's searching fingers, and his mouth caught the first two, sucking them in to the second knuckle. Arthur shuddered convulsively and nearly forgot to keep stroking.
Merlin stopped sucking to cry out abruptly, and then shuddered and went still as he spilled himself over Arthur's fist. They were both quiet as Merlin's breathing slowed, but Arthur's own cock was hard and insistent. Merlin was still slack and boneless as Arthur hesitated, suddenly feeling strangely self-conscious, and then undid his own breeches. It was distinctly unfair that Merlin got to see him when he couldn't see Merlin, but he was not so bothered by the inequity to keep from stroking himself.
“I can--” Merlin said, and Arthur kissed him to shut him up -- a strategy that worked rather well, actually. Arthur manoeuvred himself over Merlin, thrusting against the slickness on his belly. Merlin's lips pressed against Arthur's temple, and he was whispering something, but Arthur was too focused on his own need and the sensation of skin on skin to care. It only took a few ungainly thrusts before he added to the mess on Merlin's belly.
With effort, Arthur rolled off Merlin, his limbs feeling heavy and cumbersome. He had let his eyes close when he heard Merlin rise.
“Stay,” Arthur said, and then added, “If you want. The bed's big enough.”
“Oh. Um,” Merlin said. “Let me get cleaned up a bit first, all right?”
Arthur grunted an affirmation, reaching for a pillow. His boots were already off, so it was merely a question of getting under the bedclothes with as little effort as possible. He heard water being poured as Merlin cleaned himself up. By the time Merlin crawled in behind him, one arm over his waist, Arthur was asleep.
---
The bed was empty when Arthur awoke.
“Merlin?” he called, trying to sound imperious and not lonely.
“I'm here,” Merlin answered.
Arthur sighed and stretched thoroughly. “I don't suppose you've got breakfast ready?”
“I'm afraid you'll have to wait for breakfast,” Merlin answered. “Your father has called you for an audience.”
---
Uther was waiting in the formal audience chamber.
“You called for me, Sire?” Arthur said and released Merlin's elbow. Merlin retreated, leaving him to stand alone before the throne, and Arthur felt a pang of regret, but he could hardly cling to his manservant's arm like a child to his mother's apron.
“Ah, Arthur, how are you?” Uther asked, and his voice echoed against the arched ceiling of the hall.
“Very well. Thank you,” Arthur replied stiffly.
“Ah, good. Glad to hear it. Is there anything you need?”
“No, Sire,” Arthur said, struggling to keep from gritting his teeth at Uther's uncharacteristic display of concern.
“Good,” Uther repeated. “Very good. I've called you here to inform you I've invited Sir Degrave of Lavain to come stay with us as my special guest. I expect you to be courteous and welcoming to him as he settles in. He'll be helping with the knights, so you'll need to be on hand to answer any of his questions.”
Arthur had to work a moment to swallow the lump in his throat. “Of course, father.”
“That is all.”
Arthur bowed and Merlin was at his side again.
---
“He wants me to train my own replacement!” Arthur said as soon as they were safely behind closed doors. He found his way to the bed and flung himself down onto it.
“So he's getting some extra help with the knights, so what. It doesn't mean anything.”
“You're either patronising me or a complete moron,” Arthur said. “Or both!”
Merlin sighed. “The man hasn't even arrived yet....”
“Merlin, when my father said he can't have a blind heir, he was serious. It's been nearly two months, and I haven't improved, and he's losing hope that I ever will.” Arthur rolled onto his back, his head lolling over the edge of the bead. “So now he's auditioning lords for the role of crown prince, and if it's not this one, there will be others.”
Merlin was silent, but the bed shook a little as he climbed onto it. He didn't come any closer, though, until Arthur held out hand in invitation.
“When does he arrive, then?” Arthur asked in resignation as Merlin settled beside him, managing to dig his extremely bony elbow into Arthur's ribs. Arthur shifted until they were a position more to his liking, Merlin's knee between his own and his head pillowed against Merlin's arm.
“Tomorrow morning,” Merlin said, sounding unhappy. “Arthur, please trust me ... it's going to be all right.”
“Right, of course,” Arthur said.
---
Horse hooves clattered over the cobblestones of the courtyard. Arthur stood with Morgana to his right and Merlin to his left and a step behind. The sun was hot, and sweat threatened to soak through his shirt, doubtlessly ruining the princely effect he'd been hoping for.
“Here he comes,” Merlin said.
“What's he look like?”
“Ugly. Even uglier than you. Face like a turnip.”
Morgana hushed them, but Merlin continued in a loud whisper. “Big too, lots of hair, heavy brow. Did I mention the ugly?”
Arthur struggled to keep from grinning as Uther called out the formal greeting and welcomed the Lord Degrave to Camelot.
“My ward, Morgana,” Uther said, and her skirts rustled as she curtsied. “And this is my son, Arthur.”
“I am at your service, my prince,” Sir Degrave said, and Arthur thought that he sounded ugly.
“You'll have be patient with my son; he's suffered a tragic accident,” Uther said, probably worried that Arthur would embarrass himself.
“My condolences, Sire,” Degrave said slowly and loudly. “Are you feeling well today?”
“Quite well, though my father must not have told you -- I'm merely blind, there is nothing wrong with my ears and my mind works as well as it ever did.”
“I meant no offence, Sire,” Degrave said, but Uther interrupted.
“I'm sure you're feeling quite fatigued by this morning's excitement, Arthur. Why don't you retire to your room.” There was no mistaking it as anything but an order.
Arthur bowed and turned, Merlin catching his arm.
“They're watching,” Merlin said. “Morgana looks amused and Degrave's mouth is hanging open. Your father looks none too pleased.”
“Good,” Arthur said emphatically. “I hope I've disgraced myself sufficiently.”
---
Arthur was obliged to endure a tour of the keep, and he even remained civil as Degrave remarked on the extent of the armoury and asked about the knights' practice tournament. Clearly he was already planning the improvements he intended to make.
“Ah! The arm's attached, you know,” Merlin said as Arthur's grip tightened in response to Degrave's observation that they should look into upgrading their practice lances.
Arthur eased up, taking a deep breath. “Sorry.”
---
Arthur informed Degrave that Merlin was at his personal disposal the rest of the afternoon and returned to his room alone. Arthur couldn't see Merlin's expression of horror and betrayal, but he didn't need to.
He returned to his room and packed a spare shirt, flint, and supplies he'd stolen from the kitchen -- cheese, apples, and bread. He didn't bother with his mail, but he took his sword. It was a foolish gesture, but he found its familiar weight comforting.
---
Arthur made good progress through the lower town and left by the western gates. He stretched his legs, walking as quickly as he dared. Still, it would have been much faster on horseback. He pushed that thought from his mind -- he'd finish this if he had to crawl the entire way.
The road grew rougher as it wound its way up through the hills. His ankle turned in a rut and he fell hard, skinning his knees.
“Brilliant,” he muttered, pushing himself up and probing his injuries. Blood trickled down his shins, but his throbbing ankle held his weight.
He felt certain he would soon reach the crest of the hill, but it just continued on. Half an hour, then an hour. Or maybe not; he could hardly judge the time. The land levelled out -- the top of the hill, finally. He didn't know if this was near the place he'd first met with the sorcerer, but it seemed close enough.
“Sorcerer,” he said, but his voice was hoarse. He cleared his throat and tried again. “Sorcerer! If you can hear me, I call you to single combat. Come now or prove yourself a coward.” Arthur stopped and listened.
A mocking bird called in the distance; he refused to take it as a sign.
He tried again on the next hill.
---
And on the one after that.
---
“Treacherous, filthy, lying sorcerer!” he finished, frustrated as his challenge went unanswered. He sat down and propped his elbows on his knees.
The hair on the back of his neck stood up a moment before someone said, “Well. This really is quite a sight.” The voice was male, mellow, and infinitely amused.
Arthur scrambled to his feet, his ankle twinging.
“You are him, aren't you,” Arthur said, and though he hadn't heard the sorcerer's voice during the attack, he was sure. “The sorcerer who cursed me.”
“You've been bleating for me like a lamb that's wandered from its ewe.” The sorcerer chuckled and Arthur's cheeks heated.
“Yet you wait until now to show yourself.”
“You would have too, if you were me -- really, you are too amusing. Please understand, entertainment out here is hard to come by. One must take it where one finds it.”
“You were toying with me.”
“That, too,” the sorcerer agreed amiably.
“This ends here and now,” Arthur said, drawing his sword. It felt good and familiar in his hand. He hoped he was brandishing it in the right direction. “Lift the curse now and I will let you live. Failure to do so means your death.”
“That is a rather grand threat from a lost lamb like you,” the sorcerer said. “I don't think I will lift it. I've had more than enough Pendragons on the throne as it is.”
Arthur bellowed in outrage and charged, swinging his sword around wildly, but met nothing. Something caught him on the shoulder, and a jolt went through his arm. He held onto his sword, but only just. When he touched his arm, his fingers came away wet with blood, though he didn't think the wound was bad. He thought of the armour he'd left behind.
“Really, now. I'm embarrassed for you.” The sorcerer was behind him now. Arthur whirled, but found nothing. The sorcerer struck again, opening a long cut along Arthur's ribs.
“How long are you going to play at this?” The voice came from another direction entirely, somewhere over Arthur's left shoulder.
Arthur was confused now, unsure where the edge of the hill was. If he fell down the slope, he was sure to break his neck or back on the rocky outcroppings. Arthur raised his sword again, but hesitated, a faint sound suddenly drawing his attention. Someone was shouting his name. Merlin.
He could hear the hoof beats now, and Merlin's voice grew stronger, though Arthur could catch none of the words but his own name. And maybe stupid.
“Excellent,” the sorcerer said. “I was afraid he would be late.” They both waited as Merlin drew closer.
“What do you think you are doing?” Merlin said, with a little grunt as he dismounted. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“I'm challenging this sorcerer--”
“You really are, aren't you? Trying to get yourself killed, I mean. Of all the unbelievably stupid things--” Merlin broke off, overwhelmed. He grabbed Arthur's shoulders, and Arthur winced at the strength of Merlin's grip. “We're going home.”
“Get out of here, Merlin.” Arthur freed himself. “I will return to Camelot in triumph. Or I will not return at all.” He swallowed. “This is not your quarrel.”
“He really has no idea, does he?” the sorcerer said, exasperated.
“No, he really doesn't,” Arthur snapped, almost amused that Merlin's gormlessness was obvious to even those who'd just met him.
“He's talking to me, Arthur,” Merlin said quietly.
Arthur opened his mouth, but of all the questions he wanted to ask, the one he managed was “What?”
“So, you've told him nothing,” the sorcerer gloated. “This will be good.”
“Shut it, you,” Merlin snapped.
“Merlin, do you know this, this sorcerer?” Arthur demanded.
“No!” Merlin quickly protested. “Er, well, not really. We've only met the once. It's not like we're friends.”
“Oh good, you're not friends. What a relief.” Arthur took a breath to steady himself. “Merlin, what is going on?”
“The thing of it is,” Merlin started, sounding choked, “that there may be a tiny, little, insignificant thing you don't know about me. And really, in the grander scheme, there's so much that we don't know about each other that this one little thing hardly matters.”
“Merlin,” Arthur warned, and he could actually hear as Merlin swallowed.
Merlin didn't reply, but he cupped Arthur's face in his hands. Arthur jumped at the sudden contact, but then relaxed under the familiar feel of Merlin's fingers. Merlin started whispering strings of syllables Arthur didn't understand but recognised as magic, and the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He wanted to shove Merlin away, but found he couldn't move, couldn't hear beyond the soft sound of Merlin's voice, couldn't feel anything but the warmth of his hands and the caress of his breath on Arthur's cheek.
Arthur felt as though he were falling, and his eyes were hurting, but -- light, he could see light! His tears streamed down his face as Merlin's face came into focus. His hair was mussed, and his eyes glinted gold before fading into their customary blue.
When it was clear that Arthur wouldn't fall over, Merlin released him and stepped back.
“You're a sorcerer,” Arthur said, wiping his damp cheeks.
Merlin ducked his head in that way he had when he expected a cuffing. “Sort of. Yes. He was using you to get to me.”
Arthur turned away, feeling nauseated. The sorcerer stood with arms crossed, watching the scene impassively. He seemed smaller than Arthur remembered, but no less threatening. A wave of rage washed over Arthur and receded just as quickly.
“You see, Emrys?” The sorcerer's voice was soft and cajoling now. “You knew this would happen. You reveal yourself and meet only hatred. It's why you didn't tell him.”
Merlin ignored the sorcerer, instead turning to Arthur. “Please, Arthur--”
“A sorcerer?! All this time, you've watched magic destroy my father's kingdom, and you were right there, lying to all of us, laughing behind our backs.”
“You know it wasn't like that,” Merlin said. “I only ever used magic in your service, to protect you.”
“Yet you let me languish for months, while the cure was in your grasp.”
“I wanted to help you, more than anything,” Merlin said frantically. “But I couldn't without, without--”
“Revealing yourself?” Arthur supplied with a sneer. “My father was going to disown me.”
“I wasn't going to let that happen. I was working on it!” Merlin held out his hands in entreaty. “Arthur, your father would have me killed.”
“And you think I would tell him? Deliver you up to be killed?”
It was the sorcerer who said what Merlin was clearly thinking, “Yes, that's what Pendragons do.”
Merlin wouldn't meet Arthur's eyes. “I would die for you, Sire ... but it's not my first choice.”
“Come, Emrys,” the sorcerer said, holding a hand out to Merlin. “We must away.” Merlin hesitated, his eyes rimmed in red. “You know you must come -- you've done your duty by your princeling, now you must do your duty to yourself and your people.”
“Arthur?” Merlin's voice was small and uncertain.
“Your place is with me,” Arthur said in his most authoritative tone, drawing his aching body to its full height.
“He is not yours to command,” the sorcerer said, and though he didn't raise his voice, the air crackled. “The choice is yours, Emrys. But how do you think it will go with your prince?”
“I won't betray him,” Arthur interjected, though he hadn't been certain he wouldn't until he spoke.
“Maybe not today, maybe not tomorrow,” the sorcerer replied. “But what if the crops fail? Or the plague strikes a village, and the cows go barren? How long will it take before you start to wonder who is to blame? And how long would it be before you turned to the sorcerer in your midst?”
“It won't be like that,” Arthur said, flushing angrily.
“You sound so certain. But at the back of your mind, there will always be doubt -- can you trust a sorcerer? One who lied to you? One who could have ended your blindness in a moment, but left you to suffer for months?”
“Hey,” Merlin snapped, affronted. “I didn't do it for fun.”
The sorcerer turned back to Merlin. “And can you live under the same roof as a man who has put hundreds of your kind to death? Knowing his son can condemn you to the same fate?”
“I trust Arthur.”
The sorcerer laughed bitterly. “If that were true, you would have told him months ago.”
“Er, well. It was complicated!” Merlin protested, turning from the sorcerer to Arthur. He raised a hand in entreaty. Arthur flinched.
“You see?” the sorcerer crowed. “Even now he fears you will turn him into a frog.”
Merlin's eyes widened in hurt, and Arthur nearly took a swing at the sorcerer; only knowing that the blow would never land stayed his fist.
“Merlin, don't listen to him,” Arthur said, closing the space between them. Merlin tensed, looking uncertain. Arthur forced himself to relax as he reached out for Merlin and embraced him. Merlin was stiff and unyielding, but slowly he relaxed in Arthur's arms.
Merlin's hands came up to hold Arthur's face, searching for something.
“Your eyes are bluer than I remember,” Arthur said, surprised.
Merlin smiled crookedly and then kissed Arthur. For a moment, Arthur was startled, but then his eyes drifted shut as the familiarity of it washed over him.
“I should have guessed,” he heard the sorcerer mutter behind them, but neither of them paid him any mind, and when they broke the kiss, the sorcerer was gone.
“Then we're going back?” Merlin said.
“Yes, we've got to send dear Lord Degrave on his way,” Arthur replied, swinging up onto Merlin's horse and turning to help Merlin up behind him in the saddle. He paused and said, “You know, I've just realised something -- I've never seen you naked.”
Merlin blushed to the tips of his ears and tucked his head as he held tight to Arthur's waist. “Well. That can be remedied.”