Fic: The Truth Is You, 1/2 (Arthur/Merlin)
The Lady Angora was stroking her dinner fork as she went on and on about how lovely Camelot was in spring, and Arthur was at a juncture so desperate that he fleetingly contemplated impaling himself on said fork. The feast to celebrate yet another treaty with yet another kingdom that Arthur was having a difficult time remembering the name of was dwindling down. The candles lighting the banquet hall were stuttering sleepily in their brackets. His father was discussing some serious matter in the corner of the room, his earlier joviality gone for the evening. Arthur had sent Merlin away at least an hour ago, intending on following him right away, but Lady Angora had slipped into the seat next to him and good grief, did she know his number. It would be rude to excuse himself from a conversation with a royal guest.
He would usually resolve these situations by yawning loudly to hint that it was getting late, but after several polite yawns and then one extremely large yawn that strained his mouth, she was still going on and on, convinced that he was as enamored with her as she was with him. He couldn’t even be entirely angry with her, because he had been interested in her until about an hour ago, right until this wretched conversation. He had talked with her most of the evening; one would imagine that this was good enough for any woman. But now it was late and Merlin had probably wandered off to his own rooms and Arthur hadn’t gotten the chance to properly make fun of that silly hat all evening and now he would have to put himself to bed and bathe in tepid water. It was time for drastic measures.
Arthur was used to lying to women. It was an unsavory trait, granted, but it was also a survival tactic. Every noblewoman eligible for betrothal had tried their very best to seduce Arthur ever since he was old enough to know what sex was (and even younger than that, dear god.) To avoid their attentions and escape unscathed, Arthur had come up with many lies that were not wholly lies. Arthur had learned long ago from his father that the best lies were the ones that held half truths. He therefore hatched an escape plan.
“Lady Angora, it pleases me that you enjoy Camelot,” he began, and he was pleased; Camelot was his heart. Lady Angora beamed, most likely picturing herself as queen of the castle at that very moment. He was sure that most noblewomen, despite what Morgana said, had their very own Camelot castle doll houses and had dreamt of marrying him since they were still wearing pigtails. “If you would like, we could perhaps go early tomorrow and I can take you on a tour of the immediate countryside.”
“That would be most gracious of you, Sire. We must turn in early, then.”
“Quite right,” Arthur agreed, slyly kissing her hand as he rose from the table. Tomorrow morning he had training with two new knights and his father had only informed him a few hours ago. He would simply go to practice and then apologize to her that afternoon, when she was scheduled to leave. After all, training was one of his royal duties and nothing comes before that. Or at least, not traditionally, but she did not need to know that detail.
When he arrived at his chamber, Merlin was still there, having fallen asleep in a chair by the fire. By the time he woke Merlin, teased him about the hat, talked him out of destroying the hat as he held it threateningly over the fireplace, and then bullied Merlin into fetching him more firewood, Arthur was entirely pleased with his brilliance and how lovely his life was at the moment.
*
The next day he went to training and had a roaring good time with his fellow knights. It was less practice than it was a chance to share sordid stories about last night’s banquet and when Arthur came across Lady Angora in the hall afterwards, he was still in a jovial mood and was fully planning on speaking to her good naturedly about her next visit. He slowed his steps, however, when he saw that she wore a stony expression. Oh right, he lied about this morning.
“I am terribly sorry, my lady. My father sprung practice on the knights at an early hour this morning.”
Lady Angora, unnervingly, said not a word. Instead, she shook her head slightly, like she felt sorry for him, turned around, and left. Well, if she was going to get in a tizzy about this, that was her right and not his problem.
He was a bit chagrined to find out that his father had invited his guests to stay for a few more days, but at least he knew that even if he had been rude, he at least wasn’t going to have to endure any more lengthy conversations from Lady Angora. He was cheered by this thought all through supper and into the evening. Merlin was late coming to his bedchambers, but Arthur was in so good a mood that all he said was a derisive, “Must be nice to have a job where you can come and go as you please, I’m sure all the servants in the castle do their jobs whenever they like” and began sharing some of the sordid stories that the knights had told him this morning, enjoying the way the tips of Merlin’s ears would redden.
“When should I come back in the morning?” Merlin asked as Arthur pulled back his bedcovers to lie down for the night.
“At first light,” Arthur answered.
“Why must I always be here so early in the morning?”
“Because you make rising at an ungodly hour more bearable,” Arthur said without thinking. Merlin smiled in an insidiously happy way, and Arthur scowled because Merlin clearly had misunderstood him and he needed to qualify. “Though you are a pitiful servant and I certainly could do better for myself.”
“Could you?” Merlin asked, sort of sarcastically but still with that dead chuffed smile.
“No.” Arthur was taken aback, fairly sure that he hadn’t meant to say that. He must be more tired than he thought.
“Are you all right, sire?” Merlin asked, eyes narrowing in worried consideration.
“I don’t know,” he answered, shakily. Merlin checked his forehead for fever and went to secure him a glass of water for the night. He only fell asleep when Merlin finished quietly doing his chores and snuffed out the candles.
*
When he woke the next morning, Merlin had breakfast set out for him. Arthur was so surprised and pleased that his servant was actually punctual and efficient that he only bickered a little as Merlin force-fed him a vial of a brackish liquid, care of Gaius.
“Shall I muck out your stables today, my Lord?” Merlin asked, not sounding pleased at all with the thought of doing it. Arthur smiled, fully intending to string Merlin along for a while with the notion that Merlin was to clean all the royal stables.
Instead, he said, “No. You end up smelling like them and then I don’t see you all day.” His mouth instantly halted its smiling and instead simply fell open, just as much at a loss on what to do as its owner was. Merlin, for his part, was perplexed.
“I thought that not seeing me would be a plus.”
Arthur rallied himself, even if he felt like panicking. “It depends on my mood. In fact, it would be highly neglectful of me to forgo my stables, especially with honored guests present. You should go muck those out, but first you need to do my laundry, polish my armor, walk my dogs, and scrub the floors.”
Merlin’s confusion was replaced with thinly veiled anger and, naturally, he banged insolently out of the room. Arthur felt a bit better.
*
The day only got stranger. For some reason he kept letting things slip, like when Gwen had asked him if he was all right at supper. He had told her that he was annoyed that the cooks didn’t bother to peel the potatoes before mashing them. It wasn’t an overtly huge disclosure, but it was not something he would normally just speak of to a servant lest it got around to the cook and Arthur’s food was spat in or worse
He avoided Morgana like the plague, because whatever was going on with him today, he certainly didn’t want her sticking her nose into his business. He narrowly missed running into Gaius, who would probably sniff out discord in Arthur’s behavior in a matter of seconds. The last thing he needed was that eyebrow, stretched looming and condescending down at Arthur, inexplicably so, since Arthur has been taller than Gaius for years now. When Arthur arrived safely in his room for lunch, Merlin was on his hands and knees, scrubbing the floor, his trousers soaked because he most likely had spilled soapy water all over himself. Arthur sat and slurped at the fresh stew, enjoying a rush of dark pleasure as he watched Merlin laboring and ignoring Arthur for all he was worth.
Until a servant arrived and informed him that the king wished to see him immediately. Arthur pulled Merlin up and ordered him to go as well.
“But it’s going to take me forever to finish everything as it is! Why do you need me to come?”
“Because I sure as hell don’t want to face my father alone today,” he blurted out angrily. His mouth snapped shut and he could almost feel all the blood drain from his face. Merlin almost looked scared.
“Sire, I’m sure if you sent a servant to the king and told him you were unwell…”
“I am perfectly fine and I’m not unwell.”
“Arthur, you wouldn’t back down from facing an undead knight.”
“I’m not intending to back down. Just because I don’t wish to see someone doesn’t mean that I won’t.”
He pulled on his dirtiest pair of boots and made sure to leave dirt clods over the parts of the floor Merlin had just cleaned before leaving.
*
His father was in a fine mood.
“You do realise that we have important guests in this castle.”
“Of course.”
“And that one of them is a marriage prospect.”
“If you are referring to the Lady Angora, we have spent time together.”
“The Lady Angora and Lord Fabrian of Earsinys are potential allies for Camelot. A marriage between you and the Lady Angora would ensure a victory over Mercia, who are still bitter over their apparent ill treatment the last time they tried to make an alliance with Camelot.”
Arthur remembered. He supposed being invited as a guest of peace in a foreign kingdom and then mistakenly having all of your party thrown into the dungeons for a couple of days would make one quite bitter. But Arthur could hardly give a damn about all that. Bayard was still a boring louse, and Arthur still suspected that he had been in alliance with the sorceress who poisoned Merlin.
“I am aware as to my duty, Father.”
“Then why have I heard talk of Lady Angora shutting herself in her room and not wishing to speak to anyone?”
“Most likely because I lied to her, and now she’s in a right temper,” Arthur responded, crossing his arms defiantly. Uther’s eyes narrowed.
“Do you not think of your duty to this kingdom?”
“Always.”
“Then why do you insist on treating our guests with such ill respect if your aim is to better your kingdom?”
“Because I am tired of being treating like a prize cow.” Arthur bit his lip, horrified that this had come out. Uther glowered at his son, having gone quiet and dangerous, a stern lecture imminent.
“Sire,” Merlin butted in, and Arthur wanted to strangle the idiot because didn’t he ever learn? “Arthur’s not feeling well, I think he needs to lie down for a bit…”
“How dare you tell me what my son needs? Guards!” Two guards materialized and grabbed Merlin’s arms. Arthur’s mind worked fast.
“Father, we have a food shortage, surely the stocks are a little too much.”
“You’re right. Send him to the dungeons.” The guards whisked Merlin away, the tall wooden doors shutting with finality behind them. “And you,” he said, pointing a gloved finger at Arthur. “Will attend to your duties and apologize to Lady Angora.”
“I’ll apologize, but let me handle my own servant.”
“I can see how well your handling has worked thus far. You’re too soft on the boy.”
“I’m not soft on anything,” Arthur said, indignant.
“He’ll only be in there overnight, and you can have other servants pick up the slack. Why get in an upset over it?”
“Because I hate the way you speak to him.”
And as his father turned various shades of red and purple, Arthur knew that he was well and truly cursed.
*
The depressing upshot of it all was that his father now believed Arthur to have a mental affliction, thus Merlin was released because he at least had told the king the truth about Arthur needing a lie down. Arthur vindictively sent Merlin to muck out the stables, handling his servant properly, and then sequestered himself in his room with orders to all servants not to intrude on his privacy. Of course, this peace lasted only an hour, broken by Morgana slamming into his room, face drawn and furious like a cat who had just clawed its way out of a bathtub after being thrown in.
“You are a silly little boy with absolutely no heart,” she greeted, gripping the edges of his table and leveling a glare at where he was seated.
“What have I done this time?”
“Gwen and I arrived just after dark after a lovely day in the orchard,” Morgana said, as if she was telling Arthur a wonderful fairy tale she had just heard. Then she bit out, “Imagine our surprise when we encountered Merlin in the stables, cleaning them in the dark.”
“Well, it’s nice to know that he’s following orders for once.”
Morgana looked murderous. He was glad that he hadn’t ordered dinner yet, because surely there would have been a knife in her clutches at this point. “Then I talked with him and it turns out that not only are you making him muck out your stables at night, but that you got him thrown in the dungeons earlier today.”
“He got himself thrown in the dungeons. Besides, he was only there for about half an hour.”
“Half an hour in which he was jailed with four prostitutes and three thieves, one of which tried to convince him to hide some stolen jewelry in his pants because the guards would likely not search the servant of the prince.”
“If it’s any consolation, I’m sure he knew that the palace guards have no problem rustling around in his privates for stolen goods,” he assured her, standing up to avoid being talked down to like a child and drinking from his goblet.
“And speaking of privates, he was also molested by one of the prostitutes.”
“We should all be so lucky, and for free, even.”
“She was fifty and had a moustache!”
“Well, no such thing as a free lunch, then.”
“You are a sniveling brat who wouldn’t just attend to his own health and have a lie down. Future king indeed. Can’t even stand on his own, doing whatever his daddy commands.”
Arthur bristled, his fingers nearly turning white from the tight grip he had on his goblet. “It was me who managed to get Merlin out of the dungeons with a slap on the wrist and it was Merlin who couldn’t stand there and shut up in front of the king.”
“He stood up for you!” she all but bellowed. “The least you could do was stand up for him. Do you not think of him at all?”
“I think about him all the time!” he shouted, slamming his goblet back onto the table. Morgana was shocked into silence and Arthur winced, realising how that had just sounded. He ground his teeth and turned toward the window. “I told my father that I didn’t like how he treated Merlin. There, are you satisfied? Want to run off and talk more with Merlin behind my back and then come back and cast more aspersions on my character?”
He waited a while, expecting her to start yelling again or worse, speak softly to him, but when he turned around to face her, she had left.
*
Merlin appeared some time later, smelling to high heavens and looking as if he too wanted to murder Arthur. Arthur stopped him from gathering the unfinished laundry and told him to sit despite this. Merlin did so, angry and wary.
“Something’s wrong with me,” Arthur began, staring at the fire and trying not to pace as he had been doing since Morgana left.
“I’ve been telling you that since I met you,” Merlin quipped, set on being insufferable all evening.
“I mean, something is not right. I think I’m cursed.”
Merlin’s anger and resentment took a backseat to reluctant concern. “Cursed how?”
“I don’t really know. I just keep…telling the truth,” he admitted.
“You have to tell the truth?”
“Not all the time. I can still lie, but sometimes…I tell the truth.”
“Right. That makes very little sense, Arthur,” Merlin said, though he sounded as if he was still willing to be convinced.
“Things just keep slipping out, I don’t know how it works.”
“Right, tell me a lie. Something obvious.”
“All right. I’m a girl.”
Merlin raised both eyebrows in astonishment. “You really are telling the truth.”
Arthur glared at him.
Merlin smirked and said, “You walked right into that one, mate.”
“Shall I prove that I’m not a girl?”
“If you feel that insecure, then by all means.”
“Let’s try another lie. I am not the prince of Camelot.”
Merlin nodded. “Definitely a lie, since the gods know that you’re a spoiled elitist brat.”
Arthur gave Merlin a dangerous look. “You’re being extra insubordinate tonight.”
“I think my manners got lost somewhere in all that horse shit I waded in the past hour. Anyway, so you can lie. I don’t see the cause for concern.”
“I told you, sometimes I tell the truth.”
“Maybe you have a mental affliction,” Merlin suggested, loftily.
“First you call me a spoiled brat and now you’re insinuating that I am insane. Why did I convince my father that keeping you in prison wasn’t a wonderful idea?”
Merlin fidgeted a little, turning serious. “I don’t know. Why did you?”
“You didn’t deserve it.” Arthur’s eyes widened in realisation. “I tell the truth when I’m asked a question.”
“Oh.” Merlin said.
“Oh?”
“Are you sure?”
“Very sure.”
Merlin smiled slowly and terrifyingly and Arthur remembered that Merlin was presumably still vexed with him. “What were you really doing last week when you told me that you were on patrol?”
“I was lazing about in a meadow. Damn it, Merlin!” Merlin had the completely suicidal gall to laugh in his face. “No more questions from you!”
“Have you ever worn women’s clothes?”
“Yes.” Arthur felt his face heat up and Merlin looked ready to burst a blood vessel from laughing at the crown prince of Camelot. “I was eight and it was all Morgana’s fault!”
Merlin eventually subsided into quiet choking giggles the longer Arthur glared at him. “I think this is the best thing that’s ever happened to me.”
“You will ask no more questions.”
“Oh come on, I’m sure it can’t get any worse than admitting to wearing women’s clothes,” Merlin said, positively giddy. Arthur let some of his discomfort show on his face.
“How would you feel if you were unable to lie? If every secret you had was in danger of being said aloud?”
The laughter was gone from Merlin’s face and Arthur could see that the seriousness of his situation had hit home. Arthur briefly wondered what dark secrets Merlin could possibly hold, amusing himself with the imagined scenario of Merlin confessing that he got a rise out of being put in the stocks.
“Sorry. No more questions, sire.” Arthur nodded in satisfaction, remembering for a second why he never had the heart to truly sack Merlin. “We have to see Gaius, he may be able to help.”
Arthur nodded and retrieved his coat.
*
“This is no doubt a result of sorcery,” Gaius told them solemnly after they told him the problem. Arthur fought the desire to roll his eyes. Of course it was bloody sorcery.
“Can anything be done about it?” Arthur asked, glossing over this obvious fact.
“I’m afraid that this particular kind of sorcery is a spell of vengeance and only the person who cast it can tell you how to end it. There is an old tale of a counselor of a great kingdom who had this spell placed on him, forcing him to reveal all the secrets of the kingdom. Whoever ensorcelled you may be a traitor or perhaps our guests are not here for strictly diplomatic reasons.”
Arthur’s attention pricked at that one and then he felt like an even bigger idiot than Merlin when he figured it out.
“The Lady Angora gave me a funny look the other day.”
Gaius looked doubtful. “That’s not strictly against the law, sire.”
“But she shook her head at me because I had lied to get out of spending time with her.”
”I always knew the prat in you would get into this kind of trouble,” Merlin piped up, shooting Arthur a look of long suffering. Arthur sometimes wondered if he could possibly get Merlin a manservant who was shit, so that Merlin could appreciate how wonderful Arthur was for not sacking him at the end of each day.
“It wasn’t a complete lie. I did have to train two knights that morning.”
“I can bet good money that you asked to spend time with her, knowing that you had to train in the morning so that you could get out of seeing her and still be polite.”
“Merlin, do shut up.”
Merlin subsided with a knowing grin and a shake of his head.
“The fact remains that this is probably her form of vengeance.” Gaius said. “Perhaps the king should be informed.”
“No, I’ll remedy this mess,” Arthur said, moving toward the door.
“Where are you going?” Merlin asked.
“Lady Angora’s rooms and that was a question.”
“I’m sorry, but I kind of figured that it was a rhetorical question. I’m coming with you.”
“No, you will stay here in case she tries anything.”
“That’s why I’m coming with you!”
“And how could you possibly help? Wave your arms at her? Fuss her to death?”
“She’s a noblewoman and it’s late. If you go by yourself and someone sees you, they’ll tell your father and then you’ll have to tell him the truth.” Arthur grumbled only a little bit before leaving for the guest rooms, Merlin in tow.
*
Turns out that Arthur didn’t have to suffer the indignity of knocking on her door. They found her gazing out of a window halfway there.
“Lady Angora,” Arthur announced jovially, a hint of steel underlying it.
“Prince Arthur,” she said equably, turning away from the window and facing them.
“We know what you did,” Merlin piped up from behind him, and Arthur forced himself not to roll his eyes. Honestly, it was like a mouse threatening a cat.
“You will lift this curse or I will have your head,” Arthur commanded, drawing his sword in one smooth movement.
“You are charming, aren’t you Arthur?” she asked.
“I am extremely charming,” Arthur immediately responded. Merlin made a pained sound and he swore he could hear him mumble, “Of course that would be the honest truth.” Arthur magnanimously chose to ignore him. Lady Angora walked a bit closer, strangely calm for someone who was at the business end of a sword.
“This is not a curse, Arthur Pendragon,” she intoned, and what was it with wizards doing that whole ‘I am a big bad sorcerer so kneel before me’ act? He was certain he could identify a sorcerer based on that alone. “It is a gift.”
“Yes, well, you can have the gift back,”
“The curse can only be lifted by you.”
Great. One of those sorcerers. Honestly, it wasn’t like he had been killing any unicorns lately. Perhaps he had inadvertently stepped on a fairie this time.
“And I suppose the next thing you’re going to tell me is that I will be tested?”
“The cure is simple. People lie for many reasons. Those who lie the most have the greatest need to find truths hidden even from themselves.” She took a step closer, chest grazing the tip of Arthur’s held sword. “You could have just told me the truth, but you felt the need to lie anyway. You are a practised liar and for the curse to lift, you will need to discover what it is that you lie about the most. Even to yourself.”
Arthur just couldn’t believe how insane sorcerers were. “What kind of stupid curse is that? How am I to know what I lie about the most?”
“That is for you alone to discover.”
Arthur narrowed his eyes. “You aren’t actually related to anyone called Anhora, are you?”
She shook her head in confusion, and he shouldered more humiliation as he heard Merlin stifle a snigger.
“You may as well put the sword down. You won’t kill me, will you?”
“No,” he hissed, sheathing his sword irritably. Fucking truth spells. “But rest assured that I won’t hesitate if I find that you escape this castle before the spell is lifted. I would never trust the word of a sorcerer.”
She raised an eyebrow, and he wondered if he shouldn’t just have her executed out of spite. “You’ve got a lot to think about. I’ll retire for the night.”
*
When Arthur returned to his chambers, he placed his hands on either end of the fireplace and leaned against it.
“This might not be too difficult,” Merlin said lightly, and Arthur heard the clatter of Merlin collecting his dishes.
“What are you blithering on about?”
“Well, you have to tell the truth. All you have to do is have someone ask you what your biggest lie is.”
Arthur raised his head a little, grudgingly impressed. Merlin, when not being a complete idiot, was sometimes quite clever. Not that he’d tell Merlin that unless he was about to drink poison and die.
“The only problem is, I have to be asked.”
“…right,” Merlin drawled, like Arthur really did have a mental affliction.
Arthur matched his tone. “Meaning that whoever asks will know my greatest lie. Think of the hold they would have over me.”
Merlin twigged on, frowning deeply. “Well, who do you trust? There’s Morgana, you’ve known each other forever.”
“And give that brazen hussy possibly asinine information with which to torment me?”
“Well, Gwen would keep your secret,” Merlin next suggested. Arthur hesitated on that one, because while it was true that Guinevere would keep his secret, he felt highly uncomfortable with the idea of it. Guinevere represented the people of Camelot, and he couldn’t stomach the possibility of disappointing his people.
“No,” he said.
“Okay then, Gaius. He’s a physician, he’s sworn to secrecy and the king trusts him.”
“Merlin, just ask me.”
“Me?” Merlin asked, sounding shocked.
“Yes. As my manservant, you have to keep my confidences. In addition, you have proven to be loyal.” He didn’t say, I trust you. Merlin seemed to hear it anyway, and was looking at Arthur with a decidedly soppy expression that Arthur wanted gone this instant. “Ask and get it over with.”
“All right,” Merlin said walking over to Arthur and standing in front of him, a serious look on his face. “Arthur, what is your biggest secret?”
“I don’t know.” Arthur scowled. “I suppose it’s not as simple as it looks.”
Part 2