[Fic] Post hoc, ergo propter hoc (‘After this, therefore because of this.’) - derryere

[solstice_mods]

[ Part I] | [ Part II] | [ Part III] | [ Part IV]



(Part V)

Merlin came to at the sound of a muffled crash and blinked open his eyes. The room he’d appeared in was almost pitch dark, but there was enough dim starlight coming through the windows that he could discern he was kneeling in a pile of books, their covers open and their pages blown askew, and that something smelled like the leftover remains of dinner. Merlin stood slowly, his knees wobbling as he reached out to brace his hand on a nearby shelf, and swallowed back the urge to vomit all over his shoes. He wasn’t consciously aware of invoking a spell, but around the room’s candles began to light their wicks, and Merlin saw with relief that he had successfully returned to the tower.

The candles’ light also revealed that there was a rather impressive mess on the floor, as his arrival had blown most of the books off his shelves and overturned his chairs and scattered the few scrolls not weighted down on his table. Merlin stumbled his way to one of the closer windows and opened the casement for when Archimedes returned, and turned a weary look on the mess around his feet. He should clean up, and at least stay awake until Arthur returned to the castle, just to make sure that he encountered no further trouble. But dawn’s approach had already shifted the sky from jet black to a deeper blue, and Merlin was feeling overcome by the sheer amounts of magic he’d used that night, more than he’d done in months and not since being in battle. He wrestled himself out of his cloak and tossed it to the floor, the color shimmering back from black to forest green as it fell from his body, and without preamble (and still feeling slightly nauseated) stumbled straight for his bed to collapse face down on the mattress. Sleep was all he wanted now. Everything else could wait until morning.

*~*~*

Merlin didn’t see Arthur again for nearly a week. Well, that was a lie. Everyone had heard about the Prince’s heroic return, how he’d fought his way out of his captors’ clutches, stolen a horse and fled into the night; how he’d startled an entire contingent of guards on patrol in the woods searching for the very same kidnappers that had taken him; and how he’d walked into Uther’s throne room at dawn the same morning and fainted dead away at the King’s feet (that last one was an exclusive bit of castle gossip that even Merlin had had a hard time coercing out of one of the guards present at the time). Arthur’s astounding return was quickly turning into the stuff of legends, and it had been all the castle and lower town could talk about for days. Merlin had resolved to stay away from most of it (except for the bit about Arthur fainting, because that was gold), because after all these years it still managed to sting, just the tiniest bit, that he wasn’t getting the credit for his deeds that he properly deserved.

Never mind that Uther’s definition of proper credit would be Merlin’s head on a chopping block and a feast held afterwards to celebrate the death of one more sorcerer. At least he’d be getting recognized for something.

Merlin had gone to see Gaius the day after Arthur’s return, expecting a verbal lashing for his appalling behavior, but instead found himself on the receiving end of Gaius’ heartfelt thanks for saving Arthur’s life. Which had not been expected after he’d basically run out on Gaius the night of the attack, but apparently returning a Prince sound and whole was on the order of getting a bit of gratitude from the old man. And then Gaius had started asking questions.

"Have you any idea who they were, Merlin?"

"Well…" Merlin had hedged, because he’d thought about it some on his way to rescuing Arthur, and thinking of them as common thugs still wasn’t sitting right with him. "When I found them they were heading toward Camelot’s western border with Wessex. I don’t know if it’s related, but I thought it was weird how they were able to get Arthur from what basically amounts to Camelot’s doorstep. The royal family’s used those woods for years for hunting precisely because they’re so close to the city and the roads are well traveled and well protected. People would have heard about it sooner if a group of bandits were causing trouble in the area."

"My thoughts exactly," Gaius had agreed. "Did you hear anything when you found them? A part of their plan? Or discover anything significant among their possessions?"

And that’s when Merlin had been forced to confess the whole messy incident, including the fact that he’d destroyed almost everything in the camp (except for the horses), and it wasn’t long before the reprimands had come pouring out like he’d never been lauded as a hero just minutes earlier. In the end, Gaius had concluded that he was a compulsive idiot that could never think straight when it came to Arthur, and that he possessed no talent whatsoever in reconnaissance or determining what should be considered valuable information. And then Merlin had sealed his doom by voicing the one question he’d never thought to ask until then.

"Gaius, I’ve been wondering. Arthur never mentioned being kidnapped as a child in my time, but how could things happen that differently when I’ve only been here for a few months and I’ve done practically nothing?"

"Would Arthur have told you if he was?" Gaius had asked knowingly. "You were a servant to him for two years, but sharing something of that nature would probably be irrelevant in your situation. Perhaps he didn’t wish to speak of it."

"But if that’s so, then who rescued him? I’m certain I wasn’t there that time around."

And that’s when Gaius had gotten that look on his face that usually made Merlin want to crawl under the nearest table and ignore the outside world for a while. "Merlin. Was Camelot ever at war with any of the neighboring kingdoms in your time?"

"Um, I think so? It was before I got there, so what’s that got to do with anything?"

"Think, Merlin, please."

"Okay, well. They were always signing peace treaties and trying to unite the kingdoms to stop the fighting while I was at court. I don’t know which ones they’d been at war with in the past, though Arthur did like to brag a lot about his experience on the field. He said he was pretty young the first time he led his father’s troops into battle, but I always thought he was full of himself."

"Would it be possible - consider this with me for a moment - that Arthur was, indeed, kidnapped by a group working for King Odin. If you had not intervened and rescued him, then most likely they would have been well across the border by the time Camelot’s troops discovered their whereabouts, and Uther would have had no choice but to pay the ransom or go to war to get his son back."

"But even if he’d paid the ransom," Merlin had said, picking up on the thread. "Uther wouldn’t have just let it go. He’d be furious. And Arthur would have been too; they’d really treated him horribly. They would have gone to war for sure."

"Yes, Merlin. Which means, even though you weren’t aware of it, you have already drastically changed the course of history for this kingdom. You may have stopped a potential war, but we are ill equipped to guess what the repercussions might be from this. Wessex could try again, or invent a whole new tactic intended to weaken Camelot. You will have to be extra vigilant."

"Bugger," Merlin had said, and Gaius had agreed wholeheartedly.

Merlin had learned afterwards that Arthur was being confined to his bed, and by proxy his room, for several days while his wounds healed and he gathered his strength. Merlin wisely did not mention that Arthur had been perfectly capable of swinging a sword at his head immediately upon being rescued, but he did take credit when Gaius began commenting aloud how quickly Arthur’s injuries seemed to be on the mend. There were some things that he simply refused to let Arthur take the credit for.

Merlin had also offered to deliver Gaius’ next round of healing potion to Arthur’s room that afternoon, and while at his chambers had managed to get one peek inside while Johnson had held the door open and accepted the medicine. Arthur had been awake but seated near his bed by the window, his arm wrapped in a sling and looking out the beveled glass at something intangibly beyond, and he hadn’t turned round once for the few seconds Merlin stood in the doorway. Merlin chose not to think about the faraway look on the Prince’s face or what may have been the cause to put it there, even though it sparked a nervous flutter of something in his gut. All he could do was tell Johnson to pass along that he would not be giving Arthur lessons for the week. So really, he didn’t get to see Arthur at all.

It wasn’t that Merlin was worried of being found out, because he was fairly certain that his identity still remained unknown (though he did keep a vigilant ear for the sound of running footsteps that might signal the approach of the guard intent on carting him off to the dungeons, because it never hurt to be a bit paranoid), but that he hated the simple fact of not knowing what to do next. The story that Arthur had spun of his own brave escape from his kidnappers seemed to have held, and Merlin heard nothing of a sorcerer being indicted by the Prince in his recounting, which surely would have sent Uther into an uproar. Arthur maintained his silence on the matter, and Merlin was at times half-tempted (half-seriously) to find a spell that would allow him a peek inside the Prince’s head to discover whether he was thinking of the events of his rescue at all. Arthur’s demonstration of silence could be nothing more than recompense for the life debt owed to the man that had saved him, or a sign of a deeper rebellion against Uther’s laws on magic. Merlin had no way of knowing for sure, but using the time he and Arthur would be spending apart to collect his own thoughts seemed like a good idea.

Merlin spotted Arthur on the practice field several times toward the week’s end, and Gaius never did anything but grumble when Merlin inquired about Arthur’s unexpected appearance out on the lawn. Merlin had always had the feeling that Arthur’s inability to obey the physician’s orders extended quite far back, and here was living proof of his suspicions, swinging a sword even while his arm was still bandaged. And maybe he was spending a lot of his time watching Arthur, trying to spot any signs of an impending urge to confess the truth, but he was most certainly not hovering, no matter what Gaius accused him of. It was simply in his best interests to make sure that Arthur wasn’t about to have a change of heart and decide that sorcerers were indeed a scourge that needed to be wiped out. Merlin had kind of gotten used to his new home and his bookshelves, and he would be very sorry to see them go when he packed up and fled for his life, because there was no way Gaius would let him stay in Camelot once the hunt began.

But Arthur continued to act surprisingly normal after the whole ordeal, even going so far as to bag a brace of rabbits for the kitchens a couple of days later (accompanied by a lethal contingent of guards no less, which made the success of the hunt even more amazing), and with how often he was appearing on the training fields and how faded the bruises and cuts on his face had become, people had stopped looking twice at him when he passed by.

Merlin dithered for several more days by avoiding Arthur, still unsure if there was a course of action to be taken, and if so, what that might be. Exposing Arthur to magic had been unintentional and in the end unexpectedly promising - but the act of deliberately broaching the topic of magic was unfortunately still the quickest way to make Merlin freeze up with terror. Too many years spent fearing the repercussions, too many times where things had gone wrong, too often hearing Arthur deny at every turn that magic was anything but the tool of liars and deceivers had hijacked Merlin’s morals with a disposition to lie that had become almost second nature. Merlin had watched himself over the years become more immune to the twinge of guilt that came with every lie he spun, until denial and half-truths and flat out falsehoods became the crutch he constantly fell back on and usually did so without a second thought. In essence, thanks to Gaius’ constant warnings and his own fears, he had transformed himself into the very sorcerer that Arthur had been born and raised to hate and mistrust. By the time the truth had come out, it had been too late to untangle the web of lies that had become the basis of their friendship. And it was one of Merlin’s biggest regrets.

In between brief periods of helpless indecision, Merlin was genuinely proud of his actions that night; being honest for the first time with Arthur had felt like an important step toward making amends for his past actions, even if it had been done under the cover of cloak and darkness. He had been able to speak to Arthur plainly for the first time, as two people who knew that each had power over the other’s life, and had in the end chosen to honor that knowledge by trusting the other. Arthur had demonstrated that trust by his actions thus far, and Merlin knew that he was now in a position to return that trust, to take it a step further and open Arthur’s eyes to world of magic and aid him in understanding its true nature. But the thought of a repeat of the consequences he’d lived through once already still had the power to stop him cold at times, and the power of a Prince’s hate was something Merlin did not wish to ever face again. He had realized too late the first time around that Arthur loved and lost as heavily as Uther did, if not more so.

Arthur had not approached him directly for more lessons during his convalescence, and Merlin had always made sure to go missing from his rooms whenever he thought he spotted the Prince making his way toward the western side of the castle. He kept up with occupying his favorite reading nooks during the day, usually by a large window that afforded the best view of the courtyard or the training fields, and attempted to squeeze copious amounts of information on Alexander the Great into his head between the momentary distractions that came whenever a blond head popped into view. It was only after Gaius chastised him for his odd behavior for the fifth (or sixth, or eighth) time that Merlin was forced to acknowledge that time would not stop for him while he struggled to make some kind of decision, and that he needed to grow a pair and simply face Arthur calmly and pretend like nothing had happened.

The situation got taken out of his hands one morning a few days later, when Merlin was rudely awaken by insistent knocking on his door, long after dawn but still early enough to be considered prime sleeping time, and since Arthur was usually at training until noon, Merlin thought nothing of it as he cast on his glamour and opened the door.

"Good morning, Merlin. I hope I’m not intruding?" Arthur asked, stepping past Merlin without waiting for an answer.

Merlin stared, only half awake and for a brief moment, utterly convinced he was still dreaming. "What?" he asked dumbly. "Um, what are you doing here?"

Arthur took one of the stools by the table and sat down with a sigh of the inconvenienced that needed to explain everything. "I’m here for my lessons of course, or have you forgotten why you’re being allowed to stay in the tower?"

"I thought it was because your father didn’t like me," Merlin said without thinking as he shut the tower door.

Arthur, luckily, only smirked. "But think of all the things you can do, so far away from anyone that will notice."

"Er, I suppose," Merlin agreed uncertainly. He stood by the door for a moment, hands swinging uselessly and not quite sure what he was supposed to be doing next. His bed covers still looked warm and inviting from across the room, but he had a feeling that crawling back under him would get him a pitcher of water poured over his head (it wouldn’t be the first time, either). The floor was cold against Merlin’s bare feet so he walked across the room to grab his boots from the foot of the bed, shrugging his robes on to ward off the morning chill before he joined Arthur at the table. The Prince was already pawing through a few of the books Merlin had left scattered about the night before, and Merlin could hardly bring himself to care that two of them near the edge of the table were on old magical rites using runes. He yawned deeply and wished for a cup of tea to take off the edge of sleep.

His eyes widened when he heard a soft clatter. Behind Arthur’s right shoulder his cup and kettle were hovering above the side table, and both items were floating in their direction in answer to his unconscious summons. Arthur’s head was bent over an open volume, oblivious to the noise and Merlin’s sudden, wide-eyed panic, and Merlin made a sharp motion in their direction to send them back. Both cup and kettle hesitated in mid-air, and Arthur looked up at Merlin, puzzled. Merlin quickly dropped his hand and propped it under his chin, smiling with what he hoped was a floating crockery? What floating crockery? look of complete innocence. The cup and kettle were slowly, somewhat reluctantly, heading back to their original place.

"Are you alright?" Arthur asked. He began to turn around to look in the direction Merlin had been gesturing.

"Fine! Thanks," Merlin said quickly, refocusing Arthur’s attention on him. "I’m just really tired. You’re here awfully early… did something happen at training?"

Arthur shrugged. "Nothing in particular. I felt like taking the morning off."

"Are your… how are your injuries?" Merlin asked, concerned.

"They’re fine, Merlin. When you are appointed court physician I will be happy to discuss them with you in intimate detail, but until then you’ll have to mind your own business like everyone else."

"Alright, no need to get testy," Merlin huffed. He yawned again. "Hmm, are you sure you want to do your lessons this early? I haven’t even had breakfast yet."

"It will be lunch soon enough," Arthur informed him, shutting one of the books and setting it aside to pick up another. He’d already found his wax tablet somewhere and was pressing a string of Latin text into the soft surface with his stylus.

"What are we even working on?" Merlin wondered aloud, tilting his head in an attempt to read one of the books Arthur had open.

"Plato’s Republic."

"No we’re not," Merlin said, confused. "I’ve never given you that to read."

"I know, I took it."

"You what? How? When?"

Arthur sighed and looked up. "I borrowed it from your collection last week. You weren’t here, the door was unlocked, I let myself in. Really, Merlin, you’ve been absent so much I thought you’d be grateful I’ve shown some initiative."

"But I always lock my door," Merlin protested sullenly, and he glanced at said object as if it had somehow been disloyal to him.

"I don’t see why it’s necessary. No one’s going to find anything worth stealing in your dusty books," Arthur said. He glanced up at Merlin and smirked. "Besides, you’re the same man that didn’t notice when he wore the same breeches three days straight and with the same suspicious stain on the groin. Surely you’ve also forgotten to lock the door a few times."

Merlin hated that his cheeks still flushed the tiniest bit at the memory. "You know perfectly well it was just tea. And no, I’m fairly certain I’ve always locked it." Magically, too, but Merlin wisely did not mention that part.

Arthur spread his hands and shrugged. "Then I have no other explanation. Really, Merlin. If you’re that worried I’ll nick your underthings again, I think you’re underestimating my frightful genius. I would never pull the same prank twice."

Merlin snorted in disbelief, which got him another smirk from the Prince. It still didn’t mean he wouldn’t be testing new spells for locking his door in the future.

Merlin took advantage of the next few minutes of silence to rub the crusty remains of sleep from the corners of his eyes and yawn several more times as the dregs of sleep slowly receded from his mind. Archimedes had not yet returned from his nighttime hunt and it would not be the first time the owl had chosen to sleep out in the forest, but Merlin found himself missing his friend’s familiar presence. They’d been nearly inseparable the first few days after Arthur’s rescue in the swamp and Merlin had fussed like a mother hen, checking for burns or missing feathers, and Archimedes had taken the treatment with mostly good grace; he seemed to understand that Merlin had been genuinely worried for his well being. They’d faced many foes and gone into battle many times together, but Merlin had never been comfortable seeing Archimedes place himself so close to danger where an errant arrow or an ignorant enemy might cut him down in the blink of an eye. Merlin had grown weary of seeing the people he cared for stolen from his life.

Arthur must have noticed Merlin staring wistfully at the empty perch in the corner. His words roused Merlin from his thoughts with a start. "Where’s Archimedes? Is he alright?" he asked.

"What? No, he’s fine." Merlin rubbed absently at his upper lip, feeling the coarse hair of his beard. He was starting to get tired of wearing the same itchy facial hair, and he’d shaved off his own stubble weeks ago just to feel the change more noticeably when he used the disguise, and now the extra hair was becoming annoying. "He probably just decided to sleep in the forest again. He doesn’t always come back."

"You probably snore too much for his tastes," Arthur grinned, and he laughed when Merlin shot him a glare.

"I do not snore. That’s an unfounded accusation."

Arthur continued to chuckle. "All old men snore. That’s probably the real reason my father put you out here, to keep you from waking the rest of the castle!"

"I do not snore and I am not ol-" Merlin caught himself and pressed his lips together. "Sire, you are getting distracted from your studies again."

"I am taking my studies quite seriously. You on the other hand have been sitting there half-asleep this entire time. What happened, Merlin, have a late night?" Arthur was sporting the kind of lewd smirk that Merlin was almost flabbergasted to see on his face when he looked so young. Arthur was barely old enough to lift a crossbow, let alone make impudent jokes! And yet Merlin still found himself starting to blush.

"I had nothing of the sort, and even if I did, it wouldn’t be any of your business!" he snapped, perhaps a bit too brusquely, judging by how quickly Arthur’s grin disappeared.

"I never figured you for a prude, professor," Arthur said mockingly.

Merlin chose to ignore the glib remark. "Did you have any questions about the text, sire?"

Arthur shook his head and went back to reading, so Merlin stood to make himself a pot of tea the old fashioned way. Which was not entirely accurate either, as Merlin concentrated pointedly on the kettle and heated the water inside with a silent look; sometimes he hated not having a stove or a fireplace in his rooms. The weather was growing colder by the day, and oftentimes Merlin’s reluctance to rise in the morning had a lot to do with how cold the air had grown in his chambers (leaving the window open for Archimedes did have it drawbacks at times) and Merlin being too sleepy to think up the proper words to heat the place without running the risk of setting himself on fire. Which had happened, once or twice. The sun was coming in through the eastern facing windows and Merlin felt the warmth on his backside, and it got him wondering just how hard it would be to find a spell that would conjure him a few plush rugs for his cold wood floors.

"Merlin." Merlin turned around to face Arthur. The Prince had put down both book and stylus and was now staring somewhere off in the middle distance of the room. "What village did you say you were from?"

"Ealdor," Merlin answered, sipping his cup of tea. "It’s just beyond the borders of Camelot, in Cendred’s kingdom."

"That’s East Anglia. They don’t ban the practice of magic there, do they?"

Merlin blinked in surprise. "No, I don’t think there are any laws against it. As far as I know, it’s the issue that’s preventing Cendred and Uther from signing a peace treaty. Neither one wants to bend to the other’s policies on magic. Was there… something you wished to know?"

Arthur hesitated before shaking his head. "No."

Merlin felt something inside of him bottom out, and he took another fortifying sip of the bitter brew. "Sire, if you don’t mind my saying: I consider myself to be a man of learning, and while in any kingdom I have to respect and follow the laws that are in practice, it does not mean that I cannot speak of things that… others might find to be unpleasant topics. I have seen many things in my life, things which some people might not understand, or have grown to fear, and I have always tried my best to put knowledge first. I do not like to promote ignorance, not if there is genuine curiosity. You must know that you can ask me anything, Arthur."

Merlin did not realize that his hand was trembling until he brought the cup to his mouth for another sip and felt the rim knock against his bottom lip. Arthur had swiveled around in his seat while Merlin had been speaking, and they were now sharing a pair of unreadable expressions. Merlin smiled tentatively, hoping that it came off as open and trustworthy rather than nervous and terrified. Arthur’s face gave nothing away, save that he seemed to be trying to see through Merlin straight to the wall behind him and had his right hand clenched hard over his knee.

After a heavy moment Arthur looked away. "I appreciate your offer. However… to speak of certain topics in Camelot is a punishable crime, and I would not wish to put you at risk."

"We are alone here, sire," Merlin pointed out. "You should not fear to speak your mind here. I am not a citizen of Camelot. For what small liberties that grants me, I would be glad to take them."

Arthur had begun to look slightly uncomfortable. "I hope you realize that what you are saying could be viewed as an act of treason."

"I am not loyal to Camelot, and Uther is not my king," Merlin said without hesitance, and he straightened his shoulders when Arthur’s hard gaze snapped back to him. "But neither do I have loyalty to Cendred. He has never been a part of my life, and I owe him no fealty for the protection he never gave my village. I am a man of academia and learning - the written word is my only sovereign. If this truth displeases you and is something that you do not wish to be burdened with, then I will speak no more of it, sire."

To Merlin’s surprise, he watched Arthur’s eyes skitter away from him and then back again, something warring and confused and desperate in their depths. It was the first real sign he’d seen that Arthur felt any indecision, and it was a relief to have that bit of hope returned to him.

"I am your friend, if you will trust me, Arthur," Merlin said softly.

"You would answer me honestly, if I were to ask you anything?" Arthur inquired carefully.

Merlin swallowed and shut his eyes slowly before opening them again. He was either signing his death warrant, or embarking on a path that would lead to a future he had no power to guess the outcome of. "Yes. I will always do my best to give you an honest answer, no matter what you may ask of me."

Arthur’s eyes widened and he nodded, something like relief and appreciation crossing his face. "I thank you for your council, and your trust in me. I will have to… think on what we have discussed."

"And you, sire?" Merlin had to ask. "If I were to ask you something?"

Arthur blinked in surprise, caught off guard by the question. "I… I would not mind. That is, you have shown trust in me, and I would be wrong not to do the same."

Merlin smiled wide. "Great! I did have one question, just my own idle curiosity, because the castle gossip is wholly unreliable: but how exactly did you escape from the men that kidnapped you? It must have been hard." The very first look of fleeting worry crossed Arthur’s face, and Merlin approached the table. "We have sworn to answer each other honestly. You can tell me anything, sire. Your words are safe within these walls."

Arthur looked down and laced his fingers together, gripping the length of the stylus between his palms. "There was a man," he began quietly. "I did not escape on my own, and in fact when he found me I was helpless as a lamb and tied up with a guard always at my back. He… he dispatched the bandits, and then led me to safety. He saved my life."

"How extraordinary," Merlin said, coming to sit down on the stool opposite from Arthur. His heart was hammering nervously just listening to Arthur confess the truth of his rescue. "What did he do? Sneak past the guard? How did you get away? And who was he?"

"I don’t know," Arthur admitted. "And sneaking was not necessary; he walked straight into the center of their camp. He… Merlin you must swear not to speak of this to anyone, ever!"

"I swear, sire," Merlin promised. "What did he do?"

"Killed them. All of them. He… was a sorcerer. I thought he had come there to kill me, like my father has always told me they would, but he killed all of the men and freed me. He took me back to Camelot, but we ran into some of my father’s men in the forest and he left to prevent his own capture. I had sworn not to speak of this, but… I…"

"You’ve been thinking about it," Merlin said knowingly, nodding. "To have lived through such an experience and to have no one to speak of it with, it must have been weighing heavily on your thoughts. Did he say why he did it? Was it coincidence and he happened along at the right time?"

"I don’t know, I don’t think so. He kept his face hidden and did not give me his name or tell me where he was from. He said he had come to rescue me, to return me to Camelot, nothing more." Merlin noticed that Arthur’s gaze had drifted past him while he’d spoken, and as he turned to follow the direction of his stare he saw it was resting on Archimedes’ empty perch next to his bed. Merlin felt a cold sweat break out across the back of his neck.

"Is something the matter?" he asked lightly.

"No," Arthur said, but he did not shift his eyes away immediately, and Merlin wondered with some trepidation whether certain details were falling into place. He had sworn to answer Arthur honestly, but the prospect of admitting the truth still twisted Merlin up inside with anxious knots.

"Have you ever met anyone else who had an owl?" Arthur asked after a pause.

Merlin’s heart rate kicked up considerably, and he swallowed heavily. "No, I haven’t," he answered honestly. "They’re not very common creatures to be domesticated."

"Even falconers do not usually use them," Arthur agreed, and his attention had come to rest on Merlin again. There was a curious, determined set around his mouth. "Would Archimedes listen to anyone else but you?"

"I don’t know. He’s a fairly independent creature, but also very loyal. He and I have known each other for many years, and I have slowly earned his trust over time. But as you can see he’s not here now, and I have not seen him these last few nights. He contents himself when he chooses to. You aren’t aiming to use him for a competition again are you?"

Arthur shook his head. "It’s nothing. Idle curiosity, as you’ve said."

Merlin watched Arthur duck his head and refocus on his tablet, but his hands did not move to retrieve his book or begin writing again. Merlin’s tea had gone cold by his elbow, and some reckless, childish part of him wondered what would happen if he heated the water again right now, in front of Arthur in broad daylight. Then truly all of their secrets would be laid bare between them, but still Merlin held back. He had given himself a loophole by agreeing to answer Arthur’s questions honestly, but if Arthur did not ask the correct ones, then the complete truth might be forever unknown. Merlin still wasn’t sure he was entirely ready for that sort of revelation, not when it might mean him leaving Camelot before he’d had a chance to know for sure that he’d changed the outcome of the future for good. The risk was simply too great.

Quite unexpectedly the sound of a brisk knock reverberated against Merlin’s door. Merlin rose to open it and found a page on the opposite side. "Yes?" he asked.

"Sir, King Uther has requested the presence of Prince Arthur."

Arthur was already standing next to the table when Merlin turned around, and they shared a glance that slowly morphed into a half-smile on the Prince’s face, an expression that Merlin had never thought to ever see directed at him - the look of a shared secret. Merlin cleared his throat past the unnamable lump that he lodged itself there.

"We shall continue your lessons tomorrow then, sire."

Arthur nodded, giving Merlin one last, lingering assessment, before he walked out and closed the door behind him.

*~*~*

Things did not change overnight between Merlin and Arthur, and in fact there was no drastic alteration to their daily lives despite some of Merlin’s lingering, unfounded fears that this course of action might not have been the wisest one to take. Arthur did not attempt to liberate every secret of his mentor even though Merlin knew first hand that Arthur suspected him of having quite a few, and Merlin was cautious about abusing the new privilege he’d been given and kept his questions mostly to the realm of unearthing Arthur’s true feelings on several topics. He avoided making any mention of the agreement between he and Arthur to Gaius, preferring instead to gauge the progress they made together on whether involving another person was a wise action to take. If things went badly, the less who knew, the better.

Arthur did not immediately jump on the topic of magic, and while Merlin had a feeling that the Prince was mostly unaware of the extent of his expertise, the more likely culprit that held his tongue was whatever lingering misgivings he had thanks to Uther’s quest to sow seeds of mistrust and fear. Merlin did his best to be less censorious during their conversations, often dropping tidbits and information that would catch Arthur’s attention and prompt further questioning from him. Arthur always seemed especially interested in the history and origins of magic when the discussions came about, and he wanted to learn of the people who practiced it, the cultures that embraced it, and of the conflicts that had arisen over the years which were either caused by or solved by magic. For whatever reason he never once asked Merlin about his father’s purge and what events had brought it about, but through Merlin’s history lessons he came to know that magic had existed and thrived throughout Albion and in Camelot up until roughly fourteen years earlier. Merlin chose to respect Arthur’s sensitivity to the subject, and did not press the matter.

Winter began to settle over Camelot, shortening the days and turning the nights bitterly cold, and one month before midwinter they had their first snow, a thin layer of powder settling over the course of an afternoon across the fields and the castle courtyard and blanketing all the roofs with the same blinding, pristine layer of white. Merlin had watched from his tower window as tiny figures moved about the courtyard, running through the drifts where snow had been pushed aside to clear a path from the main doors to the gates, and on into the evening hours snowball fights and other silly games continued to break out with peals of laughter that could be heard all the way up the tower. The snow had disappeared almost entirely by the next day, but it was like an affirmation of winter’s arrival and life in the castle began changing accordingly. The heavy tapestries were taken out of storage and hung in the halls, the rushes in the great hall were cleared and replaced with fresh straw, and great branches of oak and vines of holly began appearing across archways, perfuming the air with the smell of pine and winter berries.

Out of some misguided concern for Merlin’s health, Arthur had commissioned the castle’s mason to have a stove installed in the tower room after that first snowfall, which had also come on the eve of his third time complaining that Merlin’s rooms were too cold to live in, let alone carry a conversation without their teeth knocking together. Merlin hadn’t wanted to risk using a spell to heat the room while Arthur was present, and in the end he was grateful for at least the appearance of conventional heating, and Arthur spent a good week afterwards marveling at just how brilliant his idea had been. Arthur also seemed to think that his involvement in having the stove installed also gave him exclusive rights to it in Merlin’s absence, and Merlin would often return to his rooms to find Arthur heating cider or roasting chestnuts in the grate while he studied, and Merlin always forgot to check why the lock on his door never seemed to stop Arthur from entering. They had moved Merlin’s table closer to the hearth and would spend the time from sundown into late evening shelling the nuts and burning their fingers while discussing Arabic scholars and Roman deities and practicing their horrible attempts at broken Frankish. Arthur had discovered one of the new knights had spent a few years in Gaul, and he had taken to teaching Merlin whatever slurs and vulgar terms the man could remember from his limited vocabulary. It was the controllable laughter that signaled the end of those lessons more often than not.

Arthur had also been uncommonly considerate towards Archimedes since his return, and Merlin chose not to think too deeply on the implications of that. Arthur had not once asked him directly if he’d had any involvement in his rescue, and Merlin made no indications to the contrary. It still felt too soon, and Merlin didn’t know if that was a revelation that they would ever find a way to discuss without there being heated words and swords involved. Arthur trusted Merlin as his teacher and saw him as a harmless and dotty old man that preferred the company of his books - to discover that Merlin was a sorcerer that had lied and deceived to gain a place in Uther’s court sounded bad even to Merlin’s ears. With any luck, he could finish Arthur’s education and slip away quietly, perhaps reinvent a new identity for himself and remain in Camelot to watch the kingdom’s progress from afar. No doubt his younger self would arrive in Camelot the same way he had all those years ago, and then there would no longer be a necessity for Emrys in Arthur’s life. Just Merlin the manservant, and hopefully the key to a better future for all.

Yuletide came and went with twelve days of feasting and a blizzard that trapped most of the castle indoors for nearly a week and grounded daily life in Camelot to a halt. The days were filled with freezing temperatures and Merlin had resorted to using magic to melt the ice off the outside of his windows just to get them open, but there was a sense of gaiety and merrymaking thanks to Uther’s efforts to keep the castle’s attention on the festivities and not on the fierce snowstorms that battered almost daily at the castle walls. Arthur celebrated the mid-winter festival by giving Merlin a thick bearskin blanket for his bed and a new brass inkpot inlaid with onyx, and in return Merlin gave him a copy of Gerard’s Tables of Toledo and a dagger that he had charmed to never need sharpening. Merlin also parted with a rare transcription of Hippocrates just to see the stunned expression on Gaius’ face when he opened the book cover, and that night over warmed wine and by a roaring fire, he told Gaius the truth of what had happened to send him from Camelot and the events that had divided the kingdom and sent it into war. It was only the second time he and Gaius had shared a conversation so close to Merlin’s deepest shame, and in the end Gaius had taken Merlin into his arms and let him cry for all of the lives he had been unable to save and for the innocence he had lost in blood and fire.

Winter did not depart as quickly as Merlin would have liked, and by Imbolc he and Arthur were snapping at each other so badly they’d mutually agreed to pare down Arthur’s lessons to three times a week to lessen the risk of murder brought on by the forced confinement. Merlin found himself watching Archimedes come and go from the tower with a wistful longing for the outdoors again, and with his sudden abundance of free time he began experimenting with physical transformations. It distracted him to the point that even Arthur began commenting on the effect of winter and how it was driving Merlin to act more barmy than usual, which Merlin might have taken more offense toward if he’d been paying any attention. By the time the last snowflake had fallen and the frost had thawed from Camelot’s soil, Merlin had successfully turned himself into a cat, a pig, a rat, and a squirrel all on separate occasions, though he’d learned the hard way that changing into a rodent with Archimedes in the room was not the wisest of choices. It was quite amazing what being cooped up all winter long could do for a sorcerer with endless power and endless time on his hands.

With the first hint of spring, Arthur had returned to his grueling schedule of training daily with the knights, and Merlin felt as though he were witnessing another kind of magical transformation as the weeks passed and Arthur grew uncontrollably before his eyes. Arthur’s voice had been cracking embarrassingly for him for months, and it had finally settled into a deeper timbre that Merlin recognized with an extreme feeling of equal fondness and irritation, because somewhere along the way Arthur had discovered just how wonderful a drawl sounded with the new intonation, and had taken to using it to excess when speaking to Merlin or in the presence of his father’s councilors. Arthur also seemed to outgrow his own clothing with a speed that defied rationality and had the tailors splitting hairs when nothing seemed to last in his wardrobe for longer than a month, though the serving boys were all aflutter over the number of cast-offs that came their way, and Camelot’s waiting staff had never been dressed so fine. And in a completely unexpected move, Arthur dismissed his manservant and filled the old man’s pockets with a generous retirement sum for his loyal years spent in the Prince’s service. Arthur also seemed in no hurry to seek a replacement for the man, and Merlin realized with some disgruntlement that yes, Arthur was indeed capable of dressing himself, the prat.

The days grew warmer, life bloomed anew and filled the air with weed and pollen, the morning fog rolled in thick overnight and sometimes refused to burn off until high noon, rain came frequently and soaked the crop fields and promised another good harvest in the fall, and Merlin began taking walks with Arthur through the forests and farm pastures to further his lessons in horticulture and biology (but under guard thanks to Uther’s continuing paranoia, even though the kidnapping had taken place more than six months earlier). In between teaching Arthur linear equations using al-Khwärizmï's treatise on al-jabr (which Arthur repeatedly mispronounced as algebra), recounting the formation of the great Persian Empire and its government systems, and identifying basic medicinal plant life, Merlin made sure to keep Arthur’s mind open to all topics involving magic and the people who practiced it. He told the story of the druids and their Celtic origins, how their Old Religion had once flourished and prospered all across Albion, and explained how magic and rituals were an integral part of their lives with no roots in good or evil. He spoke of Greece and Egypt and Babylon, of their soothsayers and prophets and temples, how every country that ever existed had foundations rooted in old gods and the power of the Earth and its peoples. And Arthur never once told Merlin to stop, never listened with fear or disgust but rather always with wide-eyed wonder, absorbing everything with an eager mind and the curiosity that could only come from the young and innocent. It made Merlin have hope. It made him look forward to each new day for the first time in years. And it made him careless.

*~*~*

It had been raining off and on for days (but mostly on), and Merlin had already spent far too much time in the loft of his room manipulating the roofing slates to stretch and shift to plug the gaps that had formed and widened during the past winter. His knees hurt from where he’d bumped them against the ladder one too many times, his lower back ached from being on his feet for hours, and the steady throbbing behind his eyes had turned into a full-blown headache. It was the worst kind of dreary spring weather, and even inside the tower the air felt wet and miserable; it was hard not to feel a bit depressed with the endless days of grey storm clouds. Merlin only took comfort in the fact that if Camelot were to drown, his tower ensured that he would be one of the last ones to go. That is, if his own roof ever stopped dripping, and he’d already pissed off all of his jugs and pots by using them to catch the water whenever a new leak sprang up. There was also an odd smell that had settled in his room, something damp and slightly unpleasant, and Merlin could not pinpoint or make it go away no matter how many cleaning and drying spells he tried.

It was early evening by the time he finished closing the latest leak to find a way through his ceiling, and his headache had only worsened in the last hour thanks to a combination of using magic and being forced to squint in the dim light of the loft. The muffled sound of the rain pounding on the roof above instead of hitting his floor was a relief, but it also made the pounding in the front of his skull even more noticeable. It was fortunate that Arthur wasn’t even in Camelot, because Merlin had spent the better part of his day being lazy and moping - he hadn’t even bothered casting on his glamour or putting on his boots, and all he wanted now was curl up under his bed covers and sleep until his headache went away and the rain stopped falling.

Two months ago, Arthur had begun accompanying the border patrols under Uther’s suggestion that he gain more worldly experience in the field, and Merlin still got a funny feeling in his gut at the memory of Arthur proudly displaying every bit of his newly minted armor before the first time he’d set out. Merlin had almost broken down and begged to be allowed to go with the Prince, but in the end had sent Archimedes along to accompany the party with instructions to stay of sight. It was the only bit of insurance he had that Arthur would be protected without him there to offer his assistance directly, and waiting anxiously for the Prince’s return were always the worst days of Merlin’s week. The habit of sending Archimedes along had continued on for the second and third trip Arthur had taken, and it was now day three into Arthur’s fourth extended border patrol, and Merlin was feeling out of sorts without the companionship of either bird or boy. Gaius had accepted Merlin’s company initially when the tours began, but these days he’d gotten wise to the source of Merlin’s desperation for companionship, and tended to kick Merlin out of his rooms within the first few minutes lest Merlin start melting things again. It had only happened the once and Merlin had just been very miserable at the time, but Gaius did not forgive the loss of his favorite beakers easily, even if Merlin had put them back together afterwards.

With the way the rain was falling there was little chance of seeing the knights return that evening, and in his tumble to pathetic levels of boredom Merlin had taken to rearranging his furniture for wont of anything better to do over the last few days. He’d even broken one of his own rules and had used magic to bring up food from the kitchens, not wanting to deal with servants or making polite conversation or pretending to care about the castle gossip, and when he’d realized that he was setting aside bits of meat for Archimedes while he ate, he’d sent the whole plate skidding across the table without even touching it until it crashed loudly against the floor. He had tried to read and given up, tried to record some of his original spells from memory but could not concentrate enough to remember all the words, and when even the idea of going to the Hall of Records to speak to Geoffrey had sounded more appealing than staying in his room, Merlin had fled into the loft to deal with the newest leaks pooling on his ceiling.

Merlin was coming down the ladder when he heard the scuffle of footsteps outside his door, but he had left it locked all day and did not care to hurry his descent to bother finding out who had come to visit. And that’s when the door swung open to reveal Arthur standing on the other side, still in his riding clothes but his armor absent, looking wet and tired and slightly out of breath from his climb up the stairs. Merlin’s foot slipped off the last rung and he hit the floor with a stumble and made a wild grab for the ladder, jaw open and feeling a cold numbness spread outward through his body.

There was a moment where they stared at each other in surprise, Merlin with one hand still braced on the ladder and Arthur with one hand on the door handle. Then Arthur’s eyes moved to take in the state of the room, the books on the floor and the furniture that had been shoved around in Merlin’s indecision, papers scattered everywhere and the discarded dinner plate he’d been too lazy to clean up, and the sudden flash of anger across his features was quick and severe. He was across the room in four strides and had Merlin pinned against the ladder at his back, an arm braced across his throat and the very same dagger Merlin had given him for Yule in his fist and pointing dangerously close to Merlin’s exposed neck.

"Who are you?" Arthur hissed.

Merlin swallowed thickly, his heart hammering wildly with panic. "Please, this isn’t what it looks like."

Arthur shoved him back once, hard, and the pressure on his throat increased. "It looks like you’re a thief and I’ve caught you in the act. Where is the man who lives here?"

"He’s not here," Merlin rasped uncomfortably. "Arthur, please, stop. Just let me explain."

Arthur pushed in closer, and Merlin realized he had not truly become of aware of just how much Arthur had grown or how strong he’d become over the past few months. The Prince’s eyes were level with his chin and Merlin could see the pale blue of his irises and where the skin was blemished from oil and dirt on his nose and cheeks. Arthur’s damp hair smelled like the rain and sweat and leather and horses, and Merlin was so relieved to see him again that he would have choked on the feeling had he not already been losing air thanks to Arthur’s arm.

"Do not speak my name as if you know me," Arthur growled. "You are to be arrested and escorted to the dungeons, where you will confess your attempt at robbery and accept the punishment accordingly."

Merlin wheezed. "No, god… Arthur stop! I’m Merlin!"

Arthur flinched in surprise, but he did not take his arm away from Merlin’s throat or lower the dagger. "What?"

"I’m… Merlin," he said, trying to draw breath. "And you’re… choking me… Arthur…"

Arthur abruptly dropped his arm, but Merlin felt the cold press of the dagger point come to rest against his skin, and he froze. Arthur’s voice was dangerously low when he spoke. "Explain yourself."

"I’d rather do it without a knife at my throat," Merlin protested, attempting to shift his head away so he could swallow without being cut.

Arthur’s hand fisted itself in Merlin’s shirt and yanked him back forward. "Do not play games with me. Who are you?"

"Merlin," Merlin said again, bracing himself with a wince. "Arthur I’m… it’s me."

Arthur’s face was still deadly furious, but there was something shifting in his eyes as he searched Merlin’s face for the lie, confusion and disbelief all wrapped up with the anger that still held his fist against Merlin’s throat. And that’s when they heard the scratching on the casement and both of their heads turned toward the window Merlin had left partly ajar out of habit. Archimedes’ waterlogged head appeared after a moment, and the owl looked disgruntled and ruffled as he pushed the glass open, flapping unsteadily on the ledge to shake the water off his feathers. He was letting in even more of the rain but Merlin was so glad to see him that he hardly cared that there was now a large puddle forming on the floor.

Arthur had eased off on the dagger slightly, but Merlin could see out of the corner of his eye that it was still raised and poised near the flesh of his throat. Archimedes shook himself again and then seemed to spot the pair, his head tilting to the side in what could be construed as confusion. He hooted, once, a question, and Merlin smiled uneasily.

"Archimedes," he greeted cautiously. "It’s alright, Arthur and I were just… sorting some things out."

"You know this bird?" Arthur demanded. "How could you… I’ve never…"

"It’s me, Arthur. I swear it."

"You’re lying!"

"Arthur you’re a rotten prat sometimes but you’ve always been good at listening," Merlin implored, hunting the face in front of him for any sign of understanding. "I would never lie if you asked, I promised you that, remember?"

Arthur was backing off, and the dagger slid away as Arthur’s face gave way to the confusion in his eyes. "Merlin?"

Merlin nodded, breathing deeply in relief even as his nerves coiled and knotted themselves in his gut. "Yes."

Arthur’s hands came down to clench at his sides, the dagger still clutched in his palm, but his anger seemed to be returning over the confusion, albeit redirected. "What happened? Is this a spell? Did someone do this to you?"

"It’s not… it’s hard to explain. Look, I- oh Archimedes get in here. You’re letting water everywhere!" Merlin chastised, and he hurried past Arthur to close the window as Archimedes flew across the room to land on his perch by the stove. Merlin lingered with his hands on the glass for a moment, the cool touch helping to subside some of the trembling in his fingers, and he could feel the water under his bare feet soaking into the hem of his breeches. As he turned, he realized that Arthur had left the tower door open in his rush to pin him down, and Merlin hastened across the room to close that as well. When he came around to face Arthur, the Prince was watching him with that same mixture of frustration and confusion, and his eyes were begging Merlin to give him an explanation he could understand. Merlin leaned against the door at his back, gathering what strength he could from the solid weight of it.

"It’s a bit of a long story… but before you go running off thinking there’s a sorcerer in Camelot, no one did this to me. This is me. I am Merlin."

"But you’re not old!" Arthur protested.

"I know. I’m not that old, not yet at least. It was a disguise. I… I needed a way to be here safely. I didn’t want to risk anyone recognizing me."

"What?" Arthur asked quietly, low and disbelieving. It took only a moment for his face to morph into naked fury, and he began advancing on Merlin again. "You deceived us to get into Camelot? My father! Me? What are you!"

"Your friend!" Merlin pleaded earnestly, lifting his hands as Arthur stepped up until they were toe to toe again. "I swear it, Arthur. I only came here to protect you, to keep you safe. I knew that Uther would never take me seriously if I looked like this. Please, you must believe me. I didn’t want to lie but I had no choice."

Arthur hadn’t lifted his dagger again, but his eyes were hard and he looked ready to drag the truth out of Merlin - even if it involved using his fists. "How do I know you’re not lying now? How can I trust your word?"

[ Part VI]