to the world that never let you be: 2/10
Summary: When Arthur notices the scars on Merlin, he sets off to find out why a servant of all people has such marks and discovers that Merlin might not be all that he seems. From kinkme_merlin prompt here
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
.
to the world that never let you be
.
Part Two
.
Arthur watched Merlin stumble through a patch of bracken, a pair of rabbits slung over his shoulder as they made their way back to an area they had noted earlier for setting up camp. He purposefully hung back a tad, letting Merlin drag his feet to the small clearing first, evaluating how exactly he was going to approach the question.
Did he go for a straight attack?
Did he tread around the topic for a bit, feeling out Merlin's answers for another day?
Did he trick Merlin into giving him the answer?
The easiest way would be to blurt it all out, in theory. Arthur had already worked up the courage a few times earlier in the day, but the words had stuck in his throat, clinging there and refusing to come out. A question had never been this hard before, but then again he'd always been bound by his duty before and this - namely Merlin - wasn't a duty.
Arthur stood by a cluster of brambles, watching as Merlin started to build a base for the fire. He'd already laid out their sleeping mats over towards one corner of the clearing and had unceremoniously dumped the rabbit carcasses on top of the mats (and usually Arthur would have a word about this, but he had bigger issues on his mind right at the moment).
He was still thinking of a way to get it all done with when Merlin started skinning the second rabbit.
"So I know you're probably still not listening, but I don't like doing this when it's all eerie and quiet, you know," Merlin muttered, not sparing a glance towards Arthur and instead focusing on his task. "And I know you don't care about anything I've said so far, but can you answer me one thing?"
As he had been for the past hour or so, Arthur hummed in acknowledgement. It was amazing how far the right timing could get you.
"How long are we going to be shooting animals out here for? It's getting cold already and it's not even night yet."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Is it all a bit too nippy for poor old Merlin?"
Merlin rolled his eyes, grimacing as blood began to congeal on his hands. "No, but unlike some, I always leave these 'fun' hunting trips stinking of dried blood. It's disgusting."
Arthur looked over to the slightly mangled carcass of the first rabbit and then trailed his eyes to the second rabbit Merlin held. Unlike almost everyone else, there was no finesse in how Merlin skinned his prey. In fact Arthur was almost certain Merlin just hacked away for a bit until he cut a good chunk of the animal away, ripping the skin off from the meat. And really, Arthur hadn't seen anyone get as much blood down themselves as Merlin managed.
He tried to ignore it, but Merlin had a point about the smell. It was the kind of smell that stuck at the back of your throat too, dripping onto your tongue and into your stomach to settle heavily, pressing against you. It was the scent and taste of war, of the guilty and the corrupted. It didn't fit Merlin, hovered around him like an uneasy cloud of emotion.
"We shouldn't be too much longer. Stay here the night and head back to Camelot tomorrow."
Merlin nodded, returning to removing the skin from the rabbit, before finally placing the carcass next to the first and looking at Arthur.
"Why don't you go change and I'll start cooking these?" Arthur suggested, looking at Merlin. Subtlety, he could do that.
"I only need to wash my hands," Merlin replied, looking around for one of the water skeins they had brought.
"You should change. You'll... attract flies." Arthur promptly ignored the fact that most flies probably wouldn't come hover around them right away and that sitting near the fire was bound to dissuade them, but he needed some good reasons as to why Merlin should change.
It was always easier to let the other person reveal themselves than you to call them on it, after all.
Merlin crouched low, resting his weight on the balls of his feet as he made to stand. He looked at Arthur with a slightly tilted head, questioning the logic of the flies no doubt. Why couldn't he ever just leave things alone?
"I only have a spare tunic, it's a stupid idea just to change into it and then not have anything tomorrow. If I change now I'll never hear the end of your moaning about me smelling or something, regardless of whether I do actually smell or not." Merlin gave a little sigh, looking away from Arthur.
"Fine," Arthur said and maybe it was a little more forceful than he'd intended, but he ignored the slight widening of Merlin's eyes in favour for tying the rabbits to sticks for cooking. No better way to distract oneself from annoying manservants really.
Merlin grabbed one of the skeins before uncapping it, rinsing his hands with controlled pouring. He'd done this before, probably many times, and Arthur wondered if Merlin had resorted to cleaning himself this way in the past while the rest of them had taken advantage of the local stream or pond.
He shouldn't have had to.
Merlin was just shaking pink-tinted water from his hand, the last remnants of rabbit-blood, when the fire spat out an ember, the crack resonating through Arthur's body. It had to be now, the moment he'd confess that he knew about Merlin's secret and-
"And you moan about me? Seriously! Look, I spent ages skinning those rabbits and you've just dumped them in the mud!"
Arthur blinked. No, he still hadn't confessed. Merlin was watching him expectantly as Arthur met his eyes.
"Well I'm not eating the one that's covered in mulch," Merlin muttered, but he reached for the sticks all the same. Arthur knew that Merlin would take the smaller rabbit for himself (which happened to be the mulch-rabbit) and that he wouldn't make a fuss about it other than the banter they shared.
"I got my first battle scar when I was seven." Arthur placed his stick across the fire, resting it next to Merlin's, tied to other sticks they had found into a makeshift spit. The rabbit sizzled slightly as flames hit the meat and it wasn't long before the heavy scent of cooked rabbit began curling around them in the fire smoke.
"I wasn't supposed to be using one of the war axes, but I was curious. I tried to pick it up," here Arthur gave Merlin a little smile, raising his eyebrows. It was clear what had happened. "I dropped it and managed to cut my foot. Most of the scar's faded now, but it's still always going to be there."
Merlin was nodding, fiddling with the sticks above the fire.
"I think that's the thing about scars," Arthur pressed on. He wasn't exactly skilled when it came to being subtle and, well, Merlin was a hard target to do it on anyway, but he was trying.
"What is?" Merlin asked, eyes raking over the slowly-browning meat.
"Well... they all have their own stories. Some of them are silly ones, some are idiotic ones, but they all make up who a person is."
Merlin nodded, "I suppose."
He couldn't do it any longer. Arthur wasn't born to be subtle; he was born a fighter and a fighter got on and did things.
"So, care to tell me about your collection of scars?" Arthur's heart beat faster as Merlin's head snapped up and he paused, biting down the sense of excitement that he'd finally - finally! - asked the question.
"They all look very interesting after all," Arthur said, leaving no doubt that these were Big Things Arthur was referring to, not just little battle wounds like the 'first' one Merlin had on his arm.
Merlin's eyes were wide and his hands frozen. For a moment, Arthur could have sworn Merlin gave a pleading glance to the cooking rabbits, almost as if he wanted to swap positions.
But Arthur had him, and now he'd finally get an answer.
Before now, Arthur would have said with confidence that Merlin had never lied to him. There were moments of self-doubt, but he had them with everyone, even the cat he'd smuggled into his room when he was six, hidden away as he wasn’t allowed pets inside. (And that cat who, for the record, was a liar - it had wanted to be Arthur’s pet while there was food hadn’t it! - and Arthur had hated cats ever since that one had walked out of his room despite the begging and pleading he could be a good owner).
Arthur had always thought Merlin was a terrible liar. For example, back when Morgana had been nice (and yes it was a little painful for Arthur to think of it - and by that he meant a lot - but he wanted to think about her, he needed it) and Merlin had hidden his affections for her. Arthur thought he'd known all about Merlin, seeing through the deceptions, seeing Merlin carrying flowers to Morgana, surely proof.
Merlin had lied then, but it was okay because Arthur had known.
Now was different. This wasn't a case of whether Merlin had lied or not, it was a case that, yes, he'd lied, but he was hiding things. A lot more things than a servant ever had a right to hide.
Why shouldn't Merlin hide it though? What right did Arthur have to know every intimate detail of his servants life? Just because Arthur was his master did that give him the right to know what Merlin did in his spare time, how he had gained such scars when, clearly, Merlin did not want anyone to know?
It was too late to eat his words now. What had been said was in the open, hanging between them as Merlin just watched him. He was clearly considering his answer, most likely wondering what Arthur wanted to hear.
And hadn't Arthur had enough of that by now? People telling him that Morgana's blow to Camelot hadn't been that bad, Gaius telling him his father would speed up his recovery soon, Gwen telling him that he would be great and fair and just when really all he wanted to hear was something about the here and now, not what he'd bring, just once.
He was sick of it. Arthur squared his shoulders a little, looking at Merlin and he could tell that Merlin knew this.
"I..." Merlin's voice was hesitant and he ran his tongue over his lips. "You know how clumsy I can be," he tried, smiling a little and looking at Arthur, as if he hadn't just lied.
"While I completely agree, I fail to see what that has to do with... this." He waved a hand, the word 'scars' sacred and unbidden at the moment.
"Well," Merlin started, his voice firmer. Arthur realised he'd settled on his convictions and prepared what he'd tell Arthur and, well, it was impressive really.
It seemed that, in order to preserve his secrets, Merlin could lie quite well. It had taken a few moments, but in that time he'd passed straight through any panicking phase and dissected the question at hand, coming up with an escape of a lie.
Before, Arthur had never seen it. He'd never seen Merlin take down the levels of a question and build them back up into his lie. He'd never thought Merlin could lie and wasn't that the beauty of it all, really? How far had Merlin fooled them all?
But no - that was wrong. This was Merlin. He didn't have a hidden agenda (or he was the world's most patient person in the world, after years of servitude and hardships to still not have reached his hidden agenda, his goal) and he wasn't out for glory. Merlin, the manservant who lacked the right training but would lay down his life again and again just because Arthur was there.
Who did he think he was?
Or should it be more of a question of who was Merlin? Perhaps everyone else had it wrong this time and this was what Merlin was supposed to do, who he was supposed to be.
"I am clumsy when carrying out duties. I get a number of scars all the time and while I'm flattered that you should care so much about me, it's a bit creepy to know you've been watching me when I'm undressed." Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at the cooking rabbits.
Part of Arthur wanted to accept it and close the subject, blame it all on Merlin's inadequacies. Yes, Merlin was an idiot, yes he must have dropped something on himself as he fell to get that scar on his chest; yes he must just have tripped and fallen onto something else for the mark on his back...
"No," Arthur said firmly. Not this time. "You're not an idiot Merlin," he said, and it felt like a relief to finally tell Merlin that. "And neither am I," he added, resting his chin on his hands.
Arthur wasn't sure how much time passed after that, but Merlin stood, turned the rabbits in their makeshift spits and sunk back down to sit on his log, still without having said a word. It didn't bother Arthur more than he already was bothered, because at least Merlin wasn't lying now.
Maybe he'd get the truth.
The fire hissed around the flesh it was heating and it was only a few moments later that Merlin clasped his hands together in his lap and licked his lips again.
"What do you want to know about?"
Arthur raised a brow in question and waited for Merlin to glance at him.
"I mean," Merlin said after he looked up, too briefly for Arthur to feel comfortable. "You said each one tells a story. What story do you want to know?"
His voice was resigned. Arthur had heard men speak this way once they'd been sentenced to a stay in the cells below Camelot and even to their deaths. Was Arthur's question so terrible for Merlin that he'd face it as others did death?
And there was the bile-burning question that haunted Arthur; why?
"On your back. And the one... the burn mark?" How else could he identify it? The image of the angry red skin was forever imprinted on his mind as well as the creeping horror it had brought.
Where had Merlin got it and why?
Too many questions, he needed Merlin to answer. If Merlin didn't answer... Arthur didn't know. Too many things had slipped through his notice, from Morgana to Gaius to his father to Gwen to the merchants in his village to the people... the list was endless. What did he, Arthur Pendragon, really know about anything?
If everything Merlin was had been a lie... or rather, if he couldn't even trust Merlin anymore...
"Right," Merlin said, drawing himself together. He looked up and was, to Arthur's surprise, smiling. "You had to pick the big ones didn't you?" he snorted lightly, closing his eyes with a sigh.
"There never really was a right time was there?" Arthur heard Merlin whisper, but he didn't answer. The question wasn't aimed towards him, or at least it didn't feel as though it was.
Arthur watched as Merlin straightened, still with a slight smile, and knew he'd get the truth.
"It's not a particularly nice story," Merlin said, honesty ringing in his words. "You won't like a lot of the things that have happened and it'll... change some things."
Arthur's skin prickled, but he fought to remain still. Merlin was being honest and, judging by the tone, Arthur was going to actually learn something (and wasn't that just laughable, after all, who learnt from their manservant?!). Outside of Camelot, by two rabbits roasting, Arthur was oddly happy to listen for once.
Morgana would have laughed at the idea. Uther would have scowled, glare passing from Arthur and over to Merlin. Gwen would have smiled slightly and ducked her head. Merlin... well Merlin was here, by his side like he always was.
Like he'd promised (how could Arthur forget that - he was good at ignoring but even he hadn't the power to wipe his mind of strange proclamations made by Merlin).
"And... I'm sorry."
Merlin didn't say what he was sorry for, but Arthur felt the weight settle around him. It wasn't a simple sorry, but carried the air of a thousand apologies, locked up tight in Merlin's chest.
"I have to start my story far back for you to understand, but... there's no point in hiding anything. You have to listen, okay? Just until I'm finished and then... you can do what you like."
Arthur's heart was beating in his chest. This was it; he was going to learn every secret about Merlin, just as Merlin knew everything about him. It was fair, right? He should know these things, be prepared if Merlin needed his help?
Even if he knew well by now that Merlin never needed his help. It was always the other way around, wasn't it?
"There was a man and one day he asked someone for a deal. A deal to give life to someone," Merlin began, shifting his foot through the leaves on the ground. He cast a look to the fire, before continuing. "Only it didn't go how he planned and..."
Merlin paused, his shoulders drooping a little.
"The sorceress took something precious to the man, something he loved so much that he almost couldn't bear it."
The story was a familiar one, almost as if it was woven into every bone of Arthur's body.
"He did something then, something terrible." Merlin ran a hand through his hair. "To give a life, one must be taken in exchange to keep the balance of the Old Religion. I don't know if Uther knew that or not, but... he blamed Nimueh."
Images of his mother, a lie Merlin had told him, rose and Arthur clenched his jaw, biting down the anger. Merlin had lied then? The woman who had held him tightly, spoken softly in his ear, the one he'd convinced himself was just an image conjured by Morgause-
But that meant then that...
"Nimueh traded your mother's life for your own after Uther struck the bargain." Merlin's voice was firm, with no amount of room for arguing. These were facts, words that had been facts for all of Arthur's life, facts that no matter how he wished he could, he couldn't change.
"It was what started the Great Purge, the death of Queen Ygraine."
It was, but everyone had been told that the sorceress murdered the Queen after Arthur's birth, not because of it.
"What has this got to do with anything?" Arthur demanded, unable to stop himself. He didn't want to know the secrets his father had buried. He wanted to know Merlin's secrets, wanted to just know how a servant could achieve such a mysterious air when he had no right to.
"Because you need to understand the story behind these scars," Merlin said softly. "Their story started long before we were born and I need..."
Arthur didn't know what Merlin needed and it didn't seem as though Merlin did either, as he took a deep breath in order to continue.
"The Old Religion likes balance; it's the only reason that I could come up with as to why it happened. Every sorcerer was hunted, man and woman, adult and child, and put to death. You were just a baby and I wasn't even born, but do you know how many people were killed?"
No, Arthur didn't.
"Hundreds. Probably thousands now. And that's just the official count, what about the people who were tortured and killed off on campaigns?" Merlin's voice was bitter.
"And then there's the dragons. He slaughtered them, one by one in glory he said. Whoever kills a mighty dragon will win the Kingdom's honour! And when the dragons wouldn't come, he tricked their Lords."
Merlin was smarter than anyone gave him credit for, Arthur realised. And braver by far; many people were still afraid to look up details on the Purge, preferring to feign ignorance to Uther's great 'cleansing' years.
He enslaved the Great Dragon and ordered more people to be killed. Some stood up to Uther," Merlin's mouth twisted here, a little proudly. "But it wasn't enough."
He turned to Arthur. "Everything needs balance," he said calmly. "Fire, water, air, earth, life and death. Magic isn't any different and with that amount abruptly taken from the world... well, I think it had to go somewhere, didn't it?"
Something about Merlin drew Arthur in. He seemed to be glowing inside - not that that actually made sense but there weren't any other words to describe it - and shifting, as if he was so much more than a boy from Ealdor and Arthur was only just seeing it now.
"So it did. Go somewhere I mean..."
Arthur was supposed to know where the scars were from. That was all. He'd been expecting some sort of fight maybe, down in the kitchens? Or even an attack from an animal when Merlin had been collecting wood or something.
Not this. Never this. Though it fit nicely into place, didn't it?
Arthur knew about balances and the Old Religion. Uther had drummed his magical philosophies into Arthur with his own teachings, pointing out that you should never make bargains with sorcerers. They were cunning, see, and tricksters. They'd pluck your eyes from their sockets if they could and thread them onto the necklace of eyes they wore around their necks.
Arthur could guess what Merlin was going to say, how he was going to admit his crime. He could imagine the way the words formed, how Merlin's lips moved around them. How the muscles of his face changed after he'd said them, noticing Arthur's face (or maybe imagining a reaction there, too scared to actually look into the eyes of his Prince after such an admission). He could guess the way Merlin would flinch if Arthur stood, or the way Merlin would scramble back with a shake of his head and the widening of his eyes-
"I was born with this power." Merlin's voice was flat. "It's not something I'd ask for if I knew what it was like to live without it... but I don't know what it's like without it. I've always been this way, doing magic before I could talk."
Arthur's heart was racing. Where was his sword? Over there, stabbed in the ground. Where was his dagger? Concealed in a small sheath on his hip, as always. Where were his hands? Attached to his arms, like they'd been since he was born.
Like how Merlin's magic had always been there.
"I wanted to tell you," Merlin said quietly, his eyes now looking down at the ground.
Arthur knew he had. There were moments in their history when there had been moments between them, where Arthur felt as if they were as far apart as mountains without really knowing why.
The smell of burning meat caught at the back of Arthur's throat and he felt sick. He turned away from Merlin, not caring that Merlin's face might fall or his manservant might frown. Only Arthur knew that he wasn't cringing away from Merlin having magic. Not completely, but if only for the fact that Merlin was amazing at telling his stories (Arthur knew that better than any)
(not completely at least, and that was because if anyone knew it, he did - Merlin was amazing at telling his little stories).
The wind blew smoke into his eyes and Arthur almost felt like coughing, admitting he felt sick with the knowledge of how close Merlin had come to being the rabbits. How many times had Arthur (almost) lost Merlin to the pyre?
Merlin was supposed to be telling his secrets and answering one simple question.
"How is it that you just seem to bring more questions?" Arthur asked after a pause in Merlin's story.
Merlin was calm as he replied, "I've been told I'm a riddle wrapped in a mystery. All I know is I am who I am and that you promised to keep quiet until I'd finished."
There was something caught at the back of Merlin’s throat, shown in his voice, something that could be likened to power.
Arthur closed his eyes. He had agreed and, for once, he wanted to listen. He’d never had the chance before, not from Uther or Morgana or his teachers or anyone. But here, by the fire, sitting on a slightly damp log, he was just a man, talking to another man.
He looked at Merlin and nodded. He had to know more. For the first time - first proper time at least - he would listen first and then act.
Only it scared him that he hadn’t a clue how he’d act when Merlin stopped talking.
Merlin was quiet for a moment and Arthur could hear the sound of tall grasses being ripped from the ground. A distraction, something that Arthur needed too, but he found himself unable to unclench his fists to fasten around the long stems around his calves. The ripping sound stopped and Arthur imagined the smoke around them had cleared a little - not that there was much in the first place, only in Arthur's mind where it was a funeral pyre rather than tonight's dinner.
Was killing sorcerers as easy for his father as cooking what he'd hunted was for Arthur? Could Uther sit on his throne, content, even though he had just sentenced a man to burn in his name? How could it not weigh his father down with every step he took across the courtyard, mapping the exact spot so many people had blistered and died?
"I grew up in Ealdor; just another ordinary farm boy who could do secret, non-ordinary things. That was the first lesson I learnt in life, to keep it all secret, to never show that I could do spectacular things. Never tell anyone that I could grow and reap a whole harvest before I could even hitch a horse to a plough; never whisper that I could heal someone where all other cures fell before I was old enough to climb trees."
Merlin's voice was soft, regretful. Arthur wondered if there were others out there, wanting to help when Uther had placed barriers around them. Was it possible Merlin could have given Ealdor food when they had none?
But what after? What if it didn't stop at Ealdor and Cenred had caught wind of the prosperous village when he first came into his reign? Surely if he'd know there was a powerful sorcerer able to conjure up full harvests for villages (did it stop at villages even, what about whole towns?), then would he have taken Merlin for himself? Attacked Camelot without fearing they'd run out of provisions on campaign?
And if Merlin could control a harvest as such, what else could he do? If something that took months to cultivate, that needed to be nurtured and tended daily could be done by one man, what else was he capable of?
"My mother wouldn't tell me anything about magic, other than that what I had was a wonderful gift, but I had to keep it a secret. It became a game, really, until I made a mistake."
Was Merlin a killer? Is that why he'd come to Camelot?
"I... used my magic to fell a tree and... it may have almost fallen on someone." That was Merlin; predictable, un-secretive, man-servant-y Merlin. "That and my mum found out Will knew about my magic and... well, she panicked."
The fire was dying down a little, unenthusiastic, and so Merlin pulled another log onto the flames, looking at the rabbit as he did so and adjusting them on their spits. Not too much longer, Arthur estimated, but he wasn't sure whether he'd be able to stomach the meat.
"She sent me to live with Gaius for a bit; see what I could learn from him I suppose. Gaius looked after her when she lived in Camelot and... she did him a favour when he needed to get someone out of Camelot."
It was supposed to feel as though he was unravelling a thread with ease. Secrets were supposed to spill over one another, untangle as they were explained, except all Arthur knew here was that every inch of conversation Merlin waged between them held more and more secrets. Too many for one man, but then again, was Merlin a man?
Uther didn't think sorcerers were men.
What did Arthur think?
"I had to use magic when I got to Gaius' rooms." Merlin scuffed a heel through the dirt between grass clumps, wiggling the tips of his boots. "Even though I'd just seen someone being killed for it; Gaius fell from the balcony and I had to... it was just instinctive, like all my magic."
No, that couldn't be right. Magic was a choice, a corruption of the soul. It festered in you as you skimmed the words of spells, drew upon the evil forces. It forced innocent people into seeing horrible visions and terrible things. It stole from harmless people, killed women and children as it plundered the land, taking what it wanted and leaving devastation in its wake.
Wait? The same magic that could feed people? The same magic that could heal people? The same magic that saved lives and could do who knows what else?
Instinctive. The word sounded foreign in Arthur's mind. Instinctive was Lancelot's ability to fight, Elena's ability for horses, Gwaine's pessimistic strength, Gwen's kindness, Gaius' attention to science, Uther's obsession with destroying magic, Morgana's ability to lie...
Arthur wanted to sink his head into his hands. It was too much, far too much. Merlin's secrets were bigger than he'd thought and - well, how far were they into this conversation? Not far enough, never far enough.
It was clear Merlin was not going to hold back. Why should he? Arthur wanted the truth, didn't he? Why should Merlin lie now when Arthur had already made it clear he won't stand for it? He’d had already asked Merlin not to lie; he couldn't very well take back his own words now, could he?
He wished, for a brief moment as the fire sizzled, charring meat, that he could. Or reverse time, pretend this was a dream, knock himself out and hope it would all go away.
Except he wanted that because he knew he needed this. He needed to know why Merlin was here, why his father was so consumed by his hatred, why Morgana had turned her back on them; too many things.
"I saved your life," Merlin muttered, turning his head to the fire. Arthur wanted to tell him to look away, ignore the flames as they rose a little. The fire was barely above their knees, should they be standing, but it loomed over them nonetheless, powerful and all consuming.
It was licking up Arthur's arms, holding him in place as Merlin wove his story, when it should be Merlin it was pinning, trapping the warlock to his lies, purifying his soul.
"I didn't know Uther was going to make me your manservant, but... we grew used to it, didn't we?" Merlin smiled as if he were remembering one of his childhood stories of mice and foxes. Stories that were so different to the night time tales of witches and wizards adhering to Uther's justice that Arthur grew up on.
"The dragon told me that I needed to be with you anyway. I think that's why I put up with you, because I knew it would get better. And..." Merlin trailed off and Arthur risked a look. His eyes weren't red or even glowing. They were blue, as they'd always been, and Merlin was still a person, still normal.
Sorcerers were normal people too? Arthur had once posed the question to his father and had been laughed at. He'd then left the teaching room, red-faced and embarrassed at his own stupidity.
Of course they weren't. They were minions of the devil, who had his hand around their throat and his voice in their heads. They were driven mad by the evil magic in them, with only one goal of destruction in mind.
"There were moments when I thought you weren't actually that bad." Merlin sounded as though he were biting down the words, trying not to say them. "It's just easier to think I did it for the dragon."
The dragon? The dragon that destroyed Camelot. Had Merlin... better not to think of that, really. It was part of the story and until it was told, it hadn't happened.
"With all this magic in me, it's kind of obvious that I'm not just here to be a servant."
This was it. Merlin was going to kill them all, gut them like he did with the rabbits, rip the skin off with uncoordinated tugs, laugh as he did so and bathe in the victory that he'd defeated Camelot.
"I'm here to make sure you become King. There are prophecies that speak of the Once and Future King, the greatest King ever to rule."
It was a fairy tale, told in the days of the Fallen Kings. One of the few fairy tales Arthur had even known in his childhood; a man who would rise up and take the whole of Albion, but be loved and cherished. Such a feat had never been done, was impossible, yet it was rumoured that the Fallen Kings had prophesised it, rather than told it as a common tale.
"I'm here, by your side, until you become that King. It is who you are, Arthur."
His name stretched between them. Servants shouldn't address him as such. Guinevere did though... Merlin always had (unless they were in a formal setting, because he could pretend he was trained at least), and Gaius tended to prefer his name to any title.
And really, if Merlin did take to calling him by a title as opposed to his name, Arthur wasn’t sure how he'd react. Years together and Merlin never showed an inkling to servitude other than what would pass him by without being slung into the dungeon. Admirable to some, foolish to others, but always appreciated by Arthur.
.
and you never did learn how to see
.
| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten |
Pairing: Arthur/Merlin
.
to the world that never let you be
.
Part Two
.
Arthur watched Merlin stumble through a patch of bracken, a pair of rabbits slung over his shoulder as they made their way back to an area they had noted earlier for setting up camp. He purposefully hung back a tad, letting Merlin drag his feet to the small clearing first, evaluating how exactly he was going to approach the question.
Did he go for a straight attack?
Did he tread around the topic for a bit, feeling out Merlin's answers for another day?
Did he trick Merlin into giving him the answer?
The easiest way would be to blurt it all out, in theory. Arthur had already worked up the courage a few times earlier in the day, but the words had stuck in his throat, clinging there and refusing to come out. A question had never been this hard before, but then again he'd always been bound by his duty before and this - namely Merlin - wasn't a duty.
Arthur stood by a cluster of brambles, watching as Merlin started to build a base for the fire. He'd already laid out their sleeping mats over towards one corner of the clearing and had unceremoniously dumped the rabbit carcasses on top of the mats (and usually Arthur would have a word about this, but he had bigger issues on his mind right at the moment).
He was still thinking of a way to get it all done with when Merlin started skinning the second rabbit.
"So I know you're probably still not listening, but I don't like doing this when it's all eerie and quiet, you know," Merlin muttered, not sparing a glance towards Arthur and instead focusing on his task. "And I know you don't care about anything I've said so far, but can you answer me one thing?"
As he had been for the past hour or so, Arthur hummed in acknowledgement. It was amazing how far the right timing could get you.
"How long are we going to be shooting animals out here for? It's getting cold already and it's not even night yet."
Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Is it all a bit too nippy for poor old Merlin?"
Merlin rolled his eyes, grimacing as blood began to congeal on his hands. "No, but unlike some, I always leave these 'fun' hunting trips stinking of dried blood. It's disgusting."
Arthur looked over to the slightly mangled carcass of the first rabbit and then trailed his eyes to the second rabbit Merlin held. Unlike almost everyone else, there was no finesse in how Merlin skinned his prey. In fact Arthur was almost certain Merlin just hacked away for a bit until he cut a good chunk of the animal away, ripping the skin off from the meat. And really, Arthur hadn't seen anyone get as much blood down themselves as Merlin managed.
He tried to ignore it, but Merlin had a point about the smell. It was the kind of smell that stuck at the back of your throat too, dripping onto your tongue and into your stomach to settle heavily, pressing against you. It was the scent and taste of war, of the guilty and the corrupted. It didn't fit Merlin, hovered around him like an uneasy cloud of emotion.
"We shouldn't be too much longer. Stay here the night and head back to Camelot tomorrow."
Merlin nodded, returning to removing the skin from the rabbit, before finally placing the carcass next to the first and looking at Arthur.
"Why don't you go change and I'll start cooking these?" Arthur suggested, looking at Merlin. Subtlety, he could do that.
"I only need to wash my hands," Merlin replied, looking around for one of the water skeins they had brought.
"You should change. You'll... attract flies." Arthur promptly ignored the fact that most flies probably wouldn't come hover around them right away and that sitting near the fire was bound to dissuade them, but he needed some good reasons as to why Merlin should change.
It was always easier to let the other person reveal themselves than you to call them on it, after all.
Merlin crouched low, resting his weight on the balls of his feet as he made to stand. He looked at Arthur with a slightly tilted head, questioning the logic of the flies no doubt. Why couldn't he ever just leave things alone?
"I only have a spare tunic, it's a stupid idea just to change into it and then not have anything tomorrow. If I change now I'll never hear the end of your moaning about me smelling or something, regardless of whether I do actually smell or not." Merlin gave a little sigh, looking away from Arthur.
"Fine," Arthur said and maybe it was a little more forceful than he'd intended, but he ignored the slight widening of Merlin's eyes in favour for tying the rabbits to sticks for cooking. No better way to distract oneself from annoying manservants really.
Merlin grabbed one of the skeins before uncapping it, rinsing his hands with controlled pouring. He'd done this before, probably many times, and Arthur wondered if Merlin had resorted to cleaning himself this way in the past while the rest of them had taken advantage of the local stream or pond.
He shouldn't have had to.
Merlin was just shaking pink-tinted water from his hand, the last remnants of rabbit-blood, when the fire spat out an ember, the crack resonating through Arthur's body. It had to be now, the moment he'd confess that he knew about Merlin's secret and-
"And you moan about me? Seriously! Look, I spent ages skinning those rabbits and you've just dumped them in the mud!"
Arthur blinked. No, he still hadn't confessed. Merlin was watching him expectantly as Arthur met his eyes.
"Well I'm not eating the one that's covered in mulch," Merlin muttered, but he reached for the sticks all the same. Arthur knew that Merlin would take the smaller rabbit for himself (which happened to be the mulch-rabbit) and that he wouldn't make a fuss about it other than the banter they shared.
"I got my first battle scar when I was seven." Arthur placed his stick across the fire, resting it next to Merlin's, tied to other sticks they had found into a makeshift spit. The rabbit sizzled slightly as flames hit the meat and it wasn't long before the heavy scent of cooked rabbit began curling around them in the fire smoke.
"I wasn't supposed to be using one of the war axes, but I was curious. I tried to pick it up," here Arthur gave Merlin a little smile, raising his eyebrows. It was clear what had happened. "I dropped it and managed to cut my foot. Most of the scar's faded now, but it's still always going to be there."
Merlin was nodding, fiddling with the sticks above the fire.
"I think that's the thing about scars," Arthur pressed on. He wasn't exactly skilled when it came to being subtle and, well, Merlin was a hard target to do it on anyway, but he was trying.
"What is?" Merlin asked, eyes raking over the slowly-browning meat.
"Well... they all have their own stories. Some of them are silly ones, some are idiotic ones, but they all make up who a person is."
Merlin nodded, "I suppose."
He couldn't do it any longer. Arthur wasn't born to be subtle; he was born a fighter and a fighter got on and did things.
"So, care to tell me about your collection of scars?" Arthur's heart beat faster as Merlin's head snapped up and he paused, biting down the sense of excitement that he'd finally - finally! - asked the question.
"They all look very interesting after all," Arthur said, leaving no doubt that these were Big Things Arthur was referring to, not just little battle wounds like the 'first' one Merlin had on his arm.
Merlin's eyes were wide and his hands frozen. For a moment, Arthur could have sworn Merlin gave a pleading glance to the cooking rabbits, almost as if he wanted to swap positions.
But Arthur had him, and now he'd finally get an answer.
Before now, Arthur would have said with confidence that Merlin had never lied to him. There were moments of self-doubt, but he had them with everyone, even the cat he'd smuggled into his room when he was six, hidden away as he wasn’t allowed pets inside. (And that cat who, for the record, was a liar - it had wanted to be Arthur’s pet while there was food hadn’t it! - and Arthur had hated cats ever since that one had walked out of his room despite the begging and pleading he could be a good owner).
Arthur had always thought Merlin was a terrible liar. For example, back when Morgana had been nice (and yes it was a little painful for Arthur to think of it - and by that he meant a lot - but he wanted to think about her, he needed it) and Merlin had hidden his affections for her. Arthur thought he'd known all about Merlin, seeing through the deceptions, seeing Merlin carrying flowers to Morgana, surely proof.
Merlin had lied then, but it was okay because Arthur had known.
Now was different. This wasn't a case of whether Merlin had lied or not, it was a case that, yes, he'd lied, but he was hiding things. A lot more things than a servant ever had a right to hide.
Why shouldn't Merlin hide it though? What right did Arthur have to know every intimate detail of his servants life? Just because Arthur was his master did that give him the right to know what Merlin did in his spare time, how he had gained such scars when, clearly, Merlin did not want anyone to know?
It was too late to eat his words now. What had been said was in the open, hanging between them as Merlin just watched him. He was clearly considering his answer, most likely wondering what Arthur wanted to hear.
And hadn't Arthur had enough of that by now? People telling him that Morgana's blow to Camelot hadn't been that bad, Gaius telling him his father would speed up his recovery soon, Gwen telling him that he would be great and fair and just when really all he wanted to hear was something about the here and now, not what he'd bring, just once.
He was sick of it. Arthur squared his shoulders a little, looking at Merlin and he could tell that Merlin knew this.
"I..." Merlin's voice was hesitant and he ran his tongue over his lips. "You know how clumsy I can be," he tried, smiling a little and looking at Arthur, as if he hadn't just lied.
"While I completely agree, I fail to see what that has to do with... this." He waved a hand, the word 'scars' sacred and unbidden at the moment.
"Well," Merlin started, his voice firmer. Arthur realised he'd settled on his convictions and prepared what he'd tell Arthur and, well, it was impressive really.
It seemed that, in order to preserve his secrets, Merlin could lie quite well. It had taken a few moments, but in that time he'd passed straight through any panicking phase and dissected the question at hand, coming up with an escape of a lie.
Before, Arthur had never seen it. He'd never seen Merlin take down the levels of a question and build them back up into his lie. He'd never thought Merlin could lie and wasn't that the beauty of it all, really? How far had Merlin fooled them all?
But no - that was wrong. This was Merlin. He didn't have a hidden agenda (or he was the world's most patient person in the world, after years of servitude and hardships to still not have reached his hidden agenda, his goal) and he wasn't out for glory. Merlin, the manservant who lacked the right training but would lay down his life again and again just because Arthur was there.
Who did he think he was?
Or should it be more of a question of who was Merlin? Perhaps everyone else had it wrong this time and this was what Merlin was supposed to do, who he was supposed to be.
"I am clumsy when carrying out duties. I get a number of scars all the time and while I'm flattered that you should care so much about me, it's a bit creepy to know you've been watching me when I'm undressed." Merlin crossed his arms over his chest, frowning at the cooking rabbits.
Part of Arthur wanted to accept it and close the subject, blame it all on Merlin's inadequacies. Yes, Merlin was an idiot, yes he must have dropped something on himself as he fell to get that scar on his chest; yes he must just have tripped and fallen onto something else for the mark on his back...
"No," Arthur said firmly. Not this time. "You're not an idiot Merlin," he said, and it felt like a relief to finally tell Merlin that. "And neither am I," he added, resting his chin on his hands.
Arthur wasn't sure how much time passed after that, but Merlin stood, turned the rabbits in their makeshift spits and sunk back down to sit on his log, still without having said a word. It didn't bother Arthur more than he already was bothered, because at least Merlin wasn't lying now.
Maybe he'd get the truth.
The fire hissed around the flesh it was heating and it was only a few moments later that Merlin clasped his hands together in his lap and licked his lips again.
"What do you want to know about?"
Arthur raised a brow in question and waited for Merlin to glance at him.
"I mean," Merlin said after he looked up, too briefly for Arthur to feel comfortable. "You said each one tells a story. What story do you want to know?"
His voice was resigned. Arthur had heard men speak this way once they'd been sentenced to a stay in the cells below Camelot and even to their deaths. Was Arthur's question so terrible for Merlin that he'd face it as others did death?
And there was the bile-burning question that haunted Arthur; why?
"On your back. And the one... the burn mark?" How else could he identify it? The image of the angry red skin was forever imprinted on his mind as well as the creeping horror it had brought.
Where had Merlin got it and why?
Too many questions, he needed Merlin to answer. If Merlin didn't answer... Arthur didn't know. Too many things had slipped through his notice, from Morgana to Gaius to his father to Gwen to the merchants in his village to the people... the list was endless. What did he, Arthur Pendragon, really know about anything?
If everything Merlin was had been a lie... or rather, if he couldn't even trust Merlin anymore...
"Right," Merlin said, drawing himself together. He looked up and was, to Arthur's surprise, smiling. "You had to pick the big ones didn't you?" he snorted lightly, closing his eyes with a sigh.
"There never really was a right time was there?" Arthur heard Merlin whisper, but he didn't answer. The question wasn't aimed towards him, or at least it didn't feel as though it was.
Arthur watched as Merlin straightened, still with a slight smile, and knew he'd get the truth.
"It's not a particularly nice story," Merlin said, honesty ringing in his words. "You won't like a lot of the things that have happened and it'll... change some things."
Arthur's skin prickled, but he fought to remain still. Merlin was being honest and, judging by the tone, Arthur was going to actually learn something (and wasn't that just laughable, after all, who learnt from their manservant?!). Outside of Camelot, by two rabbits roasting, Arthur was oddly happy to listen for once.
Morgana would have laughed at the idea. Uther would have scowled, glare passing from Arthur and over to Merlin. Gwen would have smiled slightly and ducked her head. Merlin... well Merlin was here, by his side like he always was.
Like he'd promised (how could Arthur forget that - he was good at ignoring but even he hadn't the power to wipe his mind of strange proclamations made by Merlin).
"And... I'm sorry."
Merlin didn't say what he was sorry for, but Arthur felt the weight settle around him. It wasn't a simple sorry, but carried the air of a thousand apologies, locked up tight in Merlin's chest.
"I have to start my story far back for you to understand, but... there's no point in hiding anything. You have to listen, okay? Just until I'm finished and then... you can do what you like."
Arthur's heart was beating in his chest. This was it; he was going to learn every secret about Merlin, just as Merlin knew everything about him. It was fair, right? He should know these things, be prepared if Merlin needed his help?
Even if he knew well by now that Merlin never needed his help. It was always the other way around, wasn't it?
"There was a man and one day he asked someone for a deal. A deal to give life to someone," Merlin began, shifting his foot through the leaves on the ground. He cast a look to the fire, before continuing. "Only it didn't go how he planned and..."
Merlin paused, his shoulders drooping a little.
"The sorceress took something precious to the man, something he loved so much that he almost couldn't bear it."
The story was a familiar one, almost as if it was woven into every bone of Arthur's body.
"He did something then, something terrible." Merlin ran a hand through his hair. "To give a life, one must be taken in exchange to keep the balance of the Old Religion. I don't know if Uther knew that or not, but... he blamed Nimueh."
Images of his mother, a lie Merlin had told him, rose and Arthur clenched his jaw, biting down the anger. Merlin had lied then? The woman who had held him tightly, spoken softly in his ear, the one he'd convinced himself was just an image conjured by Morgause-
But that meant then that...
"Nimueh traded your mother's life for your own after Uther struck the bargain." Merlin's voice was firm, with no amount of room for arguing. These were facts, words that had been facts for all of Arthur's life, facts that no matter how he wished he could, he couldn't change.
"It was what started the Great Purge, the death of Queen Ygraine."
It was, but everyone had been told that the sorceress murdered the Queen after Arthur's birth, not because of it.
"What has this got to do with anything?" Arthur demanded, unable to stop himself. He didn't want to know the secrets his father had buried. He wanted to know Merlin's secrets, wanted to just know how a servant could achieve such a mysterious air when he had no right to.
"Because you need to understand the story behind these scars," Merlin said softly. "Their story started long before we were born and I need..."
Arthur didn't know what Merlin needed and it didn't seem as though Merlin did either, as he took a deep breath in order to continue.
"The Old Religion likes balance; it's the only reason that I could come up with as to why it happened. Every sorcerer was hunted, man and woman, adult and child, and put to death. You were just a baby and I wasn't even born, but do you know how many people were killed?"
No, Arthur didn't.
"Hundreds. Probably thousands now. And that's just the official count, what about the people who were tortured and killed off on campaigns?" Merlin's voice was bitter.
"And then there's the dragons. He slaughtered them, one by one in glory he said. Whoever kills a mighty dragon will win the Kingdom's honour! And when the dragons wouldn't come, he tricked their Lords."
Merlin was smarter than anyone gave him credit for, Arthur realised. And braver by far; many people were still afraid to look up details on the Purge, preferring to feign ignorance to Uther's great 'cleansing' years.
He enslaved the Great Dragon and ordered more people to be killed. Some stood up to Uther," Merlin's mouth twisted here, a little proudly. "But it wasn't enough."
He turned to Arthur. "Everything needs balance," he said calmly. "Fire, water, air, earth, life and death. Magic isn't any different and with that amount abruptly taken from the world... well, I think it had to go somewhere, didn't it?"
Something about Merlin drew Arthur in. He seemed to be glowing inside - not that that actually made sense but there weren't any other words to describe it - and shifting, as if he was so much more than a boy from Ealdor and Arthur was only just seeing it now.
"So it did. Go somewhere I mean..."
Arthur was supposed to know where the scars were from. That was all. He'd been expecting some sort of fight maybe, down in the kitchens? Or even an attack from an animal when Merlin had been collecting wood or something.
Not this. Never this. Though it fit nicely into place, didn't it?
Arthur knew about balances and the Old Religion. Uther had drummed his magical philosophies into Arthur with his own teachings, pointing out that you should never make bargains with sorcerers. They were cunning, see, and tricksters. They'd pluck your eyes from their sockets if they could and thread them onto the necklace of eyes they wore around their necks.
Arthur could guess what Merlin was going to say, how he was going to admit his crime. He could imagine the way the words formed, how Merlin's lips moved around them. How the muscles of his face changed after he'd said them, noticing Arthur's face (or maybe imagining a reaction there, too scared to actually look into the eyes of his Prince after such an admission). He could guess the way Merlin would flinch if Arthur stood, or the way Merlin would scramble back with a shake of his head and the widening of his eyes-
"I was born with this power." Merlin's voice was flat. "It's not something I'd ask for if I knew what it was like to live without it... but I don't know what it's like without it. I've always been this way, doing magic before I could talk."
Arthur's heart was racing. Where was his sword? Over there, stabbed in the ground. Where was his dagger? Concealed in a small sheath on his hip, as always. Where were his hands? Attached to his arms, like they'd been since he was born.
Like how Merlin's magic had always been there.
"I wanted to tell you," Merlin said quietly, his eyes now looking down at the ground.
Arthur knew he had. There were moments in their history when there had been moments between them, where Arthur felt as if they were as far apart as mountains without really knowing why.
The smell of burning meat caught at the back of Arthur's throat and he felt sick. He turned away from Merlin, not caring that Merlin's face might fall or his manservant might frown. Only Arthur knew that he wasn't cringing away from Merlin having magic. Not completely, but if only for the fact that Merlin was amazing at telling his stories (Arthur knew that better than any)
(not completely at least, and that was because if anyone knew it, he did - Merlin was amazing at telling his little stories).
The wind blew smoke into his eyes and Arthur almost felt like coughing, admitting he felt sick with the knowledge of how close Merlin had come to being the rabbits. How many times had Arthur (almost) lost Merlin to the pyre?
Merlin was supposed to be telling his secrets and answering one simple question.
"How is it that you just seem to bring more questions?" Arthur asked after a pause in Merlin's story.
Merlin was calm as he replied, "I've been told I'm a riddle wrapped in a mystery. All I know is I am who I am and that you promised to keep quiet until I'd finished."
There was something caught at the back of Merlin’s throat, shown in his voice, something that could be likened to power.
Arthur closed his eyes. He had agreed and, for once, he wanted to listen. He’d never had the chance before, not from Uther or Morgana or his teachers or anyone. But here, by the fire, sitting on a slightly damp log, he was just a man, talking to another man.
He looked at Merlin and nodded. He had to know more. For the first time - first proper time at least - he would listen first and then act.
Only it scared him that he hadn’t a clue how he’d act when Merlin stopped talking.
Merlin was quiet for a moment and Arthur could hear the sound of tall grasses being ripped from the ground. A distraction, something that Arthur needed too, but he found himself unable to unclench his fists to fasten around the long stems around his calves. The ripping sound stopped and Arthur imagined the smoke around them had cleared a little - not that there was much in the first place, only in Arthur's mind where it was a funeral pyre rather than tonight's dinner.
Was killing sorcerers as easy for his father as cooking what he'd hunted was for Arthur? Could Uther sit on his throne, content, even though he had just sentenced a man to burn in his name? How could it not weigh his father down with every step he took across the courtyard, mapping the exact spot so many people had blistered and died?
"I grew up in Ealdor; just another ordinary farm boy who could do secret, non-ordinary things. That was the first lesson I learnt in life, to keep it all secret, to never show that I could do spectacular things. Never tell anyone that I could grow and reap a whole harvest before I could even hitch a horse to a plough; never whisper that I could heal someone where all other cures fell before I was old enough to climb trees."
Merlin's voice was soft, regretful. Arthur wondered if there were others out there, wanting to help when Uther had placed barriers around them. Was it possible Merlin could have given Ealdor food when they had none?
But what after? What if it didn't stop at Ealdor and Cenred had caught wind of the prosperous village when he first came into his reign? Surely if he'd know there was a powerful sorcerer able to conjure up full harvests for villages (did it stop at villages even, what about whole towns?), then would he have taken Merlin for himself? Attacked Camelot without fearing they'd run out of provisions on campaign?
And if Merlin could control a harvest as such, what else could he do? If something that took months to cultivate, that needed to be nurtured and tended daily could be done by one man, what else was he capable of?
"My mother wouldn't tell me anything about magic, other than that what I had was a wonderful gift, but I had to keep it a secret. It became a game, really, until I made a mistake."
Was Merlin a killer? Is that why he'd come to Camelot?
"I... used my magic to fell a tree and... it may have almost fallen on someone." That was Merlin; predictable, un-secretive, man-servant-y Merlin. "That and my mum found out Will knew about my magic and... well, she panicked."
The fire was dying down a little, unenthusiastic, and so Merlin pulled another log onto the flames, looking at the rabbit as he did so and adjusting them on their spits. Not too much longer, Arthur estimated, but he wasn't sure whether he'd be able to stomach the meat.
"She sent me to live with Gaius for a bit; see what I could learn from him I suppose. Gaius looked after her when she lived in Camelot and... she did him a favour when he needed to get someone out of Camelot."
It was supposed to feel as though he was unravelling a thread with ease. Secrets were supposed to spill over one another, untangle as they were explained, except all Arthur knew here was that every inch of conversation Merlin waged between them held more and more secrets. Too many for one man, but then again, was Merlin a man?
Uther didn't think sorcerers were men.
What did Arthur think?
"I had to use magic when I got to Gaius' rooms." Merlin scuffed a heel through the dirt between grass clumps, wiggling the tips of his boots. "Even though I'd just seen someone being killed for it; Gaius fell from the balcony and I had to... it was just instinctive, like all my magic."
No, that couldn't be right. Magic was a choice, a corruption of the soul. It festered in you as you skimmed the words of spells, drew upon the evil forces. It forced innocent people into seeing horrible visions and terrible things. It stole from harmless people, killed women and children as it plundered the land, taking what it wanted and leaving devastation in its wake.
Wait? The same magic that could feed people? The same magic that could heal people? The same magic that saved lives and could do who knows what else?
Instinctive. The word sounded foreign in Arthur's mind. Instinctive was Lancelot's ability to fight, Elena's ability for horses, Gwaine's pessimistic strength, Gwen's kindness, Gaius' attention to science, Uther's obsession with destroying magic, Morgana's ability to lie...
Arthur wanted to sink his head into his hands. It was too much, far too much. Merlin's secrets were bigger than he'd thought and - well, how far were they into this conversation? Not far enough, never far enough.
It was clear Merlin was not going to hold back. Why should he? Arthur wanted the truth, didn't he? Why should Merlin lie now when Arthur had already made it clear he won't stand for it? He’d had already asked Merlin not to lie; he couldn't very well take back his own words now, could he?
He wished, for a brief moment as the fire sizzled, charring meat, that he could. Or reverse time, pretend this was a dream, knock himself out and hope it would all go away.
Except he wanted that because he knew he needed this. He needed to know why Merlin was here, why his father was so consumed by his hatred, why Morgana had turned her back on them; too many things.
"I saved your life," Merlin muttered, turning his head to the fire. Arthur wanted to tell him to look away, ignore the flames as they rose a little. The fire was barely above their knees, should they be standing, but it loomed over them nonetheless, powerful and all consuming.
It was licking up Arthur's arms, holding him in place as Merlin wove his story, when it should be Merlin it was pinning, trapping the warlock to his lies, purifying his soul.
"I didn't know Uther was going to make me your manservant, but... we grew used to it, didn't we?" Merlin smiled as if he were remembering one of his childhood stories of mice and foxes. Stories that were so different to the night time tales of witches and wizards adhering to Uther's justice that Arthur grew up on.
"The dragon told me that I needed to be with you anyway. I think that's why I put up with you, because I knew it would get better. And..." Merlin trailed off and Arthur risked a look. His eyes weren't red or even glowing. They were blue, as they'd always been, and Merlin was still a person, still normal.
Sorcerers were normal people too? Arthur had once posed the question to his father and had been laughed at. He'd then left the teaching room, red-faced and embarrassed at his own stupidity.
Of course they weren't. They were minions of the devil, who had his hand around their throat and his voice in their heads. They were driven mad by the evil magic in them, with only one goal of destruction in mind.
"There were moments when I thought you weren't actually that bad." Merlin sounded as though he were biting down the words, trying not to say them. "It's just easier to think I did it for the dragon."
The dragon? The dragon that destroyed Camelot. Had Merlin... better not to think of that, really. It was part of the story and until it was told, it hadn't happened.
"With all this magic in me, it's kind of obvious that I'm not just here to be a servant."
This was it. Merlin was going to kill them all, gut them like he did with the rabbits, rip the skin off with uncoordinated tugs, laugh as he did so and bathe in the victory that he'd defeated Camelot.
"I'm here to make sure you become King. There are prophecies that speak of the Once and Future King, the greatest King ever to rule."
It was a fairy tale, told in the days of the Fallen Kings. One of the few fairy tales Arthur had even known in his childhood; a man who would rise up and take the whole of Albion, but be loved and cherished. Such a feat had never been done, was impossible, yet it was rumoured that the Fallen Kings had prophesised it, rather than told it as a common tale.
"I'm here, by your side, until you become that King. It is who you are, Arthur."
His name stretched between them. Servants shouldn't address him as such. Guinevere did though... Merlin always had (unless they were in a formal setting, because he could pretend he was trained at least), and Gaius tended to prefer his name to any title.
And really, if Merlin did take to calling him by a title as opposed to his name, Arthur wasn’t sure how he'd react. Years together and Merlin never showed an inkling to servitude other than what would pass him by without being slung into the dungeon. Admirable to some, foolish to others, but always appreciated by Arthur.
.
and you never did learn how to see
.
| part one | part two | part three | part four | part five | part six | part seven | part eight | part nine | part ten |