The Love Potion, Part I (Merlin/Arthur)
Title: The Love Potion
Length: ~14000 words
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur
Summary: Another lady sets her sights on Arthur, but things don't go as planned. Whatever is Merlin to do with the besotted Prince following him around? Slash, three-shots. Warnings: cliché fic, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff.
The day had been going on quite normally. Well, normal for Camelot, meaning the daughter of a random King had come to the castle for a random reason, accompanied with the shifty man with the crafty smile that was integral part of the whole Princess panoply, and Morgana had issued a warning as she saw him - apparently, she had dreamt of him poisoning a goblet in Arthur’s own chambers.
Merlin was simply left hoping that this time he wouldn’t have to actually drink the said poison, but his flippant attitude suddenly came to an end as he arrived in the Prince’s chambers to see Arthur with the goblet Morgana had described already to his lips. His heart skipped a beat as he screamed at his master not to drink, and then decided to quit pumping blood through his veins all altogether as the Prince’s eyes widened and then fluttered closed, causing his breath to quicken as he rushed to make sure Arthur didn’t hurt his head as he fell.
He had barely had the time to check that the poison was not instantaneous when the Princess rushed into the room with an expectant smile on her lips, a smile that quickly fell as she assessed the situation. Afterwards was still a bit blurry - he remembered painfully heaving Arthur on his bed, calling the guards to restrain the Princess, and then Gaius arriving, making quick note of smelling the goblet and issuing a diagnostic.
“This was no poison, Merlin.”
Said boy issued a huge sigh of relief, realizing as fresh air filled his chest that he had barely breathed in the past few minutes. A sleeping draught, then, like in the Labyrinth - much better than poison. Actually, perhaps he could even use the fact that Arthur had fallen asleep hours before the sun was to set to have a little time to himself, he thought, already smiling in appreciation.
“This was a love potion.”
The warlock’s eyes widened and he shot a glance the way the Princess had been taken away, reflecting wryly that he didn’t even remember the name of the girl Arthur was going to be in love with until they found a solution. At least there was little chance of him ending up in the stocks on Arthur’s behalf, he supposed, not if the lady was in jail or shipped off to her homeland - but it would mean that the Prince would be even crankier as he usually was.
“I guess the Princess Myrlia succeeded to come in just as Arthur had drunk the potion and thus was the first person he saw? I think you’ll have a nasty few days until I can reverse this, my boy - Arthur won’t like not being able to see his new beloved.”
No matter how the seemingly innocent queries of the Physician actually reflected his own thoughts, Merlin’s brain was brutally brought to a halt by them. The first person he saw? What?
“You’re not really telling me this potion would make sure Arthur would fall in love with the first person he saw after drinking it, are you?”
“Why yes I am, Merlin.” Gaius answered gravely, arching an eyebrow as the boy before him paled to an impossible degree. “What’s wrong with you, boy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Sit down before you fall over.”
As Merlin explained everything from Morgana’s warning to Arthur’s body crashing to the floor Gaius’ lips twitched once or twice, but he managed not to smile, feeling his protégé’s distress. Thoughtfully caressing his chin in order to cover his mouth in case he let a grin escape anyway, the old Physician tried to comfort the boy as much as he could.
“Oh well my boy, I’ll start working on a cure right away. And even if I can’t do anything, from what you’ve told me Arthur barely had the time to swallow once before you told him to stop, so the effects will probably naturally wane off in a few days’ time anyway. Don’t look so down, Merlin. What could possibly happen that would be so distressing?”
Famous last words indeed.
***
Needless to say, Merlin hadn’t exactly been able to relax during his unexpected day-off; he also tossed and turned this night, sleep eluding him until he decided that he would just have to ignore his master until the potion had worn off. Arthur had replaced him easily enough with Cedric, he thought scornfully - surely it wouldn’t be so difficult to find a replacement servant? This thought in mind, he quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.
“Absolutely not, Merlin.”
“But why, Gaius? I could help you with your patients for a week; no one would be the wiser!”
“Those kinds of changes always get back to Uther in one form or another. Of course, he usually pays absolutely no notice to them, but we can’t risk Arthur’s name grabbing his attention.”
“And why couldn’t he know? Why would he even care?”
Gaius shot him an exasperated look, clearly at the end of his patience. Well tough, because Merlin wasn’t at the end of his protests by far.
“You’ve been Arthur’s manservant for almost a year now, and except for that mess with Cedric two months ago you’ve continually stayed by his side, thrice as long as any other servant ever managed to do so. He has defied his father’s orders to save your life. Do you really think Uther wouldn’t even be curious to know about your temporary reassignment?”
Trying to ignore the pleasure those words evoked in him, Merlin thought he could see his mentor’s point, but kept on objecting all the same:
“What about we told him the truth?”
Uh-oh. The eyebrow. What had he said now?
“You want to tell Uther his son has been enchanted?”
“Well, it’s not like we did the potion anyway, we couldn’t get blamed!”
“That’s right Merlin. However, the potion in question caused Arthur to have…feelings of a romantic nature, let’s say…” Merlin winced. “Towards you.”
The young warlock still didn’t see where Gaius was going with this.
“And then what?”
“He’d want to break the enchantment - what is the easiest way to do so?”
Merlin almost answered “magic”, but that didn’t make much sense, and anyway his magic had always failed in previous such cases. To make sure Arthur didn’t love him anymore…The answer was slow in coming, but it seemed quite obvious when Merlin actually thought about it.
“Killing me.” He whispered. Gaius gave a grave nod.
“Indeed. Should you die now, Arthur’s feelings would disappear.”
“Would Uther really do it, even if other solutions were there that just asked for a little more time? I’m his trusted ally in the fight against magic now, remember?”
“Oh, I’m sure he would give us a few days, perhaps even a week, to try and find a solution in science. But if we can’t find anything by then? Is that a gamble you’re prepared to take, just in order not to see the Prince until he has gotten back to normal?”
The answer to this question was obvious, although Gaius’ whole reasoning still sounded far-fetched to the sorcerer. Swallowing a little, Merlin quickly put on his neckerchief and bravely walked through the door, intent on getting to his master’s quarters as fast as possible in order not to possibly have second thoughts.
***
Somehow, when Gaius had told him about the potion, he had pictured a totally ridiculous Arthur intent on serenading him at every occasion, or perhaps even an Arthur gone mad with lust, drawing him hard against his body and not letting him escape, ravishing his mouth and firmly pressing his hips against him...Ahem. He coughed a little in order to chase off his own thoughts, which had started to get disturbingly graphic.
Anyway, he had never even considered that the potion wasn’t meant to reverse the Prince’s personality or to induce lust, but was actually a love potion. He hadn’t imagined that his master’s smile, when directed at him, would be the same one he had addressed Sophia with a few months ago, a grin so roguishly tender. He hadn’t been able to completely comprehend what it would mean to have the blond man’s attention solely concentrated on him.
His miscomprehension of what the potion meant to do was exactly why he froze as he entered the Prince’s chambers and was met with a delighted - and yet somehow still contained in a very princely way - beam.
“Hi, Merlin.”
This was new as well, Merlin thought. This acknowledgement of his presence as something other than the arrival of the man’s servant shouldn’t have felt half as personal as it actually did. And the way the Prince had drawled his name…Merlin shuddered a little, and then dismissed it as a result of the coolness of the room.
“Um, hello Sire. Gaius said you might…not be feeling well this morning. Do you want to reschedule our training session?”
A golden eyebrow lifted elegantly, and although it had nothing on Gaius’, Merlin couldn’t help but feel patronised.
“I feel perfectly fine, Merlin, thank you for your concern. Actually, why don’t you help me get into my armour and then we can adjourn to the field?”
It was voiced as a question, but it was anything but a request. Merlin swallowed. His armour. Right. Well, he had done this a thousand times.
***
Merlin picked up the heavy chainmail and forced his feet to come closer to the Prince. Arthur’s eyes were latched on him but he did nothing, perhaps sensing that almost anything would scare his servant away at this moment. Swallowing a bit nervously, Merlin stepped in front of Arthur and quickly helped his master into his chainmail, catching a few strands of blonde hair in his haste. He had somehow thought that Arthur would forgive him easily, considering the situation, but the Prince’s annoyed glare was exactly the same as it had been yesterday, paradoxically causing him to relax. Had the potion possibly already worn off? He wondered, feeling relieved.
An hour later, he was seriously reconsidering feeling relieved about Arthur’s apparent normalcy, since it implied him trying to hold off his master’s expert sword strikes for what seemed to be an eternity - and it was quite hot today, too! Distracted by his thoughts, he didn’t quite manage to par the blow Arthur had sent at his ribs and brutally fell backwards, gasping for the air that had maliciously decided to escape his lungs.
Arthur was immediately besides him, throwing off his helmet and kneeling in one smooth motion.
“Idiot! This was a blow you could have easily countered! You can’t afford daydreaming in a battle, Merlin!”
The warlock knew Arthur was right, considering the blow had hold great force but little speed, but he certainly wasn’t going to admit it. Opening his mouth to complain about his master’s mistreatment of him instead, he happened to glance towards Arthur - and his jaw closed so quickly his teeth clicked. The normally unflappable Prince’s face was all hard lines and set jaw, anxiously hovering above him, and Merlin reflected weakly that the potion hadn’t worn off after all.
Some kind of morbid curiosity - though he justified this to himself as a scientist’s need to experiment and put theories to test - had him pressing his fingers over his ribs and wincing exaggeratedly, watching from the corner of his eye for a reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.
Immediately paling, the Prince seemed to flounder for a bit as he looked around, evidently unsure of what he was meant to do and having apparently forgotten that his knights hurt themselves much more seriously every other day in training. Eventually he stood up and his hands hesitated a little above his servant, until Merlin used one of Arthur’s arms to stand up and tried to reassure the other man, not enjoying the farce that had worried the Prince so anymore.
“I’m fine Arthur, I swear. Why don’t we…” Pick up training where we left it, he almost said, knowing this would surely put the Prince’s mind at rest, but in truth he really hated those sessions and looked forward to ending this one. “…just go and see Gaius?”
He had wondered if Arthur would insist on their training’s continuation, or at the very least would clearly explain to him why the “we” in his last sentence was ridiculous - surely he had better things to do than accompanying his servant to Gaius’ quarters. However the Prince surprised him anew, simply nodding and starting the trek back to the castle.
Arthur kept his rigid face even in Gaius’ quarters, only truly relaxing once the old physician had established that the blow would have no other consequences than some truly magnificent bruising. But even then he acted out of the ordinary, brusquely telling Merlin that he was to rest while he met his father, instead of getting back to his duties.
Gaius had observed the scene in polite reserve, not deigning to react to the incredulous faces Merlin had thrown at him while Arthur talked. Once the Prince was gone, however, he was the one to break the slightly stunned silence with a quiet observation:
“That was quite curious.”
“I know! He’s been weird all morning! One second everything is normal, the other he’s…he’s…all concerned and just weird.” Merlin groaned, replaying the morning in his mind. “He doesn’t act like he did in presence of Sophia or Vivian at all - not that I’m complaining! I was actually quite relieved!”
Gaius acknowledged the young warlock’s frantic back-pedalling with a raised eyebrow, but graciously didn’t comment on it.
“I might have an explanation about this. You see, I’ve analysed the potion, and it’s much more potent than the ones the Prince has already been dosed with. It had to, in order to be effective on anyone the Prince saw first.”
“Really? But if it is more potent, shouldn’t it cause more changes in Arthur than the previous potions, instead of less?”
“No Merlin. It’s more potent precisely because it allows Arthur to keep his personality. It hasn’t forced foreign devotion in his mind, troubling it in the process. He’s acting like he would if one day he really fell in love with you - meaning that he’ll use what he knows of you to be able to woo you efficiently and that he’s aware of the problems caused by the difference between your statuses.”
The warlock alternatively blushed and felt thankful as he registered his mentor’s words, shuddering as he tried to imagine what would have happened otherwise; Arthur would surely have picked the worse possible moment to make his “declaration”, like during a banquet, preferably in front of both the King and Morgana.
Lost in his morbid thoughts, Merlin barely registered Gaius leading him to a bed and making him sit, and only became aware of his surroundings as his mentor prodded him gently, telling him it was lunch time.
***
All in all, he could get used to this situation, Merlin thought after a few days. He had been on edge for the first two days, but the Prince hadn’t done anything rash. Actually he didn’t act so differently, although the small ways in which he showed his…new-found regard…mattered. He had often reflected on Gaius’ words this first day, and had come to the conclusion that the physician had been absolutely correct in his hypothesis: Arthur knew his servant, knew how he would have reacted to a serious - ugh - wooing. He also knew how much the boy craved to be considered as more than a simple manservant, and had used this knowledge to his advantage. Although they had never acted like normal master and servant, it was totally different now; Merlin had become the centre of Arthur’s universe - and no matter that he knew what was the cause of this change, he couldn’t help but absolutely love it. Arthur had a magnetism that the warlock had had difficulties denying even when they had been on fighting terms, an eternity ago - to have so much of the Prince’s attention turned on him now that he had quietly acknowledged to himself that Arthur was perhaps slightly more than just a prat was both flattering and enthralling.
This kind of thinking never failed to bring a smile to his lips and it was the case this morning as well, meaning he entered the Prince’s chambers bearing both the heavy trays containing breakfast and a goofy grin. Arthur immediately raised an eyebrow at it, though he couldn’t help but let his own lips twitch as well, even as he jibbed:
“In a good mood Merlin? Nice dreams yesterday night?”
Okay, so perhaps the nature of their banter was a bit new, but it was still them making fun of each other as they had always done, meaning Merlin didn’t feel particularly awkward answering in the same way.
“Quite nice indeed…especially the one you were in.” Hearing a slight intake of breath behind him, he smirked in direction of the plates he was currently laying on the table before finishing. “I must say, seeing you in the stocks made my night just that more pleasant.”
Arthur let out the slightly huffing noise that he breathed when he was torn between amusement and frustration - Merlin knew this sound quite well from his various torturous “training” sessions - and sat at the table, silently conceding him the point in their ever-going verbal sparring match as he regally gestured at the chair in front of him.
This was new as well; for the past two mornings, they had been eating breakfast together. This had naturally been proposed by Arthur in a very Arthur way, meaning he grumbled about the way Merlin was thin as a rail and how he didn’t want people in the castle to say he had been neglecting his servant. Of course, Merlin had accepted - wary of the man issuing the invitation or not, it wasn’t everyday that you got to taste such fine fare as something else than leftovers.
Quite surprisingly, it had turned to be one of his favourite moments in the day. Arthur was at his most relaxed, most often not even dressed yet, and the informality of those meals made them precious moments where the warlock felt they could really communicate, without their positions at the court, the need to fight another huge random and magical beast or Merlin’s secrets keeping them apart. He sometimes felt he had learnt more about his master in those two moments of quiet conversations than in almost a year of service, but even if that wasn’t exactly true - you could get a good idea of a man’s character in times of crisis after all, and they had gotten their fair share of those - those were still indubitably the longest talks they had ever had that didn’t end up in shouting or in one of them storming off.
Merlin broke out of his thoughts just in time to see Arthur make a disgusted face as he put back something he had just bitten in on his plate. The warlock raised his right eyebrow in a poor and unconscious imitation of his mentor at the sight, knowing better than anyone that nothing even slightly rotten would have ever made it into the Prince’s breakfast. Which meant Arthur didn’t quite find - he examined the titbit of food more carefully - pears to his taste. His lips twitched suspiciously:
“Arthur, Arthur, I’m very disappointed…”
The Prince faked a look of polite questioning, which Merlin answered by stabbing through a bit of pear with his fork and pointedly eating it.
“Haven’t you ever been told not to be picky with your food?”
“You know what? Actually, I don’t think so.” Merlin’s memory, of course, chose this time to conveniently remind him that Arthur’s mother had died at the Prince’s birth. He winced at his blunder, but the blue eyes across him seemed more reflective than sad. “I mean, I feel like I’ve always known I couldn’t turn my nose at anything during a feast, but this is part of an altogether different lesson, on decorum and appearance in front of the guests. I don’t think I’ve ever been told to eat something I didn’t like in private.”
“Oh.” Was all Merlin was able to get out at first, still a bit surprised at the Prince’s newly found chattiness - there was just no other word for it - during those tête-à-têtes. “Well, I can eat almost anything.”
“Oh I know that. I’ve watched you eat a delicious rat broth, after all. Though I’d have been surprised if you had turned out to be a picky eater, considering I actually got to taste what your mother used to feed you.”
Merlin glared a little at the double jab - really, no matter how justified, this insult towards his mother’s cooking was quite unnecessary - but quickly subsided, unable to stay angry at the smirking Prince. Glancing away, he muttered under his breath:
“And you don’t even know half of it…”
“I don’t?” Arthur asked, curious.
“Nope. Not long after the rat stew, Gaius and I ate some huge beetles or something - and if you want a word of advice, I’d say never to let you anyone fool you: it has nothing on chicken.”
Arthur seemed both repulsed and fascinated:
“It wouldn’t have been my first guess about how it tastes, actually. Personally…the worse I ever did was a living worm, I think.”
“A worm?”
“I was eight, and a growing boy! Anything looked appetizing at the time.”
It was Merlin’s turn to smirk:
“I’m sure, Sire.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed at the obvious mockery in the younger man’s voice, and then gleamed with malice as he envisaged a way to get him back:
“Well, all this talk has cut off my appetite, and I really need to stretch a little. Actually, I think I feel in the mood for a nice…long…hunt.” The Prince’s voice barely covered his servant’s groan as he then ordered him to get his hunting gear, and he smiled victoriously as he stood up.
Merlin, already on his way out to get the Prince’s gear, sighed and made a face as he thought of the day ahead. He had sort of a bad feeling, but that didn’t mean much as it seemed that every time they went hunting something went wrong (something other than the killing of perfectly cute animals that would have been better off with their blood still in their veins). Had he known what was to occur next he would have probably put up more of a struggle, but as it was he just gritted his teeth before another sigh could escape and kept on walking.
***
Had he actually thought he knew what it meant to be hot while he was sparring with the Prince? Clearly he had deluded himself. Hot wasn’t standing in the middle of a field, trying to dodge his master’s blows; hot was crouching in what were surely the thickest bushes of the forest, with the sun still finding somehow a way to fall on his back while even the slightest breath of air was apparently made unable to reach him. He was quite surprised Arthur and the two knights that accompanied them on the hunt hadn’t fainted yet, considering they were stubbornly wearing their chainmail, although a lighter version of them. Why did they need chainmail to hunt, anyway? Were they actually afraid of the rabbits?
He barely managed to keep himself from snorting at the thought, but even the muffled sound that did leave his mouth was enough to draw him annoyed glances from Sir Leon and Arthur…and a full glare from Sir Bolrin. Merlin frowned at the strong antipathy directed at him, bewildered and a bit hurt - though they had never seen him as more than a simple manservant, the knights as a whole had always been civil to him, sometimes even throwing him pitying glances when Arthur decided to play his favourite game of “annoy-the-servant”.
He shook himself out of his thoughts as Arthur spotted a truly magnificent pheasant ahead of them and made them know they were supposed to stop moving - unluckily, it wasn’t enough to prevent them from letting the prey know they were intending to make it their supper, and they were soon running after the spooked animal.
Merlin had by then successfully chased all thought of Bolrin’s strange attitude from his mind, but he soon realized that the knight’s incomprehensible anger went far deeper than he had thought it to go as he came to be lying on the ground for the second time in the ten minutes they had been chasing after their prey. Okay, so perhaps he just hadn’t seen the big root the first time around, but the second time he was quite sure that the older man had deliberately made him stumble. Even worse, his side hurt now, and the concern that had touched Arthur’s eyes as he first fell had disappeared, only to be replaced with irritation - Merlin couldn’t help but feel like he had lost ground in whatever childish game Bolrin and him were playing.
Arthur made a series of sharp gestures from the bushes he was currently crouching in and Merlin held back a sigh, not understanding them anymore than he usually did. He felt a bit of relief as he saw Bolrin start to fall back as Leon and Arthur kept going, which quickly turned to dread as the knight brutally caught his arm and kept Merlin near him. They both stayed silent until the two men in armour had left, still chasing after the pheasant, but as soon as they were out of earshot Bolrin started rudely shaking him, apparently more furious than ever.
“What do you think you were doing? The Prince asked for us to stay back! Isn’t it enough that you have to tag along and make us miss more than half of our catches, you’re also unable to follow a direct order, boy?”
Merlin’s jaw dropped from the injustice of it all and he reacted in a very typical manner, indignation making his heart swell and sarcasm spill from his lips.
“I…This…Is it my fault those bloody hand signals require to have spent seven years learning how to decrypt ancient manuscripts and studying the symbols contained in Camelot’s oldest tapestries?”
Obviously irony was in this case ill-advised, as proven by the fact that the knight decided that crushing him against a tree would be more efficient than shaking him to continue his tirade.
“Don’t try and be smart with me, boy. I’m tired of you wasting my time and my breath with your chronic incompetence and blatant disrespect. The skies only know why the Prince actually keeps you around! A servant that can’t be useful should at least know his place.”
A flick of spittle landed on Merlin’s face and he flinched, turning his face towards the forest and painfully scratching his cheek against the rough bark in the process as he desperately tried to ignore the hateful slurs launched at him. He wished he could dismiss them as easily as he usually did his master’s dramatic announcement of his uselessness, but the insults were delivered with such conviction they were almost impossible not to heed. Having to hide for his whole life the only thing that would have allowed him to be acknowledged as something else than a loser had done wonders for Merlin’s self-confidence, creating in him a burning need for some kind of recognition, which he received much too rarely. The random flashes of memory of all the moments when such insults had been thrown his way in Ealdor, although ultimately distracting, did nothing to banish the small ball of dread with sharp teeth that seemed determined to shred his insides into pieces in a record time - if anything, they made it worse.
“…why would he want to pay attention to you, anyway? You’re no-one! Nothing! You barely deserve to lick his shoes! We knights have always been meant to be at his side since birth, and all our work and efforts since that day have only been to make sure we were deserving of this place! This is our fate! What would a peasant like you know about such things as destiny?”
Merlin’s lips twisted bitterly at the irony contained in this sentence, reflecting that he did have some small idea of the meaning of “destiny”. Sadly, his slight smirk didn’t go unnoticed, and was misinterpreted once more.
“Are you laughing at me, little piece of shit? I’ll teach you to mess with people you ought to revere!”
A brutal punch to Merlin’s stomach from the knight’s gauntlet made him gasp for the air that had just escaped his lungs before he could let another sarcastic quip out. His knees buckled under him, and he would have doubled over from the pain if Bolrin’s left hand hadn’t been maintaining him in place. The knight was obviously not finished, however, and Merlin’s eyes widened as he saw his tormentor draw his arm back with the clear intention of punching him in the face - armoured fist and all.
Desperately trying to jerk his head backwards to soften the damage the blow would cause, Merlin forced his eyes to remain slightly open in spite of his most basic instincts, reluctant not to see the blow come - and that’s how he was able to see another gauntleted hand forcefully close around the first, masterfully deflecting the attack. The chainmail-covered arm attached to the hand then proceeded to twist Bolrin’s right arm and to drag him away from the servant; Merlin’s gaze followed the appendage to the face of his rescuer, and what he saw made him blurt in surprise:
“Sir Leon!”
Before he could express his overwhelming gratitude to the knight, Arthur came bursting from the trees, the pheasant’s beautiful neck clenched in his hand and breathing slightly hard. He stopped abruptly as he came to the scene and Merlin could see him try to process the situation. Sir Leon was still holding on Bolrin’s hand, although he had relaxed his hold as the younger knight made no move to escape, while Merlin was clutching at the tree with his right hand, the other clutching his sides as he tried to breathe through the pain.
“What happened there? Merlin, are you alright?” Said young man saw Bolrin’s lips twist in disgust as the Prince hurried to where his manservant was standing and opened his mouth, desperate to give his side of the story before the knight could, sure that the truth wouldn’t be the first thing to leave Bolrin’s mouth, but all that he was able to emit was a gasp of pain that had Arthur pale a little.
“The boy was clumsy, my Lord. He hurt himself on this low branch. I was merely going to see if I could help in any way when Sir Leon appeared.”
Merlin closed his eyes in silent resignation as Bolrin’s smooth and convincing voice resonated. He could try and protest, but what purpose would that serve? The knight’s hateful declarations of his uselessness and his unworthiness still echoed in his ears, making it hard for him to believe that Leon might oppose this story, and indeed the other knight stayed silent. Arthur, though, didn’t.
“Merlin? Is that what happened?”
Merlin is currently wheezing while desperately trying to hang on his breakfast, so he would appreciate it if you could come back later with your question, said boy thought sarcastically. But anyway Bolrin erupted in speech before Merlin could let any sound leave his throat, all sharp tones and disgusted indignation.
“Are you questioning my word and readying yourself to put this incompetent servant’s above mine, my Lord?”
“And you, Bolrin, are you questioning my decision to listen to both of you?” The knight paled a little at his master’s reprimand, but Arthur wasn’t finished. “I’ve already put Merlin’s word above a knight’s before, when Valiant tried to kill me, and it served me well.” The Prince was omitting a little of this particular event’s complications for the sake of the story, but no matter. “Actually, I think this particular moment corresponds to the second time he has saved my life, although not the last for sure. Can you claim such a high level of service, as a knight?” Ouch, Merlin winced inwardly, this had to hurt. Bolrin was one of the newest knights, and it was true that in spite of his little destiny speech earlier he still hadn’t done much for Arthur yet.
“So, Merlin, do you corroborate Bolrin’s explanation of what happened?” The Prince turned once more to get the truth out of his servant, and frowned as he saw the young man was still doubling over and having difficulties breathing. “What’s the matter with you anyway?” Actually Merlin was wondering why it hurt so damn much as well: it was only a blow to the ribs, for heaven’s sake! “Let me see.”
Arthur ignored with superb his feeble attempts to keep his dignity intact and seized his shirt. His rough manner instantly softened, however, when he actually lifted it up and revealed some truly extraordinary bruising, in all shades of blue and yellow. Only a shocked hiss of breath made it past his lips. “How did that happen, Merlin?” His brain clicked before the warlock could answer. “Is that the result of the blow you received in training?” “Y-yeah.” He managed to ground out, and great, now Arthur was looking guilty, and that wasn’t his goal at all.
“But Gaius put on some ointment; I had almost forgotten all - ouch - about it.” If anything, his reassuring words made the storm in Arthur’s eyes darken.
“And what happened right now to wake this pain?”
Merlin opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated. Would the Prince really believe him? He had seen how smooth a liar Bolrin could be. Trusting Arthur with the truth only not to be believed would hurt him incommensurably, he knew that instinctively.
“If I may, Sire?” Both men standing by the tree turned in surprise at Sire Leon’s intervention. “I may not be in possession of all the facts, but I do know what it looked like as I arrived. Sire Bolrin was holding Merlin against this tree with his left hand, and I have little reason to doubt he was intending to punch the boy in the face, my Lord.”
Arthur visibly paled when Merlin’s nod confirmed Sir Leon’s tale - his vivid imagination was probably being a bother again - but Merlin was actually more shocked by the knight’s volte-face. He knew that Sir Leon was a shrewd knight, and although he did have a sense of honour, he seldom acted when it wasn’t in his best interest to do so, and certainly didn’t when he thought he had something to lose. Had he simply been shocked at the sight of Merlin’s bruises, or had he considered that Arthur would believe him, meaning he had better admit to the truth? And if it was the second option, what did it imply that he thought the Prince had such faith in his manservant?
Lost in his thoughts once more, Merlin had missed the metamorphosis of Arthur’s expression from shock to rage, but he certainly didn’t miss the Prince’s roar as he seized Bolrin by the hem of his chainmail and, in an ironic reversal of roles, slammed him against the nearest tree, demanding in a snarl to know what the man could have been thinking. Merlin’s eyes widened to an extreme degree. Right. Prince in love there. Dangerous when beloved person was harmed. All the time it took for Sir Leon and him to calm Arthur enough to convince him Bolrin should be handled back in Camelot and to actually make the traipse back to the castle, Merlin firmly repeated to himself that those thoughts didn’t evoke a warm glow in him, and certainly didn’t make him feel like someone worthwhile again. No, not at all. It would have been giving too much credit to the prat.
But still, in spite of the pain in his side, he couldn’t have suppressed his small smile for all the gold in the known world.
***
The next morning, silence seemed to have a new quality. The air around them was charged with a tension that Merlin couldn’t bring himself to describe as uncomfortable; it was…different, that’s all. He finally settled on considering it was more, although he would have been hard-pressed to explain what it meant.
The tension subsided a little as they settled down for breakfast and a talk, their newly-founded routine unconsciously soothing them. Merlin had made it his task to discover as much as possible about his master in those talks while the potion was still active, and he had already learnt of his master’s favourite colour (blue) and dish (smoked poultry drenched with honey, which was just wrong) when he thought of a much more interesting question.
“Now…name something you’re afraid of.”
“Princes aren’t afraid, Merlin.”
“Cut the crap out, Arthur. Come on, I’ll tell you mine first. I’m scared of -”
“Most even remotely pointy items, all animals bigger than my fingernail, Gaius’ eyebrow and, occasionally, my own shadow. Right?”
“How hilarious, Arthur - let’s do your list now, shall we? You’re petrified in front of the main cook, Morgana, blonde enchantresses, and…snakes. Right?”
A sharp intake of breath confirmed Merlin’s suspicions and made his lips twitch in an effort not to smile or smirk.
“I am right, ain’t I? So what’s the deal with our cute little friends, hmm? Is it just that they are too slippery for you to catch?”
“I’m certainly not afraid of mere animals, Merlin. I might be the slightest bit…uncomfortable around them, but isn’t that normal, considering that with their speed and apparent lack of any body structure they can just…slither anywhere?”
Merlin grinned openly this time as Arthur couldn’t repress a shiver, wondering if the Prince was currently imagining a snake slipping through his armour’s opening at the neck and moving across his torso with the Prince incapable of getting him out, but then decided to take mercy on his friend.
“Mine is water.”
This was enough to make the Prince stop wincing in either remembering or because of his overly vivid imagination and to make him focus on his servant.
“Water? Really?” His tone was incredulous.
“Well, not water like this one.” Merlin explained patiently, picking up his goblet and turning it around a little. “Large quantities of water. Lakes. Seas. I guess I’m afraid to drown or something.”
“How did that come about? Don’t you know how to swim?”
“Well, it's true I don’t really swim, although I can manage paddling in a lake -” there he stopped talking, remembering that the last two times he had had to go into a lake were because of Arthur, once to save him from Sophia and the other to follow him as he went to Morgause, and although the Prince couldn’t possibly be remembering the first of those incidents he could have sworn that Arthur was also thinking about those times Merlin had affronted his greater fear as his features tightened with unreadable emotion.
“But the real reason I’m…uncomfortable around water is that when I was younger Will and I disobeyed our mothers and went to play near the deepest parts of the river - to make a long story short, I fell in the water and I would have drowned if it hadn’t been for Will. It was…” He interrupted himself once more, words failing him as he tried to describe the water rushing in his mouth and nose in an uninterrupted flow, his panic as he simply didn’t manage to take another breath and his ultimate, chilling certainty that he was going to die there…As his voice trailed off the Prince nodded, watching him with strangely sombre eyes before he suddenly stood up, going to stand near his cupboard and silently picking up his clothes.
The same day, as they were walking near the lake after slewing another dangerous creature at Uther’s request, Merlin noticed Arthur kept on throwing him contemplative glances. He tensed a bit, wondering if the potion had finally worn off and the Prince was wondering why they had taken the scenic route to the castle, which he had himself proposed to spend more time with his servant and which had suited Merlin just fine as it meant he didn’t have to go back to his duties immediately. The turn his thoughts had taken explained why he certainly didn’t see it coming when his master steadily made them walk nearer and nearer to the water before brutally shoving him, making him fall into the lake’s shallow deeps.
Spluttering in indignation, Merlin got on his knees to give the Prince a piece of his mind, feeling a little hurt and betrayed - the water certainly wasn’t deep, but Arthur was playing on his fear all the same. He never got to protest, however, falling silent as he watched Arthur struggling to take off his chainmail and then paddling into the water to join him.
“Just what do you think you’re doing, Sire?”
Arthur’s lips twitched, but he answered seriously.
“Ridding you of an inconvenient phobia, Merlin. I can’t have my servant fainting at the thought of a little swim, can I? Especially considering the situations we always seem to end up in.”
“Oooh, so this is one of those let’s-all-face-our-fears days, right? And I suppose we’re going to visit a snake’s pit after this little swim?”
Arthur ignored his manservant’s sarcastic query, tugging at the brown-haired man’s sleeve instead and starting to lead him towards the centre of the water.
“Woah Arthur, what are you doing now? I agree it’s warm today, but if you really want to take a refreshing bath you only have to ask, there’s a perfectly serviceable bathtub in Camelot, which even has the definite advantage of not containing algae or slippery fishes.” Seeing his proposition wasn’t working, Merlin tried another track. “Hey, do you know you’re still not going in the right direction? The water actually is deeper where you’re going, Arthur. You know, if you’re really intent on practising your swimming that’s great, I’m very proud of you, but…” As he saw that the Prince just kept going and they were nearing the moment where he would lose foot, he really started to panic. “Arthur, stop it! Let me go! Please!”
Merlin would forever deny that he had emitted such an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp or that he had practically begged his master, but it did the trick. Hearing the real fear in his friend’s voice, Arthur stopped traipsing through the water and turned towards him.
“Come on Merlin, don’t be like that. I wouldn’t let you drown, would I?” Merlin opened his mouth to express just how unsure he was of this affirmation, especially after Arthur’s little trick earlier, but shut it as the Prince turned completely to gaze at him with serious blue eyes. “Just trust me, alright?”
How could he have refused such an earnest plea? Mutely, he took the hands Arthur was holding towards him, letting the Prince lead him willingly towards the lake’s deepest area and try to teach him how to actually swim instead of flailing his long limbs around.
Later he would silently acknowledge to himself that he did have a new self-confidence where water was concerned, would perhaps admit that he might even be the slightest bit thankful to Arthur for his swimming “lesson” this afternoon - but that certainly didn’t mean he had forgone his plans to sneak a non-poisonous snake in Arthur’s sleeping bag the next time they slept outside. It was just to do the Prince a favour, he reflected, smirking: it would be quite inconvenient for Arthur to freeze if they ever had to face a giant reptile while trying to protect Camelot after all.
***
The next day and the day after that they had little time to chat around breakfast as a delegation from King Odinor was due to arrive soon. If Merlin had understood Gwen’s explanations correctly it was the first time in ten years that such a thing happened, and Uther was hoping this would mean a strengthening of the shaky ties between Camelot and Tintagel. Basically, it meant all the servants in the castle were requisitioned to prepare the feast and thus were running around in a mindless panic. It really amazed Merlin to see just how much could get done this way, although he had the suspicion that it came from the multiplication of the helpers more than of any amelioration of their productivity.
All the same, by the time the delegation actually arrived all the stones in the castle had been made to shine, the stables had never been cleaner and a small bow had even been tied at each horse’s tail, which was really quite ridiculous when the horses in question were war stallions. Sadly, Merlin’s suggestion to Arthur that the nobles wear matching bows in their hair had only been answered by a stony glare and a “reminder” that the Hat of Doom was never really far.
He had shut up then, and was currently quite glad he had as Alynor, the King Odinor’s niece’s maid, was apparently finding him quite to his taste and flirting ostensibly. Feeling a bit awkward at first - it seemed that women were a lot bolder in Tintagel than in Camelot - he slowly began to relax enough to enjoy the attentions of the pretty maid and even to flirt a little in return, or at least to smile at her small jokes about her mistress. A strange sick feeling, however, soon made itself known by gnawing on his entrails; surprised, he recognized it as guilt when Gwen elbowed him in the ribs and gestured towards Arthur, who was waiting for his glass to be refilled and had evidently been doing so for a while. A bit ashamed of himself he was careful for the rest of the festivities this evening, waiting on Arthur with an attention and solicitousness which were, in all modesty, usually only found in the best servants; but the wrong had been done, and the Prince’s face never lost his frown.
A bit worried, Merlin still tried to act as if nothing had happened, keeping up an unceasing chatter as master and servant retired side by side to the Prince’s chambers. Arthur’s expression remained clouded over nonetheless, and his first action as he arrived in his room was to brutally shove the door closed with his right hand, effectively trapping Merlin against it.
“What was that about, Merlin?”
“Er, what was what about?”
Arthur wasn’t amused.
“Come on Arthur, by the way you’ve been reacting anyone would think I’d have committed a heinous crime! I forgot to fill up your drink once, big deal!”
Still not the right answer. Arthur’s face contorted briefly in a terrifying rage before he seemed to restrain himself, letting a huge sigh escape and take his fury with it. He then stepped a little closer to his manservant, leant down and pressed his lips against Merlin’s.
Oh. Oh. Of course. He should have realised the Prince wouldn’t see Alynor’s flirting as the harmless way of spending the time it was - wooing was always so serious among the nobles. He actually had quite a lot he could say about the mores of the wealthy concerning their strange mating rituals, but all other thoughts fled from his head as he came to realize that Arthur was kissing him, and he was pretty sure that there was something wrong with that fact, but he would have been hard-pressed to say what as shapely lips closed on his lower one, playful teeth nibbling a little on it before a tongue came to sooth the hurt. It was simply impossible to focus on anything else than the soft, deliciously warm appendage daringly invading his mouth, a slow conqueror meeting no resistance as it laid siege on Merlin’s palate, and the warlock could have sworn the man in front of him could do magic as well, because surely nothing else could have made all his nerves tingle at once like they did then. They kissed for an infinite and yet far too short time, mouths leaving each other only to meet again in a bittersweet union.
Eventually they separated, Arthur’s right arm around Merlin’s shoulders, his left hand tangled helplessly in raven locks, the younger man’s hands clasping each other desperately behind the Prince’s back.
Arthur’s head fell against the pale long neck offered to him and there he mouthed words; after the kisses that had seemed to Merlin to be a branding on both his soul and his body he was expecting his master to whisper that Merlin belonged to him; but what did fall from the Prince’s lips had nothing to do with ownership. “Merlin…I love you.” It was a breath, barely a whisper, soft and feathery against his skin. It was said in a broken voice, and yet with a certainty that made Merlin’s hands tremble. It was the most heart-breaking sound Merlin had ever heard.
Merlin’s mouth opened to take in a ragged breath, but closed again without him saying anything, because what could he say? What could he answer to his exigent master, to his closest friend, to this declaration of the drugged travesty of love the Gods had decided to mock him with?
***
So he escaped, ignoring the Prince calling after him, ignoring Gaius’ startled expression as he burst inside the room, falling into bed with his lips still tingling and his lungs playing tricks on him, stopping him from breathing in fully and keeping his heart from beating normally.
There he stared at the ceiling without blinking, stubbornly refusing to contemplate what his trouble meant, or the last ten minutes, or just about anything that wasn’t about how hot the nights could be in the summer or how unpleasant it felt to have his blanket stick to his skin. And more than anything, he refused to contemplate the fact that only knowing that, no matter how false it was, at least this new depth in a certain pair of blue eyes would still be there come morning allowed him to fall in Morpheus’ arms.
Of course, I was then that Gaius burst into his room at dawn, managing to look both completely exhausted and full of restless energy as he shook his charge awake.
“I’ve found it, Merlin! I’ve found the cure!”
Merlin would forever refuse to admit the plunge his heart took as he heard those fateful words, just as he would later endlessly deny that the wobble in his voice as he congratulated his mentor came from anything else than sleepiness - but the window in his room was closed, making it difficult for him to dismiss the moisture in his eyes as the mere result of a gust of wind.
Link to part II
Length: ~14000 words
Pairings: Merlin/Arthur
Summary: Another lady sets her sights on Arthur, but things don't go as planned. Whatever is Merlin to do with the besotted Prince following him around? Slash, three-shots. Warnings: cliché fic, a bit of angst, a lot of fluff.
The day had been going on quite normally. Well, normal for Camelot, meaning the daughter of a random King had come to the castle for a random reason, accompanied with the shifty man with the crafty smile that was integral part of the whole Princess panoply, and Morgana had issued a warning as she saw him - apparently, she had dreamt of him poisoning a goblet in Arthur’s own chambers.
Merlin was simply left hoping that this time he wouldn’t have to actually drink the said poison, but his flippant attitude suddenly came to an end as he arrived in the Prince’s chambers to see Arthur with the goblet Morgana had described already to his lips. His heart skipped a beat as he screamed at his master not to drink, and then decided to quit pumping blood through his veins all altogether as the Prince’s eyes widened and then fluttered closed, causing his breath to quicken as he rushed to make sure Arthur didn’t hurt his head as he fell.
He had barely had the time to check that the poison was not instantaneous when the Princess rushed into the room with an expectant smile on her lips, a smile that quickly fell as she assessed the situation. Afterwards was still a bit blurry - he remembered painfully heaving Arthur on his bed, calling the guards to restrain the Princess, and then Gaius arriving, making quick note of smelling the goblet and issuing a diagnostic.
“This was no poison, Merlin.”
Said boy issued a huge sigh of relief, realizing as fresh air filled his chest that he had barely breathed in the past few minutes. A sleeping draught, then, like in the Labyrinth - much better than poison. Actually, perhaps he could even use the fact that Arthur had fallen asleep hours before the sun was to set to have a little time to himself, he thought, already smiling in appreciation.
“This was a love potion.”
The warlock’s eyes widened and he shot a glance the way the Princess had been taken away, reflecting wryly that he didn’t even remember the name of the girl Arthur was going to be in love with until they found a solution. At least there was little chance of him ending up in the stocks on Arthur’s behalf, he supposed, not if the lady was in jail or shipped off to her homeland - but it would mean that the Prince would be even crankier as he usually was.
“I guess the Princess Myrlia succeeded to come in just as Arthur had drunk the potion and thus was the first person he saw? I think you’ll have a nasty few days until I can reverse this, my boy - Arthur won’t like not being able to see his new beloved.”
No matter how the seemingly innocent queries of the Physician actually reflected his own thoughts, Merlin’s brain was brutally brought to a halt by them. The first person he saw? What?
“You’re not really telling me this potion would make sure Arthur would fall in love with the first person he saw after drinking it, are you?”
“Why yes I am, Merlin.” Gaius answered gravely, arching an eyebrow as the boy before him paled to an impossible degree. “What’s wrong with you, boy? You look like you’ve seen a ghost! Sit down before you fall over.”
As Merlin explained everything from Morgana’s warning to Arthur’s body crashing to the floor Gaius’ lips twitched once or twice, but he managed not to smile, feeling his protégé’s distress. Thoughtfully caressing his chin in order to cover his mouth in case he let a grin escape anyway, the old Physician tried to comfort the boy as much as he could.
“Oh well my boy, I’ll start working on a cure right away. And even if I can’t do anything, from what you’ve told me Arthur barely had the time to swallow once before you told him to stop, so the effects will probably naturally wane off in a few days’ time anyway. Don’t look so down, Merlin. What could possibly happen that would be so distressing?”
Famous last words indeed.
***
Needless to say, Merlin hadn’t exactly been able to relax during his unexpected day-off; he also tossed and turned this night, sleep eluding him until he decided that he would just have to ignore his master until the potion had worn off. Arthur had replaced him easily enough with Cedric, he thought scornfully - surely it wouldn’t be so difficult to find a replacement servant? This thought in mind, he quickly fell into a dreamless sleep.
“Absolutely not, Merlin.”
“But why, Gaius? I could help you with your patients for a week; no one would be the wiser!”
“Those kinds of changes always get back to Uther in one form or another. Of course, he usually pays absolutely no notice to them, but we can’t risk Arthur’s name grabbing his attention.”
“And why couldn’t he know? Why would he even care?”
Gaius shot him an exasperated look, clearly at the end of his patience. Well tough, because Merlin wasn’t at the end of his protests by far.
“You’ve been Arthur’s manservant for almost a year now, and except for that mess with Cedric two months ago you’ve continually stayed by his side, thrice as long as any other servant ever managed to do so. He has defied his father’s orders to save your life. Do you really think Uther wouldn’t even be curious to know about your temporary reassignment?”
Trying to ignore the pleasure those words evoked in him, Merlin thought he could see his mentor’s point, but kept on objecting all the same:
“What about we told him the truth?”
Uh-oh. The eyebrow. What had he said now?
“You want to tell Uther his son has been enchanted?”
“Well, it’s not like we did the potion anyway, we couldn’t get blamed!”
“That’s right Merlin. However, the potion in question caused Arthur to have…feelings of a romantic nature, let’s say…” Merlin winced. “Towards you.”
The young warlock still didn’t see where Gaius was going with this.
“And then what?”
“He’d want to break the enchantment - what is the easiest way to do so?”
Merlin almost answered “magic”, but that didn’t make much sense, and anyway his magic had always failed in previous such cases. To make sure Arthur didn’t love him anymore…The answer was slow in coming, but it seemed quite obvious when Merlin actually thought about it.
“Killing me.” He whispered. Gaius gave a grave nod.
“Indeed. Should you die now, Arthur’s feelings would disappear.”
“Would Uther really do it, even if other solutions were there that just asked for a little more time? I’m his trusted ally in the fight against magic now, remember?”
“Oh, I’m sure he would give us a few days, perhaps even a week, to try and find a solution in science. But if we can’t find anything by then? Is that a gamble you’re prepared to take, just in order not to see the Prince until he has gotten back to normal?”
The answer to this question was obvious, although Gaius’ whole reasoning still sounded far-fetched to the sorcerer. Swallowing a little, Merlin quickly put on his neckerchief and bravely walked through the door, intent on getting to his master’s quarters as fast as possible in order not to possibly have second thoughts.
***
Somehow, when Gaius had told him about the potion, he had pictured a totally ridiculous Arthur intent on serenading him at every occasion, or perhaps even an Arthur gone mad with lust, drawing him hard against his body and not letting him escape, ravishing his mouth and firmly pressing his hips against him...Ahem. He coughed a little in order to chase off his own thoughts, which had started to get disturbingly graphic.
Anyway, he had never even considered that the potion wasn’t meant to reverse the Prince’s personality or to induce lust, but was actually a love potion. He hadn’t imagined that his master’s smile, when directed at him, would be the same one he had addressed Sophia with a few months ago, a grin so roguishly tender. He hadn’t been able to completely comprehend what it would mean to have the blond man’s attention solely concentrated on him.
His miscomprehension of what the potion meant to do was exactly why he froze as he entered the Prince’s chambers and was met with a delighted - and yet somehow still contained in a very princely way - beam.
“Hi, Merlin.”
This was new as well, Merlin thought. This acknowledgement of his presence as something other than the arrival of the man’s servant shouldn’t have felt half as personal as it actually did. And the way the Prince had drawled his name…Merlin shuddered a little, and then dismissed it as a result of the coolness of the room.
“Um, hello Sire. Gaius said you might…not be feeling well this morning. Do you want to reschedule our training session?”
A golden eyebrow lifted elegantly, and although it had nothing on Gaius’, Merlin couldn’t help but feel patronised.
“I feel perfectly fine, Merlin, thank you for your concern. Actually, why don’t you help me get into my armour and then we can adjourn to the field?”
It was voiced as a question, but it was anything but a request. Merlin swallowed. His armour. Right. Well, he had done this a thousand times.
***
Merlin picked up the heavy chainmail and forced his feet to come closer to the Prince. Arthur’s eyes were latched on him but he did nothing, perhaps sensing that almost anything would scare his servant away at this moment. Swallowing a bit nervously, Merlin stepped in front of Arthur and quickly helped his master into his chainmail, catching a few strands of blonde hair in his haste. He had somehow thought that Arthur would forgive him easily, considering the situation, but the Prince’s annoyed glare was exactly the same as it had been yesterday, paradoxically causing him to relax. Had the potion possibly already worn off? He wondered, feeling relieved.
An hour later, he was seriously reconsidering feeling relieved about Arthur’s apparent normalcy, since it implied him trying to hold off his master’s expert sword strikes for what seemed to be an eternity - and it was quite hot today, too! Distracted by his thoughts, he didn’t quite manage to par the blow Arthur had sent at his ribs and brutally fell backwards, gasping for the air that had maliciously decided to escape his lungs.
Arthur was immediately besides him, throwing off his helmet and kneeling in one smooth motion.
“Idiot! This was a blow you could have easily countered! You can’t afford daydreaming in a battle, Merlin!”
The warlock knew Arthur was right, considering the blow had hold great force but little speed, but he certainly wasn’t going to admit it. Opening his mouth to complain about his master’s mistreatment of him instead, he happened to glance towards Arthur - and his jaw closed so quickly his teeth clicked. The normally unflappable Prince’s face was all hard lines and set jaw, anxiously hovering above him, and Merlin reflected weakly that the potion hadn’t worn off after all.
Some kind of morbid curiosity - though he justified this to himself as a scientist’s need to experiment and put theories to test - had him pressing his fingers over his ribs and wincing exaggeratedly, watching from the corner of his eye for a reaction. He wasn’t disappointed.
Immediately paling, the Prince seemed to flounder for a bit as he looked around, evidently unsure of what he was meant to do and having apparently forgotten that his knights hurt themselves much more seriously every other day in training. Eventually he stood up and his hands hesitated a little above his servant, until Merlin used one of Arthur’s arms to stand up and tried to reassure the other man, not enjoying the farce that had worried the Prince so anymore.
“I’m fine Arthur, I swear. Why don’t we…” Pick up training where we left it, he almost said, knowing this would surely put the Prince’s mind at rest, but in truth he really hated those sessions and looked forward to ending this one. “…just go and see Gaius?”
He had wondered if Arthur would insist on their training’s continuation, or at the very least would clearly explain to him why the “we” in his last sentence was ridiculous - surely he had better things to do than accompanying his servant to Gaius’ quarters. However the Prince surprised him anew, simply nodding and starting the trek back to the castle.
Arthur kept his rigid face even in Gaius’ quarters, only truly relaxing once the old physician had established that the blow would have no other consequences than some truly magnificent bruising. But even then he acted out of the ordinary, brusquely telling Merlin that he was to rest while he met his father, instead of getting back to his duties.
Gaius had observed the scene in polite reserve, not deigning to react to the incredulous faces Merlin had thrown at him while Arthur talked. Once the Prince was gone, however, he was the one to break the slightly stunned silence with a quiet observation:
“That was quite curious.”
“I know! He’s been weird all morning! One second everything is normal, the other he’s…he’s…all concerned and just weird.” Merlin groaned, replaying the morning in his mind. “He doesn’t act like he did in presence of Sophia or Vivian at all - not that I’m complaining! I was actually quite relieved!”
Gaius acknowledged the young warlock’s frantic back-pedalling with a raised eyebrow, but graciously didn’t comment on it.
“I might have an explanation about this. You see, I’ve analysed the potion, and it’s much more potent than the ones the Prince has already been dosed with. It had to, in order to be effective on anyone the Prince saw first.”
“Really? But if it is more potent, shouldn’t it cause more changes in Arthur than the previous potions, instead of less?”
“No Merlin. It’s more potent precisely because it allows Arthur to keep his personality. It hasn’t forced foreign devotion in his mind, troubling it in the process. He’s acting like he would if one day he really fell in love with you - meaning that he’ll use what he knows of you to be able to woo you efficiently and that he’s aware of the problems caused by the difference between your statuses.”
The warlock alternatively blushed and felt thankful as he registered his mentor’s words, shuddering as he tried to imagine what would have happened otherwise; Arthur would surely have picked the worse possible moment to make his “declaration”, like during a banquet, preferably in front of both the King and Morgana.
Lost in his morbid thoughts, Merlin barely registered Gaius leading him to a bed and making him sit, and only became aware of his surroundings as his mentor prodded him gently, telling him it was lunch time.
***
All in all, he could get used to this situation, Merlin thought after a few days. He had been on edge for the first two days, but the Prince hadn’t done anything rash. Actually he didn’t act so differently, although the small ways in which he showed his…new-found regard…mattered. He had often reflected on Gaius’ words this first day, and had come to the conclusion that the physician had been absolutely correct in his hypothesis: Arthur knew his servant, knew how he would have reacted to a serious - ugh - wooing. He also knew how much the boy craved to be considered as more than a simple manservant, and had used this knowledge to his advantage. Although they had never acted like normal master and servant, it was totally different now; Merlin had become the centre of Arthur’s universe - and no matter that he knew what was the cause of this change, he couldn’t help but absolutely love it. Arthur had a magnetism that the warlock had had difficulties denying even when they had been on fighting terms, an eternity ago - to have so much of the Prince’s attention turned on him now that he had quietly acknowledged to himself that Arthur was perhaps slightly more than just a prat was both flattering and enthralling.
This kind of thinking never failed to bring a smile to his lips and it was the case this morning as well, meaning he entered the Prince’s chambers bearing both the heavy trays containing breakfast and a goofy grin. Arthur immediately raised an eyebrow at it, though he couldn’t help but let his own lips twitch as well, even as he jibbed:
“In a good mood Merlin? Nice dreams yesterday night?”
Okay, so perhaps the nature of their banter was a bit new, but it was still them making fun of each other as they had always done, meaning Merlin didn’t feel particularly awkward answering in the same way.
“Quite nice indeed…especially the one you were in.” Hearing a slight intake of breath behind him, he smirked in direction of the plates he was currently laying on the table before finishing. “I must say, seeing you in the stocks made my night just that more pleasant.”
Arthur let out the slightly huffing noise that he breathed when he was torn between amusement and frustration - Merlin knew this sound quite well from his various torturous “training” sessions - and sat at the table, silently conceding him the point in their ever-going verbal sparring match as he regally gestured at the chair in front of him.
This was new as well; for the past two mornings, they had been eating breakfast together. This had naturally been proposed by Arthur in a very Arthur way, meaning he grumbled about the way Merlin was thin as a rail and how he didn’t want people in the castle to say he had been neglecting his servant. Of course, Merlin had accepted - wary of the man issuing the invitation or not, it wasn’t everyday that you got to taste such fine fare as something else than leftovers.
Quite surprisingly, it had turned to be one of his favourite moments in the day. Arthur was at his most relaxed, most often not even dressed yet, and the informality of those meals made them precious moments where the warlock felt they could really communicate, without their positions at the court, the need to fight another huge random and magical beast or Merlin’s secrets keeping them apart. He sometimes felt he had learnt more about his master in those two moments of quiet conversations than in almost a year of service, but even if that wasn’t exactly true - you could get a good idea of a man’s character in times of crisis after all, and they had gotten their fair share of those - those were still indubitably the longest talks they had ever had that didn’t end up in shouting or in one of them storming off.
Merlin broke out of his thoughts just in time to see Arthur make a disgusted face as he put back something he had just bitten in on his plate. The warlock raised his right eyebrow in a poor and unconscious imitation of his mentor at the sight, knowing better than anyone that nothing even slightly rotten would have ever made it into the Prince’s breakfast. Which meant Arthur didn’t quite find - he examined the titbit of food more carefully - pears to his taste. His lips twitched suspiciously:
“Arthur, Arthur, I’m very disappointed…”
The Prince faked a look of polite questioning, which Merlin answered by stabbing through a bit of pear with his fork and pointedly eating it.
“Haven’t you ever been told not to be picky with your food?”
“You know what? Actually, I don’t think so.” Merlin’s memory, of course, chose this time to conveniently remind him that Arthur’s mother had died at the Prince’s birth. He winced at his blunder, but the blue eyes across him seemed more reflective than sad. “I mean, I feel like I’ve always known I couldn’t turn my nose at anything during a feast, but this is part of an altogether different lesson, on decorum and appearance in front of the guests. I don’t think I’ve ever been told to eat something I didn’t like in private.”
“Oh.” Was all Merlin was able to get out at first, still a bit surprised at the Prince’s newly found chattiness - there was just no other word for it - during those tête-à-têtes. “Well, I can eat almost anything.”
“Oh I know that. I’ve watched you eat a delicious rat broth, after all. Though I’d have been surprised if you had turned out to be a picky eater, considering I actually got to taste what your mother used to feed you.”
Merlin glared a little at the double jab - really, no matter how justified, this insult towards his mother’s cooking was quite unnecessary - but quickly subsided, unable to stay angry at the smirking Prince. Glancing away, he muttered under his breath:
“And you don’t even know half of it…”
“I don’t?” Arthur asked, curious.
“Nope. Not long after the rat stew, Gaius and I ate some huge beetles or something - and if you want a word of advice, I’d say never to let you anyone fool you: it has nothing on chicken.”
Arthur seemed both repulsed and fascinated:
“It wouldn’t have been my first guess about how it tastes, actually. Personally…the worse I ever did was a living worm, I think.”
“A worm?”
“I was eight, and a growing boy! Anything looked appetizing at the time.”
It was Merlin’s turn to smirk:
“I’m sure, Sire.”
Arthur’s eyes narrowed at the obvious mockery in the younger man’s voice, and then gleamed with malice as he envisaged a way to get him back:
“Well, all this talk has cut off my appetite, and I really need to stretch a little. Actually, I think I feel in the mood for a nice…long…hunt.” The Prince’s voice barely covered his servant’s groan as he then ordered him to get his hunting gear, and he smiled victoriously as he stood up.
Merlin, already on his way out to get the Prince’s gear, sighed and made a face as he thought of the day ahead. He had sort of a bad feeling, but that didn’t mean much as it seemed that every time they went hunting something went wrong (something other than the killing of perfectly cute animals that would have been better off with their blood still in their veins). Had he known what was to occur next he would have probably put up more of a struggle, but as it was he just gritted his teeth before another sigh could escape and kept on walking.
***
Had he actually thought he knew what it meant to be hot while he was sparring with the Prince? Clearly he had deluded himself. Hot wasn’t standing in the middle of a field, trying to dodge his master’s blows; hot was crouching in what were surely the thickest bushes of the forest, with the sun still finding somehow a way to fall on his back while even the slightest breath of air was apparently made unable to reach him. He was quite surprised Arthur and the two knights that accompanied them on the hunt hadn’t fainted yet, considering they were stubbornly wearing their chainmail, although a lighter version of them. Why did they need chainmail to hunt, anyway? Were they actually afraid of the rabbits?
He barely managed to keep himself from snorting at the thought, but even the muffled sound that did leave his mouth was enough to draw him annoyed glances from Sir Leon and Arthur…and a full glare from Sir Bolrin. Merlin frowned at the strong antipathy directed at him, bewildered and a bit hurt - though they had never seen him as more than a simple manservant, the knights as a whole had always been civil to him, sometimes even throwing him pitying glances when Arthur decided to play his favourite game of “annoy-the-servant”.
He shook himself out of his thoughts as Arthur spotted a truly magnificent pheasant ahead of them and made them know they were supposed to stop moving - unluckily, it wasn’t enough to prevent them from letting the prey know they were intending to make it their supper, and they were soon running after the spooked animal.
Merlin had by then successfully chased all thought of Bolrin’s strange attitude from his mind, but he soon realized that the knight’s incomprehensible anger went far deeper than he had thought it to go as he came to be lying on the ground for the second time in the ten minutes they had been chasing after their prey. Okay, so perhaps he just hadn’t seen the big root the first time around, but the second time he was quite sure that the older man had deliberately made him stumble. Even worse, his side hurt now, and the concern that had touched Arthur’s eyes as he first fell had disappeared, only to be replaced with irritation - Merlin couldn’t help but feel like he had lost ground in whatever childish game Bolrin and him were playing.
Arthur made a series of sharp gestures from the bushes he was currently crouching in and Merlin held back a sigh, not understanding them anymore than he usually did. He felt a bit of relief as he saw Bolrin start to fall back as Leon and Arthur kept going, which quickly turned to dread as the knight brutally caught his arm and kept Merlin near him. They both stayed silent until the two men in armour had left, still chasing after the pheasant, but as soon as they were out of earshot Bolrin started rudely shaking him, apparently more furious than ever.
“What do you think you were doing? The Prince asked for us to stay back! Isn’t it enough that you have to tag along and make us miss more than half of our catches, you’re also unable to follow a direct order, boy?”
Merlin’s jaw dropped from the injustice of it all and he reacted in a very typical manner, indignation making his heart swell and sarcasm spill from his lips.
“I…This…Is it my fault those bloody hand signals require to have spent seven years learning how to decrypt ancient manuscripts and studying the symbols contained in Camelot’s oldest tapestries?”
Obviously irony was in this case ill-advised, as proven by the fact that the knight decided that crushing him against a tree would be more efficient than shaking him to continue his tirade.
“Don’t try and be smart with me, boy. I’m tired of you wasting my time and my breath with your chronic incompetence and blatant disrespect. The skies only know why the Prince actually keeps you around! A servant that can’t be useful should at least know his place.”
A flick of spittle landed on Merlin’s face and he flinched, turning his face towards the forest and painfully scratching his cheek against the rough bark in the process as he desperately tried to ignore the hateful slurs launched at him. He wished he could dismiss them as easily as he usually did his master’s dramatic announcement of his uselessness, but the insults were delivered with such conviction they were almost impossible not to heed. Having to hide for his whole life the only thing that would have allowed him to be acknowledged as something else than a loser had done wonders for Merlin’s self-confidence, creating in him a burning need for some kind of recognition, which he received much too rarely. The random flashes of memory of all the moments when such insults had been thrown his way in Ealdor, although ultimately distracting, did nothing to banish the small ball of dread with sharp teeth that seemed determined to shred his insides into pieces in a record time - if anything, they made it worse.
“…why would he want to pay attention to you, anyway? You’re no-one! Nothing! You barely deserve to lick his shoes! We knights have always been meant to be at his side since birth, and all our work and efforts since that day have only been to make sure we were deserving of this place! This is our fate! What would a peasant like you know about such things as destiny?”
Merlin’s lips twisted bitterly at the irony contained in this sentence, reflecting that he did have some small idea of the meaning of “destiny”. Sadly, his slight smirk didn’t go unnoticed, and was misinterpreted once more.
“Are you laughing at me, little piece of shit? I’ll teach you to mess with people you ought to revere!”
A brutal punch to Merlin’s stomach from the knight’s gauntlet made him gasp for the air that had just escaped his lungs before he could let another sarcastic quip out. His knees buckled under him, and he would have doubled over from the pain if Bolrin’s left hand hadn’t been maintaining him in place. The knight was obviously not finished, however, and Merlin’s eyes widened as he saw his tormentor draw his arm back with the clear intention of punching him in the face - armoured fist and all.
Desperately trying to jerk his head backwards to soften the damage the blow would cause, Merlin forced his eyes to remain slightly open in spite of his most basic instincts, reluctant not to see the blow come - and that’s how he was able to see another gauntleted hand forcefully close around the first, masterfully deflecting the attack. The chainmail-covered arm attached to the hand then proceeded to twist Bolrin’s right arm and to drag him away from the servant; Merlin’s gaze followed the appendage to the face of his rescuer, and what he saw made him blurt in surprise:
“Sir Leon!”
Before he could express his overwhelming gratitude to the knight, Arthur came bursting from the trees, the pheasant’s beautiful neck clenched in his hand and breathing slightly hard. He stopped abruptly as he came to the scene and Merlin could see him try to process the situation. Sir Leon was still holding on Bolrin’s hand, although he had relaxed his hold as the younger knight made no move to escape, while Merlin was clutching at the tree with his right hand, the other clutching his sides as he tried to breathe through the pain.
“What happened there? Merlin, are you alright?” Said young man saw Bolrin’s lips twist in disgust as the Prince hurried to where his manservant was standing and opened his mouth, desperate to give his side of the story before the knight could, sure that the truth wouldn’t be the first thing to leave Bolrin’s mouth, but all that he was able to emit was a gasp of pain that had Arthur pale a little.
“The boy was clumsy, my Lord. He hurt himself on this low branch. I was merely going to see if I could help in any way when Sir Leon appeared.”
Merlin closed his eyes in silent resignation as Bolrin’s smooth and convincing voice resonated. He could try and protest, but what purpose would that serve? The knight’s hateful declarations of his uselessness and his unworthiness still echoed in his ears, making it hard for him to believe that Leon might oppose this story, and indeed the other knight stayed silent. Arthur, though, didn’t.
“Merlin? Is that what happened?”
Merlin is currently wheezing while desperately trying to hang on his breakfast, so he would appreciate it if you could come back later with your question, said boy thought sarcastically. But anyway Bolrin erupted in speech before Merlin could let any sound leave his throat, all sharp tones and disgusted indignation.
“Are you questioning my word and readying yourself to put this incompetent servant’s above mine, my Lord?”
“And you, Bolrin, are you questioning my decision to listen to both of you?” The knight paled a little at his master’s reprimand, but Arthur wasn’t finished. “I’ve already put Merlin’s word above a knight’s before, when Valiant tried to kill me, and it served me well.” The Prince was omitting a little of this particular event’s complications for the sake of the story, but no matter. “Actually, I think this particular moment corresponds to the second time he has saved my life, although not the last for sure. Can you claim such a high level of service, as a knight?” Ouch, Merlin winced inwardly, this had to hurt. Bolrin was one of the newest knights, and it was true that in spite of his little destiny speech earlier he still hadn’t done much for Arthur yet.
“So, Merlin, do you corroborate Bolrin’s explanation of what happened?” The Prince turned once more to get the truth out of his servant, and frowned as he saw the young man was still doubling over and having difficulties breathing. “What’s the matter with you anyway?” Actually Merlin was wondering why it hurt so damn much as well: it was only a blow to the ribs, for heaven’s sake! “Let me see.”
Arthur ignored with superb his feeble attempts to keep his dignity intact and seized his shirt. His rough manner instantly softened, however, when he actually lifted it up and revealed some truly extraordinary bruising, in all shades of blue and yellow. Only a shocked hiss of breath made it past his lips. “How did that happen, Merlin?” His brain clicked before the warlock could answer. “Is that the result of the blow you received in training?” “Y-yeah.” He managed to ground out, and great, now Arthur was looking guilty, and that wasn’t his goal at all.
“But Gaius put on some ointment; I had almost forgotten all - ouch - about it.” If anything, his reassuring words made the storm in Arthur’s eyes darken.
“And what happened right now to wake this pain?”
Merlin opened his mouth to answer, but hesitated. Would the Prince really believe him? He had seen how smooth a liar Bolrin could be. Trusting Arthur with the truth only not to be believed would hurt him incommensurably, he knew that instinctively.
“If I may, Sire?” Both men standing by the tree turned in surprise at Sire Leon’s intervention. “I may not be in possession of all the facts, but I do know what it looked like as I arrived. Sire Bolrin was holding Merlin against this tree with his left hand, and I have little reason to doubt he was intending to punch the boy in the face, my Lord.”
Arthur visibly paled when Merlin’s nod confirmed Sir Leon’s tale - his vivid imagination was probably being a bother again - but Merlin was actually more shocked by the knight’s volte-face. He knew that Sir Leon was a shrewd knight, and although he did have a sense of honour, he seldom acted when it wasn’t in his best interest to do so, and certainly didn’t when he thought he had something to lose. Had he simply been shocked at the sight of Merlin’s bruises, or had he considered that Arthur would believe him, meaning he had better admit to the truth? And if it was the second option, what did it imply that he thought the Prince had such faith in his manservant?
Lost in his thoughts once more, Merlin had missed the metamorphosis of Arthur’s expression from shock to rage, but he certainly didn’t miss the Prince’s roar as he seized Bolrin by the hem of his chainmail and, in an ironic reversal of roles, slammed him against the nearest tree, demanding in a snarl to know what the man could have been thinking. Merlin’s eyes widened to an extreme degree. Right. Prince in love there. Dangerous when beloved person was harmed. All the time it took for Sir Leon and him to calm Arthur enough to convince him Bolrin should be handled back in Camelot and to actually make the traipse back to the castle, Merlin firmly repeated to himself that those thoughts didn’t evoke a warm glow in him, and certainly didn’t make him feel like someone worthwhile again. No, not at all. It would have been giving too much credit to the prat.
But still, in spite of the pain in his side, he couldn’t have suppressed his small smile for all the gold in the known world.
***
The next morning, silence seemed to have a new quality. The air around them was charged with a tension that Merlin couldn’t bring himself to describe as uncomfortable; it was…different, that’s all. He finally settled on considering it was more, although he would have been hard-pressed to explain what it meant.
The tension subsided a little as they settled down for breakfast and a talk, their newly-founded routine unconsciously soothing them. Merlin had made it his task to discover as much as possible about his master in those talks while the potion was still active, and he had already learnt of his master’s favourite colour (blue) and dish (smoked poultry drenched with honey, which was just wrong) when he thought of a much more interesting question.
“Now…name something you’re afraid of.”
“Princes aren’t afraid, Merlin.”
“Cut the crap out, Arthur. Come on, I’ll tell you mine first. I’m scared of -”
“Most even remotely pointy items, all animals bigger than my fingernail, Gaius’ eyebrow and, occasionally, my own shadow. Right?”
“How hilarious, Arthur - let’s do your list now, shall we? You’re petrified in front of the main cook, Morgana, blonde enchantresses, and…snakes. Right?”
A sharp intake of breath confirmed Merlin’s suspicions and made his lips twitch in an effort not to smile or smirk.
“I am right, ain’t I? So what’s the deal with our cute little friends, hmm? Is it just that they are too slippery for you to catch?”
“I’m certainly not afraid of mere animals, Merlin. I might be the slightest bit…uncomfortable around them, but isn’t that normal, considering that with their speed and apparent lack of any body structure they can just…slither anywhere?”
Merlin grinned openly this time as Arthur couldn’t repress a shiver, wondering if the Prince was currently imagining a snake slipping through his armour’s opening at the neck and moving across his torso with the Prince incapable of getting him out, but then decided to take mercy on his friend.
“Mine is water.”
This was enough to make the Prince stop wincing in either remembering or because of his overly vivid imagination and to make him focus on his servant.
“Water? Really?” His tone was incredulous.
“Well, not water like this one.” Merlin explained patiently, picking up his goblet and turning it around a little. “Large quantities of water. Lakes. Seas. I guess I’m afraid to drown or something.”
“How did that come about? Don’t you know how to swim?”
“Well, it's true I don’t really swim, although I can manage paddling in a lake -” there he stopped talking, remembering that the last two times he had had to go into a lake were because of Arthur, once to save him from Sophia and the other to follow him as he went to Morgause, and although the Prince couldn’t possibly be remembering the first of those incidents he could have sworn that Arthur was also thinking about those times Merlin had affronted his greater fear as his features tightened with unreadable emotion.
“But the real reason I’m…uncomfortable around water is that when I was younger Will and I disobeyed our mothers and went to play near the deepest parts of the river - to make a long story short, I fell in the water and I would have drowned if it hadn’t been for Will. It was…” He interrupted himself once more, words failing him as he tried to describe the water rushing in his mouth and nose in an uninterrupted flow, his panic as he simply didn’t manage to take another breath and his ultimate, chilling certainty that he was going to die there…As his voice trailed off the Prince nodded, watching him with strangely sombre eyes before he suddenly stood up, going to stand near his cupboard and silently picking up his clothes.
The same day, as they were walking near the lake after slewing another dangerous creature at Uther’s request, Merlin noticed Arthur kept on throwing him contemplative glances. He tensed a bit, wondering if the potion had finally worn off and the Prince was wondering why they had taken the scenic route to the castle, which he had himself proposed to spend more time with his servant and which had suited Merlin just fine as it meant he didn’t have to go back to his duties immediately. The turn his thoughts had taken explained why he certainly didn’t see it coming when his master steadily made them walk nearer and nearer to the water before brutally shoving him, making him fall into the lake’s shallow deeps.
Spluttering in indignation, Merlin got on his knees to give the Prince a piece of his mind, feeling a little hurt and betrayed - the water certainly wasn’t deep, but Arthur was playing on his fear all the same. He never got to protest, however, falling silent as he watched Arthur struggling to take off his chainmail and then paddling into the water to join him.
“Just what do you think you’re doing, Sire?”
Arthur’s lips twitched, but he answered seriously.
“Ridding you of an inconvenient phobia, Merlin. I can’t have my servant fainting at the thought of a little swim, can I? Especially considering the situations we always seem to end up in.”
“Oooh, so this is one of those let’s-all-face-our-fears days, right? And I suppose we’re going to visit a snake’s pit after this little swim?”
Arthur ignored his manservant’s sarcastic query, tugging at the brown-haired man’s sleeve instead and starting to lead him towards the centre of the water.
“Woah Arthur, what are you doing now? I agree it’s warm today, but if you really want to take a refreshing bath you only have to ask, there’s a perfectly serviceable bathtub in Camelot, which even has the definite advantage of not containing algae or slippery fishes.” Seeing his proposition wasn’t working, Merlin tried another track. “Hey, do you know you’re still not going in the right direction? The water actually is deeper where you’re going, Arthur. You know, if you’re really intent on practising your swimming that’s great, I’m very proud of you, but…” As he saw that the Prince just kept going and they were nearing the moment where he would lose foot, he really started to panic. “Arthur, stop it! Let me go! Please!”
Merlin would forever deny that he had emitted such an embarrassingly high-pitched yelp or that he had practically begged his master, but it did the trick. Hearing the real fear in his friend’s voice, Arthur stopped traipsing through the water and turned towards him.
“Come on Merlin, don’t be like that. I wouldn’t let you drown, would I?” Merlin opened his mouth to express just how unsure he was of this affirmation, especially after Arthur’s little trick earlier, but shut it as the Prince turned completely to gaze at him with serious blue eyes. “Just trust me, alright?”
How could he have refused such an earnest plea? Mutely, he took the hands Arthur was holding towards him, letting the Prince lead him willingly towards the lake’s deepest area and try to teach him how to actually swim instead of flailing his long limbs around.
Later he would silently acknowledge to himself that he did have a new self-confidence where water was concerned, would perhaps admit that he might even be the slightest bit thankful to Arthur for his swimming “lesson” this afternoon - but that certainly didn’t mean he had forgone his plans to sneak a non-poisonous snake in Arthur’s sleeping bag the next time they slept outside. It was just to do the Prince a favour, he reflected, smirking: it would be quite inconvenient for Arthur to freeze if they ever had to face a giant reptile while trying to protect Camelot after all.
***
The next day and the day after that they had little time to chat around breakfast as a delegation from King Odinor was due to arrive soon. If Merlin had understood Gwen’s explanations correctly it was the first time in ten years that such a thing happened, and Uther was hoping this would mean a strengthening of the shaky ties between Camelot and Tintagel. Basically, it meant all the servants in the castle were requisitioned to prepare the feast and thus were running around in a mindless panic. It really amazed Merlin to see just how much could get done this way, although he had the suspicion that it came from the multiplication of the helpers more than of any amelioration of their productivity.
All the same, by the time the delegation actually arrived all the stones in the castle had been made to shine, the stables had never been cleaner and a small bow had even been tied at each horse’s tail, which was really quite ridiculous when the horses in question were war stallions. Sadly, Merlin’s suggestion to Arthur that the nobles wear matching bows in their hair had only been answered by a stony glare and a “reminder” that the Hat of Doom was never really far.
He had shut up then, and was currently quite glad he had as Alynor, the King Odinor’s niece’s maid, was apparently finding him quite to his taste and flirting ostensibly. Feeling a bit awkward at first - it seemed that women were a lot bolder in Tintagel than in Camelot - he slowly began to relax enough to enjoy the attentions of the pretty maid and even to flirt a little in return, or at least to smile at her small jokes about her mistress. A strange sick feeling, however, soon made itself known by gnawing on his entrails; surprised, he recognized it as guilt when Gwen elbowed him in the ribs and gestured towards Arthur, who was waiting for his glass to be refilled and had evidently been doing so for a while. A bit ashamed of himself he was careful for the rest of the festivities this evening, waiting on Arthur with an attention and solicitousness which were, in all modesty, usually only found in the best servants; but the wrong had been done, and the Prince’s face never lost his frown.
A bit worried, Merlin still tried to act as if nothing had happened, keeping up an unceasing chatter as master and servant retired side by side to the Prince’s chambers. Arthur’s expression remained clouded over nonetheless, and his first action as he arrived in his room was to brutally shove the door closed with his right hand, effectively trapping Merlin against it.
“What was that about, Merlin?”
“Er, what was what about?”
Arthur wasn’t amused.
“Come on Arthur, by the way you’ve been reacting anyone would think I’d have committed a heinous crime! I forgot to fill up your drink once, big deal!”
Still not the right answer. Arthur’s face contorted briefly in a terrifying rage before he seemed to restrain himself, letting a huge sigh escape and take his fury with it. He then stepped a little closer to his manservant, leant down and pressed his lips against Merlin’s.
Oh. Oh. Of course. He should have realised the Prince wouldn’t see Alynor’s flirting as the harmless way of spending the time it was - wooing was always so serious among the nobles. He actually had quite a lot he could say about the mores of the wealthy concerning their strange mating rituals, but all other thoughts fled from his head as he came to realize that Arthur was kissing him, and he was pretty sure that there was something wrong with that fact, but he would have been hard-pressed to say what as shapely lips closed on his lower one, playful teeth nibbling a little on it before a tongue came to sooth the hurt. It was simply impossible to focus on anything else than the soft, deliciously warm appendage daringly invading his mouth, a slow conqueror meeting no resistance as it laid siege on Merlin’s palate, and the warlock could have sworn the man in front of him could do magic as well, because surely nothing else could have made all his nerves tingle at once like they did then. They kissed for an infinite and yet far too short time, mouths leaving each other only to meet again in a bittersweet union.
Eventually they separated, Arthur’s right arm around Merlin’s shoulders, his left hand tangled helplessly in raven locks, the younger man’s hands clasping each other desperately behind the Prince’s back.
Arthur’s head fell against the pale long neck offered to him and there he mouthed words; after the kisses that had seemed to Merlin to be a branding on both his soul and his body he was expecting his master to whisper that Merlin belonged to him; but what did fall from the Prince’s lips had nothing to do with ownership. “Merlin…I love you.” It was a breath, barely a whisper, soft and feathery against his skin. It was said in a broken voice, and yet with a certainty that made Merlin’s hands tremble. It was the most heart-breaking sound Merlin had ever heard.
Merlin’s mouth opened to take in a ragged breath, but closed again without him saying anything, because what could he say? What could he answer to his exigent master, to his closest friend, to this declaration of the drugged travesty of love the Gods had decided to mock him with?
***
So he escaped, ignoring the Prince calling after him, ignoring Gaius’ startled expression as he burst inside the room, falling into bed with his lips still tingling and his lungs playing tricks on him, stopping him from breathing in fully and keeping his heart from beating normally.
There he stared at the ceiling without blinking, stubbornly refusing to contemplate what his trouble meant, or the last ten minutes, or just about anything that wasn’t about how hot the nights could be in the summer or how unpleasant it felt to have his blanket stick to his skin. And more than anything, he refused to contemplate the fact that only knowing that, no matter how false it was, at least this new depth in a certain pair of blue eyes would still be there come morning allowed him to fall in Morpheus’ arms.
Of course, I was then that Gaius burst into his room at dawn, managing to look both completely exhausted and full of restless energy as he shook his charge awake.
“I’ve found it, Merlin! I’ve found the cure!”
Merlin would forever refuse to admit the plunge his heart took as he heard those fateful words, just as he would later endlessly deny that the wobble in his voice as he congratulated his mentor came from anything else than sleepiness - but the window in his room was closed, making it difficult for him to dismiss the moisture in his eyes as the mere result of a gust of wind.
Link to part II