Fic: Come Gladly Away, Merlin, Merlin/Arthur pre-slash, PG-13
Title: Come Gladly Away 4/?
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None for this part. Past chapters include some mentioned discrimination against mental illness. Also, references to attempted non-con.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash)
Word Count: 4293 for this part
Disclaimer: NOT MINE. Merlin is the property of Shine and the BBC; I just like telling lies in my free time.
Summary: Merlin was banished from Camelot five years ago, after an incident revealed his magic - and no one has heard of him since. Arthur is now King, and he wants him back.
AN: Horrifyingly, the last chapter of this was posted in 2009. In other news, I suck. If ANYONE is still reading this, I'm so sorry! This chapter is up because I finished my degree a couple of weeks ago, and magog_83 has an amazing amount of faith and patience. I hereby dedicate this story to her, and I'm sure she'll one day get over the shame of that. :D
**
Previous Chapter:
Part One - Part Two - Part Three
**
Merlin collapsed onto one of the beds with a blissful sigh, and looked content to lie there for the rest of the day, until Arthur threw his cloak half-over him.
“Hey, don’t get too comfortable, your bath will be here any minute.”
Merlin sat up with a groan and a wince. “You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?” he sniped, but didn’t lie back down again. “And do I get soap with this bath?”
“If you don’t, I’ll send them for some,” Arthur promised, but he needn’t have bothered. When the tub and the buckets of hot water arrived, two big towels came with it and a large cake of soap. The expression on Merlin’s face was a mere step away from ecstasy, and Arthur found himself unable to look for long; it felt almost voyeuristic to watch, more intimate than if he had been watching his friend strip for the bath. This was an emotional nakedness, and he wasn’t sure either of them was ready for that yet.
“I’ve got - documents - I need to read over,” he said, and it was only half a lie. “I’ll be over here. Facing this way. You can bathe in peace.”
However much he didn’t look, though, he could still hear, and he listened to the sounds of Merlin shucking out of his clothes, slipping into the large tub, which had seemed enormous compared to his friend’s slight frame even while Merlin was dressed. Occasional splashes were enough to peak Arthur’s curiosity, and despite promising himself that he wouldn’t, he found himself turning round to look.
“What in the Gods’ names are those?” It slipped out before he could stop it, and Merlin sent a sheet of water over the floor as he jumped, turning round and stretching the white scar tissue lumped across his back
“What?” he asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”
“Your back,” Arthur said, frowning darkly, and he couldn’t seem to smooth his expression out into something a little less accusatory.
Merlin’s own expression was very gentle. “Arthur, you saw me get flogged.” He shrugged. “It didn’t heal properly.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Do your old scars hurt?” Merlin returned, as though that settled it, as though Arthur had never seen conversational evasion before, and turned back round.
“Sometimes, yes,” Arthur told him deliberately. “As you know well enough.”
Merlin sighed. “These don’t,” he said firmly. “They don’t, alright?” He repeated when Arthur gave him a long look. “It took them a while to - to calm, but they’re fine, Arthur. I’m fine. Now that I’m coming back to Camelot, I’m grateful not to be - back in Rainsford. But there’s nothing wrong with me. No evil for you to beat up on my behalf.”
Arthur sighed. “I wish I believed that, Merlin.”
“If you don’t, it’s certainly not my fault,” Merlin told him, his voice hovering over the edge of being sharp despite the fact that he looked incredibly relaxed, splayed out in the tub, arms resting on the side, head tipped back. “I’ve never given you any reason to think I want my honour defended.”
Arthur paused, wanting some reason to revenge his friend, then sighed. “So long as you know now that it’s not acceptable for anyone to hurt you,” he relented, and Merlin chuckled.
“I’ve always known it wasn’t acceptable for anyone to hurt me. But I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Now Camelot is my kingdom,” Arthur began, looking down at the proposed laws he was supposed to be reading so he wouldn’t have to look at Merlin, “I’m changing the laws. If - if someone defends themselves against a noble, they’ll be listened to, I won’t let people assume the right always lies with the best blood. If servants say that nobles have hurt them, they’ll be believed, not dismissed out of hand. At least, they’ll be believed unless there’s proof of falsehood.”
“And if you catch hedgewitches giving out charms against pregnancy? If peasants want to become knights?” Merlin asked, turning in his bath again to look at Arthur, the high back of the tub hiding everything but his head. “What then?”
“The people giving out charms against pregnancy will have to reimburse their customers, you know better than me that those don’t work,” Arthur pointed out, practicality in every nuance, just to make Merlin smile - which he did, though not as brightly as Arthur remembered. “If peasants want to become knights...” he trailed off. “I was never the one with a problem over that,” he said finally, almost appealing to Merlin, who nodded thoughtfully. “They’ll have to prove themselves just like everyone else, but - noblemen’s sons can’t always fight, and Lancelot’s proven that peasants can. After the war with - after the war, we’d be stupid to bar good men because of an accident of birth.”
Merlin glanced up. “We only got the vaguest reports of war in Rainsford,” he said quietly. “What happened?”
Arthur looked away and shrugged. “Maldren’s kingdom took offence,” he said quietly. “My father-” he stopped and thought for one long moment. “I have a lot of bridges to rebuild,” he said simply. “My father left me with a country which desperately needs piecing back together.”
“The magic laws.”
“In part,” Arthur agreed. “He became - unstable as he got older. His paranoia over magic spread to other things, especially after - did you hear that Morgana fled?”
Merlin paused, then nodded slowly. “It was mentioned briefly,” he said uncertainly. “I wasn’t sure-”
“She’s back. Unlike some, she had the sense to return when my father died.” The words were said without heat. “But when she fled, my father’s mind... unravelled. Somewhat.”
“She was very dear to him.”
Arthur nodded. “She was indeed. And he took her betrayal hard. So hard it nearly tore Camelot apart. Every lonely old woman was a witch, every suspicious man a warlock - anyone who dared so much as predict the weather was a seer. When he fell ill and I became his Regent, I was able to veto all the executions, and before then I had been able to save some prisoners, but - never enough. One of the women father imprisoned - I thank all the Gods she was never executed, believe me - was a minor noblewoman in Maldren’s kingdom, and he took offence.”
Merlin looked at Arthur for a long moment, and Arthur studiously avoided his gaze. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry. It must have been - awful.”
Arthur kept his eyes on the paper in front of him. “It was bad,” he agreed, “but only a matter of time.” Uther had been dead for months, now, but speaking about him like this, about the policy which had always been so dear to his heart, felt like a betrayal all the same. “Maldren always favoured magic, I knew he always hated Father’s policy. With my father’s mind weakened, before I could make Camelot’s new stance on magic clear, it was never going to be long before he decided to make his move.”
Merlin nodded, looking down into the water for a silent moment. “Tell me the bad things,” he said finally. “Why did you come looking for me now?”
Arthur felt a little breathless at that. “I didn’t - Gods, Merlin, I didn’t come looking for you just so you could solve my problems!”
“But you did in part,” Merlin pointed out. “And I don’t mind, Arthur. I like helping you solve your problems. So tell me. What do you need?”
Arthur sucked in a deep breath and swallowed. “We won, in the end, but it has cost us,” he said quietly, looking up at Merlin, and risking a rather weak smile. “I can admit to you, it has cost us.” The admission came easier than he’d ever thought possible. “The harvest was too late; we’ll survive this winter, but we need the Gods on our side for this coming year; I’m going to have to half-beggar us to get us the grain we need as it is. I’ve lost nearly a third of our knights, our defences are low, and Camelot’s trade has never been so weak.”
Merlin scrubbed at himself with the rough soap for a moment or two before speaking. “We’ll sort it,” he said simply.
Arthur straightened, taking courage from Merlin’s easy assurance, and nodded. “We will,” he agreed. “Now that I’ve found you.”Merlin grinned, and for a brief second it was as though they were back at Camelot in the days before everything changed. Then Arthur smiled back and broke the illusion. “You’re right: I didn’t come and get you for - for purely philanthropic reasons. I wanted you back,” I have wanted you back since the day you left, he admitted to himself, safe in the privacy of his mind, though Merlin looked as though he might have heard, “but I couldn’t have come myself without - all my other concerns.”
“And what are they?” Merlin asked, giving Arthur an out by not looking at him, focusing intently on scrubbing out the dirt from under his fingernails. “What do you need from me?”
“I need to prove to Maldren that Camelot is friendly to magic. His kingdom was defeated, but not weakened as Camelot was. If he attacks again, things will not go well for us. And you can help with the harvest, can’t you? And our defences?”
Merlin was silent for such a long time that Arthur began to feel nerves creeping up into his throat, choking him. He had gambled on Merlin, and if Merlin couldn’t pull through for them - but then Merlin spoke. “It’s been a while,” he said quietly, “but I think I can do all that and more.”
Arthur sagged with relief. “Even though we chased you out?”
Merlin’s smile was brighter and kinder than Arthur felt he deserved. “Uther chased me out,” he said easily, with the same easy forgiveness that Arthur remembered and had clung onto for so long. “Not you. There’s a lot I’d do for you, Arthur.”
There was a lot Merlin already had done for Arthur, the way Morgana told it, he thought, but found he couldn’t say it. He could only smile back and hope that Merlin knew what he was thinking.
“Wash fast,” he advised gruffly, looking away and trying not to feel awkward, “and I’ll give you one of my nightshirts to wear until the tailor arrives. Your clothes are going to be burnt. Food should be arriving soon.”
Merlin’s look, as he turned away, was comfortingly knowing.
**
Fifteen minutes later, Merlin was out of the bath and swamped in one of Arthur’s nightshirts, his hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck, finally clean again and clearly rather enjoying it. He settled on the bed next to Arthur’s and stretched his legs out, glancing at Arthur out of the corner of his eyes.
Arthur, who had been trying not to look at him - he was pretty sure he could count every one of Merlin’s ribs, and the last thing he needed to do was get angry now - stared down at the reports he was supposed to be reading. “I don’t know whether the tailor will arrive before the food,” he said, just for something to say, and Merlin shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, but was given away by his stomach rumbling loudly. He flushed a little, looking briefly sheepish. “It doesn’t matter much,” he corrected himself, and Arthur didn’t know whether to smile or not. Merlin was so skinny, now - regular meals had so clearly been a thing of the past - it felt wrong, like sharing a joke he wasn’t sure was funny.
“Not long,” he said finally, but Merlin had caught the pause.
“What’s up?” he said casually, leaning back against the headboard, not looking at Arthur. Briefly, Arthur missed the easy camaraderie of the days before Merlin’s uncovering as a sorcerer, but then remembered that Merlin had been keeping a secret which kept him in constant fear for his life.
The whole thing was confusing, so Arthur just shrugged. “Gwen will be feeding you up the moment she sees you,” he said, aiming to sound as easy as Merlin had. He could tell he’d failed dismally, but Merlin let it pass.
“Food wasn’t really a priority,” he admitted, then paused for a moment. “Don’t get some picture in your head of me starving in the streets,” he added quickly. “I managed alright.”
Arthur thought of Merlin, on his knees in front of him in an inn barely more than a hut, covered in grime, and nodded, a little grimly. “I’m sure you did,” he said, and met the sharp look Merlin sent his way blandly.
“It doesn’t sound as though you were having much fun, either,” Merlin pointed out tartly, and Arthur shrugged. He was Crown Prince; even if everyone else was starving, he was the last one to feel the restrictions. It was infinitely easier to be king, and to be expected to show an example of cheerfulness in the face of deprivation - at least then he had to partake in deprivation as well, in some measure. Arthur couldn’t feel easy eating when his people were starving: he much preferred being expected to starve and smile than to eat and make believe that he understood his people’s suffering. Misunderstanding his silence, Merlin sighed. “Look, Arthur, it sounds like we’ve got busy work waiting for us in Camelot,” he said firmly. “And I’d rather make sure I’m ready for the future than dwell endlessly on the past, alright?”
It was a sensible policy, Arthur knew, but the problem wasn’t Merlin dwelling on the past - it was Arthur being unable to forget everything Merlin had gone through since he’d left Camelot. It would probably be years before he could admit it to Merlin (if he ever could), but a large part of his desire to reform the magic laws rested on his desire to have Merlin with him again. In the years since Merlin’s banishment, a long, silent battle had been fought in Arthur’s mind, between Merlin and Uther, and after a seemingly endless struggle, Merlin had won.
For the moment, though, he just smiled. “Very sensible,” he said lightly, just the right amount of sarcasm in his voice to have Merlin rolling his eyes at him and smiling.
“How long are we staying in Glenburn?” Merlin asked lazily, reaching out and stealing one of Arthur’s reports, glancing over it with a casual assurance that Arthur rather liked.
“As long as needs be,” Arthur said, and shrugged when Merlin shot him a sharp look. “You can scry for us, can’t you? If I need to get an urgent message back to Camelot. And Morgana can reach us if we’re needed. We don’t need to ride night and day to be back as quickly as possible.”
“What’s keeping us in Glenburn?” Merlin asked, keeping his eyes on Arthur.
“You,” Arthur said bluntly. “You’re to be my advisor, you’ll ride into Camelot with me looking like it.”
“So you’re going to dress me like a noble and expect me not to look as though I’ve stolen my master’s clothes,” Merlin said, every word dripping with scepticism.
Arthur glared at him. “This country hears ‘Merlin’, and imagines a ten foot giant,” he said tartly. “I could dress you as my court jester and you’d still be taken seriously.”
“If you ask the tailor to make me a jester’s uniform, I will walk back to Rainsford, I give you fair warning,” Merlin told him, grinning, and Arthur chuckled.
“That was plan b,” he said seriously, just to keep the grin on Merlin’s face a little longer. “Honestly, though. It’s a status thing; you’re to be my court sorcerer, you have to look the part. People expect pageantry from us, and you have to wear the costume they expect to see, or they won’t believe you’re playing the right part.”
Merlin stretched out on the bed, Arthur’s report still in his hand, and Arthur looked away so he didn’t see the stretch of pale skin as Merlin moved. “I’ll play your part,” he said, with the air of one conferring a favour, and Arthur snorted. “I’ll even try and do it well. But we need to have a long talk about what’s expected of me before I go any further.”
Arthur frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You want me to be the shining figurehead of your new acceptance of magic; you want me to shore up Albion’s defences; you want me to help with the harvest.” Merlin ticked each point off on his fingers. “But what about politics?”
“What about politics?” Arthur returned. “I’m not asking you to get involved with politics, Merlin, I’m asking you to be my right arm.”
“And I’m flattered by that, really,” Merlin said, sarcasm thick in his tone. “But your right arm is as political as the rest of you. You have to balance up everything you do, weighing every rival faction and opinion.”
“And I’ll continue to do that,” Arthur told him firmly. “I need you to be my sorcerer, not another politician.”
“I’ll be a political figure whether or not you or I want me to be,” Merlin pointed out, and Arthur sighed, because it was nothing more than the truth.
“Alright,” he said tiredly. “But we’ll have to deal with it on a case-by-case basis. We’ll talk it over each time.”
“You’ll be a little busy, don’t you think?” Merlin said lightly, but Arthur wasn’t fooled for a moment.
“Merlin, I had my kingdom searched for you,” he said. “I’ll always make time for you.”
For a moment, Merlin looked horribly, painfully vulnerable, and Arthur wanted to a list of names of all the people who’d hurt him and led to this moment, this moment where he, Arthur, was faced with the one person he’d always been sure of, who looked so unsure.
Then, however, Merlin was smiling, just a little, and brought a hand up over his heart. “I’m touched,” he said sweetly, and Arthur’s laugh was only a little forced.
“So you should be,” he said, “I’m very important, you know.”
“I’ve only got your word for it,” Merlin shot back, but he was grinning.
Before Arthur could reply, they were interrupted by a tentative knock on the door. “Come,” Arthur called, and noticed Merlin straightening up out of his sprawl automatically, looking awkward and ill-at-ease. Arthur stood too, copying Merlin’s stance to draw attention away from his - advisor? ‘Friend’ seemed simpler - and he met the landlord’s glance, so the man wouldn’t look over at Merlin and start making any further judgements.
“Your supper, my lord,” the man said, bowing awkwardly over the tray he himself had brought up to what was clearly his most important guest.
“On the table,” Arthur said imperiously, and the man bowed again, shuffling around the bathtub to the long oak table under the window. “Have someone come and take this away,” he added, waving a hand at the tub. The landlord flickered a glance at Merlin, who was drowning in Arthur’s clothes, and nodded quickly when Arthur’s eyes narrowed.
“Of course, my lord,” he agreed, his voice a little hoarse, and Arthur relaxed.
“Thank you,” he said and flicked a coin at him, “for all your trouble.”
“No trouble, my lord,” the man said quickly, but made good his escape as fast as possible.
When Arthur glanced at Merlin, he was grinning.
“I think you broke him,” he said mischievously, and Arthur shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I’d forgotten what it was like when you’re giving orders like that.”
“You don’t have to deal with them anymore,” Arthur said awkwardly, and Merlin laughed.
“Some poor sod does, though,” he said lightly, already making his way over to the table, surveying the food the landlord had brought up to them and giving an admirable impression that he wasn’t starving hungry.
“Good efficient men, who know how the crown prince and the king ought to be treated,” Arthur told him superciliously.
“How many did you chase away by being impossible?” Merlin wanted to know, helping himself to soup and bread.
“Seven,” Arthur admitted, breaking some bread off for himself and keeping an eye on Merlin’s bowl.
“Admirable restraint,” Merlin commented, spooning up the soup as though he’d never seen its equal.
“I thought so,” Arthur agreed. “I didn’t need them the way-” the way I needed you, he’d been about to say, but couldn’t quite manage to get the words out. “The way they were,” he finished lamely.
“But no holes in your boots,” Merlin said, grinning. “No rats in your chambers, everything neat and tidy-”
“And boring,” Arthur said before he could stop himself. He could feel himself flushing when Merlin looked up at him, and he sighed. “I didn’t realise how much I needed friends until you went,” he said heavily. “And Morgana and Guinevere tried, bless them, but it wasn’t much of a substitute. Lancelot was travelling - Gwaine refused the knighthood I offered him-”
“Gwaine?” Merlin said, confused, and Arthur nodded.
“You’ll meet him. You might even like him,” he said with a tired smile. “Most people don’t, but you’ve never been most people.”
“He can’t be worse than Kay,” Merlin said darkly. Kay and Merlin had never got on, but then Kay didn’t get on with anyone at all. “Tell me you didn’t bow to Sir Ector and make him seneschal.”
“Of course I didn’t, why would I?” Arthur scoffed. “I want the household to run smoothly, not be disrupted by Kay upsetting the scullery maids every other day. No, Bedivere is the seneschal.”
Merlin nodded. “And- Gaius?”
“Gaius has retired, after training his replacement,” Arthur said. “He still lives with the household, but - he’s very frail, Merlin. He must be nearly eighty now.”
“But he is still alive,” Merlin said firmly, clearly clinging onto that thought. “Who is his replacement?”
“Guinevere,” Arthur said, and grinned as Merlin looked up with shock, almost dropping his spoon in surprise, fumbling awkwardly with it.
“Gwen?” he repeated dumbly. “That’s - that’s perfect! But Morgana-”
“Morgana fled two years ago,” Arthur pointed out. “And Gwen was left without any reason to remain in the royal household. I-” it felt a little too much like blowing his own trumpet to continue with that, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Gaius had refused to replace his assistant since you left. Gwen went to work for him, and she’s now the court physician. We’re very proud of her.”
“As you should be,” Merlin murmured. “And Morgana?”
“Morgana is our seer,” Arthur said firmly; he’d been defending his decision to take his sister back in since she arrived back in Camelot.
“How is she?” Merlin asked gently.
Arthur took a breath, then realised that this was Merlin. He didn’t have to defend himself from Merlin, who would never hurt him. “Changed,” he said thickly. “Her time away changed her. She’s still Morgana, and I still love her, but - something about her is different. She’s sadder.”
Merlin swallowed another mouthful of soup, and nodded. “I know how she feels,” he said quietly. “She’s not- it’s not unusual, to feel like that, Arthur.”
“I don’t blame her!” Arthur said quickly. “It’s just a reminder, of everything my father did wrong. Morgana is - Gaius tells me she’s an exceptionally powerful seer. Though Morgana won’t speak to him.”
“He suppressed her magic for years,” Merlin said sadly, and Arthur nodded.
“I know it was for her own good, but it made everything harder in the long run,” he said heavily. “And he could have told her. Should have.”
“Yes, he should. But Uther’s reign was frightening for people like us. Even Gaius wasn’t immune, he didn’t know how she would react. He didn’t know her like we did.”
Arthur shook his head. “He shouldn’t have done it,” he said simply, and Merlin nodded.
“I agree. But I think he made a bad decision because he was scared.”
“Probably true,” Arthur agreed, not especially interested in Gaius’ motives of over five years ago. “But the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. Morgana is so powerful, and is so useful to any kingdom - why chase out people like her? It makes no sense.”
“I don’t think Uther thought about it like that,” Merlin said gently, and Arthur digested that in silence. He knew, intellectually, that the reason he was so much in favour of magic was because of Merlin; if it wasn’t for Merlin, he might never have overcome the prejudices he’d been taught. He thought uncomfortably of the similarities between him and his father - Uther passionately against magic because of his beloved wife, Arthur in its favour because of a much loved friend. Well, Merlin. Arthur didn’t really have words to describe what Merlin was to him.
“You’ll talk to Morgana, won’t you?” he said, shifting away from the topic at hand in some discomfort. “You’ll help?”
“Of course,” Merlin promised him. “If she’ll talk to me. She may not want to, I was so close to Gaius when he was - lying to her.”
“Talk to her. You can help each other,” Arthur said, perhaps with more hope than accuracy. “I need you both to help each other as much as you can.”
Merlin heaved a sigh and nodded, pushing away his plate and leaning back in his chair. “I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he promised, and Arthur nodded, relieved. He had more faith in Merlin than he could put into words, and for the first time since he became King, he felt a little hope in the future.
“I have faith in you,” he said simply, after a pause, and felt instantly repaid by the warmth of Merlin’s smile.
**
Rating: PG-13
Warnings: None for this part. Past chapters include some mentioned discrimination against mental illness. Also, references to attempted non-con.
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur (pre-slash)
Word Count: 4293 for this part
Disclaimer: NOT MINE. Merlin is the property of Shine and the BBC; I just like telling lies in my free time.
Summary: Merlin was banished from Camelot five years ago, after an incident revealed his magic - and no one has heard of him since. Arthur is now King, and he wants him back.
AN: Horrifyingly, the last chapter of this was posted in 2009. In other news, I suck. If ANYONE is still reading this, I'm so sorry! This chapter is up because I finished my degree a couple of weeks ago, and magog_83 has an amazing amount of faith and patience. I hereby dedicate this story to her, and I'm sure she'll one day get over the shame of that. :D
**
Previous Chapter:
Part One - Part Two - Part Three
**
Merlin collapsed onto one of the beds with a blissful sigh, and looked content to lie there for the rest of the day, until Arthur threw his cloak half-over him.
“Hey, don’t get too comfortable, your bath will be here any minute.”
Merlin sat up with a groan and a wince. “You just had to go and ruin it, didn’t you?” he sniped, but didn’t lie back down again. “And do I get soap with this bath?”
“If you don’t, I’ll send them for some,” Arthur promised, but he needn’t have bothered. When the tub and the buckets of hot water arrived, two big towels came with it and a large cake of soap. The expression on Merlin’s face was a mere step away from ecstasy, and Arthur found himself unable to look for long; it felt almost voyeuristic to watch, more intimate than if he had been watching his friend strip for the bath. This was an emotional nakedness, and he wasn’t sure either of them was ready for that yet.
“I’ve got - documents - I need to read over,” he said, and it was only half a lie. “I’ll be over here. Facing this way. You can bathe in peace.”
However much he didn’t look, though, he could still hear, and he listened to the sounds of Merlin shucking out of his clothes, slipping into the large tub, which had seemed enormous compared to his friend’s slight frame even while Merlin was dressed. Occasional splashes were enough to peak Arthur’s curiosity, and despite promising himself that he wouldn’t, he found himself turning round to look.
“What in the Gods’ names are those?” It slipped out before he could stop it, and Merlin sent a sheet of water over the floor as he jumped, turning round and stretching the white scar tissue lumped across his back
“What?” he asked, confused. “What’s wrong?”
“Your back,” Arthur said, frowning darkly, and he couldn’t seem to smooth his expression out into something a little less accusatory.
Merlin’s own expression was very gentle. “Arthur, you saw me get flogged.” He shrugged. “It didn’t heal properly.”
“Does it hurt?”
“Do your old scars hurt?” Merlin returned, as though that settled it, as though Arthur had never seen conversational evasion before, and turned back round.
“Sometimes, yes,” Arthur told him deliberately. “As you know well enough.”
Merlin sighed. “These don’t,” he said firmly. “They don’t, alright?” He repeated when Arthur gave him a long look. “It took them a while to - to calm, but they’re fine, Arthur. I’m fine. Now that I’m coming back to Camelot, I’m grateful not to be - back in Rainsford. But there’s nothing wrong with me. No evil for you to beat up on my behalf.”
Arthur sighed. “I wish I believed that, Merlin.”
“If you don’t, it’s certainly not my fault,” Merlin told him, his voice hovering over the edge of being sharp despite the fact that he looked incredibly relaxed, splayed out in the tub, arms resting on the side, head tipped back. “I’ve never given you any reason to think I want my honour defended.”
Arthur paused, wanting some reason to revenge his friend, then sighed. “So long as you know now that it’s not acceptable for anyone to hurt you,” he relented, and Merlin chuckled.
“I’ve always known it wasn’t acceptable for anyone to hurt me. But I couldn’t do anything about it.”
“Now Camelot is my kingdom,” Arthur began, looking down at the proposed laws he was supposed to be reading so he wouldn’t have to look at Merlin, “I’m changing the laws. If - if someone defends themselves against a noble, they’ll be listened to, I won’t let people assume the right always lies with the best blood. If servants say that nobles have hurt them, they’ll be believed, not dismissed out of hand. At least, they’ll be believed unless there’s proof of falsehood.”
“And if you catch hedgewitches giving out charms against pregnancy? If peasants want to become knights?” Merlin asked, turning in his bath again to look at Arthur, the high back of the tub hiding everything but his head. “What then?”
“The people giving out charms against pregnancy will have to reimburse their customers, you know better than me that those don’t work,” Arthur pointed out, practicality in every nuance, just to make Merlin smile - which he did, though not as brightly as Arthur remembered. “If peasants want to become knights...” he trailed off. “I was never the one with a problem over that,” he said finally, almost appealing to Merlin, who nodded thoughtfully. “They’ll have to prove themselves just like everyone else, but - noblemen’s sons can’t always fight, and Lancelot’s proven that peasants can. After the war with - after the war, we’d be stupid to bar good men because of an accident of birth.”
Merlin glanced up. “We only got the vaguest reports of war in Rainsford,” he said quietly. “What happened?”
Arthur looked away and shrugged. “Maldren’s kingdom took offence,” he said quietly. “My father-” he stopped and thought for one long moment. “I have a lot of bridges to rebuild,” he said simply. “My father left me with a country which desperately needs piecing back together.”
“The magic laws.”
“In part,” Arthur agreed. “He became - unstable as he got older. His paranoia over magic spread to other things, especially after - did you hear that Morgana fled?”
Merlin paused, then nodded slowly. “It was mentioned briefly,” he said uncertainly. “I wasn’t sure-”
“She’s back. Unlike some, she had the sense to return when my father died.” The words were said without heat. “But when she fled, my father’s mind... unravelled. Somewhat.”
“She was very dear to him.”
Arthur nodded. “She was indeed. And he took her betrayal hard. So hard it nearly tore Camelot apart. Every lonely old woman was a witch, every suspicious man a warlock - anyone who dared so much as predict the weather was a seer. When he fell ill and I became his Regent, I was able to veto all the executions, and before then I had been able to save some prisoners, but - never enough. One of the women father imprisoned - I thank all the Gods she was never executed, believe me - was a minor noblewoman in Maldren’s kingdom, and he took offence.”
Merlin looked at Arthur for a long moment, and Arthur studiously avoided his gaze. Finally, he spoke. “I’m sorry. It must have been - awful.”
Arthur kept his eyes on the paper in front of him. “It was bad,” he agreed, “but only a matter of time.” Uther had been dead for months, now, but speaking about him like this, about the policy which had always been so dear to his heart, felt like a betrayal all the same. “Maldren always favoured magic, I knew he always hated Father’s policy. With my father’s mind weakened, before I could make Camelot’s new stance on magic clear, it was never going to be long before he decided to make his move.”
Merlin nodded, looking down into the water for a silent moment. “Tell me the bad things,” he said finally. “Why did you come looking for me now?”
Arthur felt a little breathless at that. “I didn’t - Gods, Merlin, I didn’t come looking for you just so you could solve my problems!”
“But you did in part,” Merlin pointed out. “And I don’t mind, Arthur. I like helping you solve your problems. So tell me. What do you need?”
Arthur sucked in a deep breath and swallowed. “We won, in the end, but it has cost us,” he said quietly, looking up at Merlin, and risking a rather weak smile. “I can admit to you, it has cost us.” The admission came easier than he’d ever thought possible. “The harvest was too late; we’ll survive this winter, but we need the Gods on our side for this coming year; I’m going to have to half-beggar us to get us the grain we need as it is. I’ve lost nearly a third of our knights, our defences are low, and Camelot’s trade has never been so weak.”
Merlin scrubbed at himself with the rough soap for a moment or two before speaking. “We’ll sort it,” he said simply.
Arthur straightened, taking courage from Merlin’s easy assurance, and nodded. “We will,” he agreed. “Now that I’ve found you.”Merlin grinned, and for a brief second it was as though they were back at Camelot in the days before everything changed. Then Arthur smiled back and broke the illusion. “You’re right: I didn’t come and get you for - for purely philanthropic reasons. I wanted you back,” I have wanted you back since the day you left, he admitted to himself, safe in the privacy of his mind, though Merlin looked as though he might have heard, “but I couldn’t have come myself without - all my other concerns.”
“And what are they?” Merlin asked, giving Arthur an out by not looking at him, focusing intently on scrubbing out the dirt from under his fingernails. “What do you need from me?”
“I need to prove to Maldren that Camelot is friendly to magic. His kingdom was defeated, but not weakened as Camelot was. If he attacks again, things will not go well for us. And you can help with the harvest, can’t you? And our defences?”
Merlin was silent for such a long time that Arthur began to feel nerves creeping up into his throat, choking him. He had gambled on Merlin, and if Merlin couldn’t pull through for them - but then Merlin spoke. “It’s been a while,” he said quietly, “but I think I can do all that and more.”
Arthur sagged with relief. “Even though we chased you out?”
Merlin’s smile was brighter and kinder than Arthur felt he deserved. “Uther chased me out,” he said easily, with the same easy forgiveness that Arthur remembered and had clung onto for so long. “Not you. There’s a lot I’d do for you, Arthur.”
There was a lot Merlin already had done for Arthur, the way Morgana told it, he thought, but found he couldn’t say it. He could only smile back and hope that Merlin knew what he was thinking.
“Wash fast,” he advised gruffly, looking away and trying not to feel awkward, “and I’ll give you one of my nightshirts to wear until the tailor arrives. Your clothes are going to be burnt. Food should be arriving soon.”
Merlin’s look, as he turned away, was comfortingly knowing.
**
Fifteen minutes later, Merlin was out of the bath and swamped in one of Arthur’s nightshirts, his hair damp and curling at the nape of his neck, finally clean again and clearly rather enjoying it. He settled on the bed next to Arthur’s and stretched his legs out, glancing at Arthur out of the corner of his eyes.
Arthur, who had been trying not to look at him - he was pretty sure he could count every one of Merlin’s ribs, and the last thing he needed to do was get angry now - stared down at the reports he was supposed to be reading. “I don’t know whether the tailor will arrive before the food,” he said, just for something to say, and Merlin shrugged.
“It doesn’t matter,” he said, but was given away by his stomach rumbling loudly. He flushed a little, looking briefly sheepish. “It doesn’t matter much,” he corrected himself, and Arthur didn’t know whether to smile or not. Merlin was so skinny, now - regular meals had so clearly been a thing of the past - it felt wrong, like sharing a joke he wasn’t sure was funny.
“Not long,” he said finally, but Merlin had caught the pause.
“What’s up?” he said casually, leaning back against the headboard, not looking at Arthur. Briefly, Arthur missed the easy camaraderie of the days before Merlin’s uncovering as a sorcerer, but then remembered that Merlin had been keeping a secret which kept him in constant fear for his life.
The whole thing was confusing, so Arthur just shrugged. “Gwen will be feeding you up the moment she sees you,” he said, aiming to sound as easy as Merlin had. He could tell he’d failed dismally, but Merlin let it pass.
“Food wasn’t really a priority,” he admitted, then paused for a moment. “Don’t get some picture in your head of me starving in the streets,” he added quickly. “I managed alright.”
Arthur thought of Merlin, on his knees in front of him in an inn barely more than a hut, covered in grime, and nodded, a little grimly. “I’m sure you did,” he said, and met the sharp look Merlin sent his way blandly.
“It doesn’t sound as though you were having much fun, either,” Merlin pointed out tartly, and Arthur shrugged. He was Crown Prince; even if everyone else was starving, he was the last one to feel the restrictions. It was infinitely easier to be king, and to be expected to show an example of cheerfulness in the face of deprivation - at least then he had to partake in deprivation as well, in some measure. Arthur couldn’t feel easy eating when his people were starving: he much preferred being expected to starve and smile than to eat and make believe that he understood his people’s suffering. Misunderstanding his silence, Merlin sighed. “Look, Arthur, it sounds like we’ve got busy work waiting for us in Camelot,” he said firmly. “And I’d rather make sure I’m ready for the future than dwell endlessly on the past, alright?”
It was a sensible policy, Arthur knew, but the problem wasn’t Merlin dwelling on the past - it was Arthur being unable to forget everything Merlin had gone through since he’d left Camelot. It would probably be years before he could admit it to Merlin (if he ever could), but a large part of his desire to reform the magic laws rested on his desire to have Merlin with him again. In the years since Merlin’s banishment, a long, silent battle had been fought in Arthur’s mind, between Merlin and Uther, and after a seemingly endless struggle, Merlin had won.
For the moment, though, he just smiled. “Very sensible,” he said lightly, just the right amount of sarcasm in his voice to have Merlin rolling his eyes at him and smiling.
“How long are we staying in Glenburn?” Merlin asked lazily, reaching out and stealing one of Arthur’s reports, glancing over it with a casual assurance that Arthur rather liked.
“As long as needs be,” Arthur said, and shrugged when Merlin shot him a sharp look. “You can scry for us, can’t you? If I need to get an urgent message back to Camelot. And Morgana can reach us if we’re needed. We don’t need to ride night and day to be back as quickly as possible.”
“What’s keeping us in Glenburn?” Merlin asked, keeping his eyes on Arthur.
“You,” Arthur said bluntly. “You’re to be my advisor, you’ll ride into Camelot with me looking like it.”
“So you’re going to dress me like a noble and expect me not to look as though I’ve stolen my master’s clothes,” Merlin said, every word dripping with scepticism.
Arthur glared at him. “This country hears ‘Merlin’, and imagines a ten foot giant,” he said tartly. “I could dress you as my court jester and you’d still be taken seriously.”
“If you ask the tailor to make me a jester’s uniform, I will walk back to Rainsford, I give you fair warning,” Merlin told him, grinning, and Arthur chuckled.
“That was plan b,” he said seriously, just to keep the grin on Merlin’s face a little longer. “Honestly, though. It’s a status thing; you’re to be my court sorcerer, you have to look the part. People expect pageantry from us, and you have to wear the costume they expect to see, or they won’t believe you’re playing the right part.”
Merlin stretched out on the bed, Arthur’s report still in his hand, and Arthur looked away so he didn’t see the stretch of pale skin as Merlin moved. “I’ll play your part,” he said, with the air of one conferring a favour, and Arthur snorted. “I’ll even try and do it well. But we need to have a long talk about what’s expected of me before I go any further.”
Arthur frowned. “What do you mean?”
“You want me to be the shining figurehead of your new acceptance of magic; you want me to shore up Albion’s defences; you want me to help with the harvest.” Merlin ticked each point off on his fingers. “But what about politics?”
“What about politics?” Arthur returned. “I’m not asking you to get involved with politics, Merlin, I’m asking you to be my right arm.”
“And I’m flattered by that, really,” Merlin said, sarcasm thick in his tone. “But your right arm is as political as the rest of you. You have to balance up everything you do, weighing every rival faction and opinion.”
“And I’ll continue to do that,” Arthur told him firmly. “I need you to be my sorcerer, not another politician.”
“I’ll be a political figure whether or not you or I want me to be,” Merlin pointed out, and Arthur sighed, because it was nothing more than the truth.
“Alright,” he said tiredly. “But we’ll have to deal with it on a case-by-case basis. We’ll talk it over each time.”
“You’ll be a little busy, don’t you think?” Merlin said lightly, but Arthur wasn’t fooled for a moment.
“Merlin, I had my kingdom searched for you,” he said. “I’ll always make time for you.”
For a moment, Merlin looked horribly, painfully vulnerable, and Arthur wanted to a list of names of all the people who’d hurt him and led to this moment, this moment where he, Arthur, was faced with the one person he’d always been sure of, who looked so unsure.
Then, however, Merlin was smiling, just a little, and brought a hand up over his heart. “I’m touched,” he said sweetly, and Arthur’s laugh was only a little forced.
“So you should be,” he said, “I’m very important, you know.”
“I’ve only got your word for it,” Merlin shot back, but he was grinning.
Before Arthur could reply, they were interrupted by a tentative knock on the door. “Come,” Arthur called, and noticed Merlin straightening up out of his sprawl automatically, looking awkward and ill-at-ease. Arthur stood too, copying Merlin’s stance to draw attention away from his - advisor? ‘Friend’ seemed simpler - and he met the landlord’s glance, so the man wouldn’t look over at Merlin and start making any further judgements.
“Your supper, my lord,” the man said, bowing awkwardly over the tray he himself had brought up to what was clearly his most important guest.
“On the table,” Arthur said imperiously, and the man bowed again, shuffling around the bathtub to the long oak table under the window. “Have someone come and take this away,” he added, waving a hand at the tub. The landlord flickered a glance at Merlin, who was drowning in Arthur’s clothes, and nodded quickly when Arthur’s eyes narrowed.
“Of course, my lord,” he agreed, his voice a little hoarse, and Arthur relaxed.
“Thank you,” he said and flicked a coin at him, “for all your trouble.”
“No trouble, my lord,” the man said quickly, but made good his escape as fast as possible.
When Arthur glanced at Merlin, he was grinning.
“I think you broke him,” he said mischievously, and Arthur shrugged, feeling a little self-conscious. “I’d forgotten what it was like when you’re giving orders like that.”
“You don’t have to deal with them anymore,” Arthur said awkwardly, and Merlin laughed.
“Some poor sod does, though,” he said lightly, already making his way over to the table, surveying the food the landlord had brought up to them and giving an admirable impression that he wasn’t starving hungry.
“Good efficient men, who know how the crown prince and the king ought to be treated,” Arthur told him superciliously.
“How many did you chase away by being impossible?” Merlin wanted to know, helping himself to soup and bread.
“Seven,” Arthur admitted, breaking some bread off for himself and keeping an eye on Merlin’s bowl.
“Admirable restraint,” Merlin commented, spooning up the soup as though he’d never seen its equal.
“I thought so,” Arthur agreed. “I didn’t need them the way-” the way I needed you, he’d been about to say, but couldn’t quite manage to get the words out. “The way they were,” he finished lamely.
“But no holes in your boots,” Merlin said, grinning. “No rats in your chambers, everything neat and tidy-”
“And boring,” Arthur said before he could stop himself. He could feel himself flushing when Merlin looked up at him, and he sighed. “I didn’t realise how much I needed friends until you went,” he said heavily. “And Morgana and Guinevere tried, bless them, but it wasn’t much of a substitute. Lancelot was travelling - Gwaine refused the knighthood I offered him-”
“Gwaine?” Merlin said, confused, and Arthur nodded.
“You’ll meet him. You might even like him,” he said with a tired smile. “Most people don’t, but you’ve never been most people.”
“He can’t be worse than Kay,” Merlin said darkly. Kay and Merlin had never got on, but then Kay didn’t get on with anyone at all. “Tell me you didn’t bow to Sir Ector and make him seneschal.”
“Of course I didn’t, why would I?” Arthur scoffed. “I want the household to run smoothly, not be disrupted by Kay upsetting the scullery maids every other day. No, Bedivere is the seneschal.”
Merlin nodded. “And- Gaius?”
“Gaius has retired, after training his replacement,” Arthur said. “He still lives with the household, but - he’s very frail, Merlin. He must be nearly eighty now.”
“But he is still alive,” Merlin said firmly, clearly clinging onto that thought. “Who is his replacement?”
“Guinevere,” Arthur said, and grinned as Merlin looked up with shock, almost dropping his spoon in surprise, fumbling awkwardly with it.
“Gwen?” he repeated dumbly. “That’s - that’s perfect! But Morgana-”
“Morgana fled two years ago,” Arthur pointed out. “And Gwen was left without any reason to remain in the royal household. I-” it felt a little too much like blowing his own trumpet to continue with that, so he cleared his throat and tried again. “Gaius had refused to replace his assistant since you left. Gwen went to work for him, and she’s now the court physician. We’re very proud of her.”
“As you should be,” Merlin murmured. “And Morgana?”
“Morgana is our seer,” Arthur said firmly; he’d been defending his decision to take his sister back in since she arrived back in Camelot.
“How is she?” Merlin asked gently.
Arthur took a breath, then realised that this was Merlin. He didn’t have to defend himself from Merlin, who would never hurt him. “Changed,” he said thickly. “Her time away changed her. She’s still Morgana, and I still love her, but - something about her is different. She’s sadder.”
Merlin swallowed another mouthful of soup, and nodded. “I know how she feels,” he said quietly. “She’s not- it’s not unusual, to feel like that, Arthur.”
“I don’t blame her!” Arthur said quickly. “It’s just a reminder, of everything my father did wrong. Morgana is - Gaius tells me she’s an exceptionally powerful seer. Though Morgana won’t speak to him.”
“He suppressed her magic for years,” Merlin said sadly, and Arthur nodded.
“I know it was for her own good, but it made everything harder in the long run,” he said heavily. “And he could have told her. Should have.”
“Yes, he should. But Uther’s reign was frightening for people like us. Even Gaius wasn’t immune, he didn’t know how she would react. He didn’t know her like we did.”
Arthur shook his head. “He shouldn’t have done it,” he said simply, and Merlin nodded.
“I agree. But I think he made a bad decision because he was scared.”
“Probably true,” Arthur agreed, not especially interested in Gaius’ motives of over five years ago. “But the more I think about it, the less it makes sense. Morgana is so powerful, and is so useful to any kingdom - why chase out people like her? It makes no sense.”
“I don’t think Uther thought about it like that,” Merlin said gently, and Arthur digested that in silence. He knew, intellectually, that the reason he was so much in favour of magic was because of Merlin; if it wasn’t for Merlin, he might never have overcome the prejudices he’d been taught. He thought uncomfortably of the similarities between him and his father - Uther passionately against magic because of his beloved wife, Arthur in its favour because of a much loved friend. Well, Merlin. Arthur didn’t really have words to describe what Merlin was to him.
“You’ll talk to Morgana, won’t you?” he said, shifting away from the topic at hand in some discomfort. “You’ll help?”
“Of course,” Merlin promised him. “If she’ll talk to me. She may not want to, I was so close to Gaius when he was - lying to her.”
“Talk to her. You can help each other,” Arthur said, perhaps with more hope than accuracy. “I need you both to help each other as much as you can.”
Merlin heaved a sigh and nodded, pushing away his plate and leaning back in his chair. “I’ll do whatever you need me to,” he promised, and Arthur nodded, relieved. He had more faith in Merlin than he could put into words, and for the first time since he became King, he felt a little hope in the future.
“I have faith in you,” he said simply, after a pause, and felt instantly repaid by the warmth of Merlin’s smile.
**