Fic: Harmonia Mundi (Merlin/Arthur, R): Part 2
Part Two
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It was probably a good thing, Merlin decided, that Arthur’s voice was easily audible over his song - otherwise, Merlin would never have been able to focus enough to hear the long lists of chores Arthur kept giving him. Or hear anything the prince said, really, because Arthur was enough of a prat that listening to his beautiful fire-and-spring music was much more pleasant than actually paying attention to what he was saying.
But it wasn’t just that. Somehow, it was strangely nice to be able to hear Arthur so well - it was oddly comforting, as well. It made Merlin feel more like a normal person, especially after the dragon’s revelation about the music. He still lay in bed at night, listening to the symphony of life around him and feeling like the only person awake in a world full of walking sleepers. To be able to bicker and argue with the prince, without having to expend any effort to hear him over the constant roar of the city and all its many citizens, was reassuring - and it was fun.
Doing the chores he kept getting assigned was less pleasant, but Gwen was there to help him, the steward was only a little annoyed by Merlin’s sudden promotion, and the kitchen staff already liked him. From there, once he learned what ‘clean’ sounded like, it was easy enough to get the work done. And if the prince was annoyed at a servant who seemed to be singing or humming all the time, Merlin, really, he didn’t complain too much.
Arthur was still an arse, of course, but he sounded so fascinating and was so dedicated to the things he loved (even if they were clearly stupid things like fighting in a pointless tournament) Merlin could forgive him the general idiocy and prat-like behaviour. And then Merlin discovered that Valiant’s shield sounded like a nest of snakes because it actually was a nest of snakes, and that the king really was as fierce and cold as he sounded, and even if Arthur hated him but he still couldn’t let the stupid prat die.
When Merlin finally managed to use a spell from the magic-book for the first time, to change the statue into a real dog, he heard that strange duality of sound again. He wondered if the second layer was the magic, or if the magic caused the second song - but then dismissed the question in favour of saving Arthur’s life (again).
And then, somehow, Arthur didn’t hate him after all, and life went back to something that might, one day, resemble normal. After that, time seemed to fly by - though Merlin was astounded at how often Camelot was be struck by some new calamity.
As the weeks passed, Merlin learned what magical illness sounded like, that the presence or absence of poison in a goblet was impossible to hear over the din of a room full of angry nobles, that pretty handmaidens who sounded like a rainstorm were not always to be trusted, and that magical creatures like the griffin also resonated with the same beautiful duality of harmony as the dragon.
It was a surprise to Merlin that an evil murderous sorceress didn’t sound evil, or that the flesh-eating griffin didn’t sound like a monster. Their songs were no different from anything else Merlin had encountered, and there seemed to be no specific sound that indicated evil.
Merlin thought this was rather unfortunate. He could have used the hint before Edwin, with his strange-sounding beetles and mossy-forest note, attempted to kill both Gaius and Uther. Or when Sophia and Ulfric arrived at the court, resonating like warm sunlight and then ensorcelling the prince. Merlin was amazed by the tingling music of the Sidhe, resonating like underwater sunshine, but the bright warmth turned to burning heat as they bespelled Arthur and pushed him under the glittering, gently-thrumming water. The bright-tingling staff was surprisingly powerful, vaporising the two would-be fae into a flurry of separate notes that petered away to nothing, leaving Merlin scrambling to hear Arthur under the cold humming water.
On the other hand, Lancelot did not sound especially noble or strong. He rang with the cool comfort of a pure forest spring, and Merlin was enthralled by the serenity of the sound. It harmonized beautifully with Gwen’s flower-song, he thought as he listened happily.
Lancelot's Song
Lancelot and Guinevere: Duet
The druid boy was another conundrum. If the dragon hadn’t told Merlin that he was the only one who could hear the music, Merlin would have been convinced that the boy heard it too. As it stood, the boy’s voice rang clear as a bell in his head, just like the music, and the dragon was telling him to just let the boy die.
By this point, Merlin was fairly sure that evil had no particular sound, but that didn’t stop him from listening closely to the boy’s song. It reminded him a bit of Gaius, deep and green and somehow mysterious, like a deep pool of water in a silent forest. As well as that, the boy reminded him even more of himself when he was young - vague and silent, as if he was lost inside his own head. And Merlin almost did as the dragon told him, but somehow he just couldn’t. He was only a boy, and he sounded so innocent and so young, and Merlin couldn’t disappoint Arthur like that.
The black knight was something else altogether. Merlin could hear the armour clanging loudly, but the man inside seemed completely silent. It was as if he were dead. As if he did not exist. The eerie, unnatural silence was terrifying. Gaius named the creature a wraith and Merlin went to the dragon to beg for aid.
The combination of the best, strongest-sounding sword Merlin could find and the dragon’s roaring flame resulted in the most beautiful weapon Merlin had ever heard. Excalibur chimed in harmony with Arthur’s ringing resonance, fierce and bright and strong, like the fire from which it was born. But then Uther was wielding it, and the clashing discord between his cold-river-wind and the blade’s incandescence made Merlin wince. The weapon was still able to destroy the wraith, fire burning the silent undead creature away to nothing, but the horrible screaming dissonance of Uther-and-Excalibur was almost more than Merlin could bear.
The dragon was, of course, furious, and Merlin was forced to take the blade and hide it in a lake that could conceal its fiery radiance. One day, he hoped, it would sing for Arthur as had been intended.
By now, Merlin was learning steadily. The spell-book helped, and through it he found he could use words to shape the eerie, second layer of sound he had come to associate with magic. Sometimes it was easier to just change the music, as he had always done, but for bigger changes the words seemed more effective.
His friendship with Gwen and Morgana grew steadily stronger, and Merlin settled comfortably into palace life. Arthur too seemed content with his servant. For his part, Merlin loved nothing better than to sit and listen to the prince’s song as he cleaned armour or sharpened a sword, and Arthur didn’t seem to mind his servant’s presence. They bickered and teased each other relentlessly, and Arthur was always taunting Merlin about his constant music-making, but the prince almost never ordered him to be silent.
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Hunith’s arrival at Camelot was a surprise and a delight, but the news she brought was not. Without Merlin there to twist the bandits into harmony and send them away content, Kanen was asking for more than the village could afford to give and would not take no for an answer.
It was no surprise that Uther refused to help. Arthur’s and Morgana’s protestations gave Merlin a surge of happiness, but he knew they could do nothing. But Merlin’s aid was all the village would need, and he would return with his mother to protect Ealdor. He would miss his friends, but the village needed him. His mother needed him.
When Merlin found he couldn’t dissuade proud-soaring Morgana or sweet-flower Gwen from coming with them, he was torn between delight and resentment. Their desire to help was gratifying but how was he going to re-tune the bandits, or at least scare them away, without revealing himself?
Late that night, he stared into the fire and wondered how they would react if (when, a small voice whispered) they found out his secret, anxiety twisting tight knots in his belly. He’d just about convinced himself that he wouldn’t mind not going back to Camelot, if it came to it, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Arthur approaching. A wave of pleasure swept through him, and though it was tinged with unease, the sheer joy he felt at hearing the bright resonance of Arthur’s song was surprising in its intensity. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed the familiar sound of Arthur in the mere hours they’d been separated, hadn’t realised how much he had come to rely on Arthur’s continuing presence nearby and how much he’d felt the absence of that bright music when he had left it behind. He tried to ignore the anxiety blossoming into cold, hard fear, and the knowledge of how much it would hurt if (when) he had to leave Camelot behind forever.
Ealdor was much quieter than he remembered, but the chorus of the village was so wonderfully familiar Merlin couldn’t help the huge grin that spread over his face as they rode towards it. When he heard the familiar chuckle of Will’s stream-song he raced to hug his old friend, alight with happiness. But somehow, Will was not the same as Merlin remembered. He seemed - deeper, colder, angrier. And he soured with fear and anger as he argued with Arthur before storming away and leaving Merlin to chase after him in confusion and disappointment.
Their argument was not a surprise, and Merlin knew his friend had a point, even though he didn’t want to admit it. Merlin had changed since he had left Ealdor only a few short months ago, and now he felt like he no longer fitted into the simple, sweet harmony of the small village. Will’s anger had only served to make him feel even more a stranger in what had once been his own home. It was all so bewildering - the new strangeness of Will, the incongruity of Arthur’s bright resonance and the simplicity of the village song, the growing fear of what the prince would do when he found his manservant was a liar and a wizard. And not just any wizard, but one who could hear what no man had ever heard before, powerful and loyal to Arthur alone. And if Arthur sent him away - well. Merlin had no idea what he would do, if Arthur despised him. If he would never hear that bright, happy song again. He tried not to think about it.
When Matthew’s silent body approached, Merlin knew they were in trouble. When the loud, fierce raiders came rushing towards the village, he felt guilt shoot through him, hot and sharp as a blade. As men and women went silent around him, he knew he had to act.
Calling on the air was easy, tuning the small breezes together into one mighty chord, a windstorm that sent flying both friend and foe alike. Will stood next to him and Merlin drew strength from his steadfast song, his strongly chiming support. He knew Arthur had seen.
The duel with Kanen was loud and painful to hear, but Merlin was confident in Arthur’s victory. When his prince did win, Merlin turned away from the fading of Kanen’s song. He didn’t want to hear the slow-creeping silence overtake anyone else today. He focused on Arthur, raising his chin and letting the prince’s bright song wash over him once more before he admitted the truth.
He didn’t hear the arrow until it was too late.
When Will took the blame, Merlin held back sobs. As his happy, bubbling song faded, Merlin felt tears running down his cheeks. As silence bloomed in that still, quiet room, Merlin felt despair overwhelm him. Will was gone, and Merlin was alone.
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The journey from Ealdor to Camelot was a lot faster on horseback. This time though, Merlin hated the deep song of the mountains, despised the high ringing of sunlight on snow. He didn’t want to hear the music. It was still there, it always was, but at least he could try his best to ignore it and pretend it didn’t exist. He could pretend he was as deaf as the rest of the world, just blissful as they seemed in their ignorance - because how could he bear to hear life when Will was dead, and no one knew Merlin’s secret? Gaius and his mother knew about the magic, but the dragon had told him to keep the world-chorus secret, and he had done as it had instructed. Now not one human soul knew about the music, and Merlin felt utterly alone.
At night, as he lay in the dark and resented the swell of sound from the city, Merlin wondered if it was worth it. If the music was worth the terrible isolation, fear and loneliness. He wished he was normal, just like anyone else, living life in happy silence and never knowing that something was lacking. Not knowing there was anything to miss if he didn’t hear the coming of the winter on the wind, or the sharp sigh of the birds flying south. Not hearing the silence where a friend should be singing bright and clear.
He tried to tell himself that he would give it all up to get Will back again, that Will’s life would be worth the emptiness of silence - but it was a lie, and Merlin hated himself for that. And he hated the music for meaning more to him than he was sure it ever should.
Days turned into weeks, and still Merlin tried to ignore the music. Arthur was strangely considerate of his silent manservant, but Merlin barely noticed, too busy trying not to listen to the prince’s song.
But then he met the unicorn.
The sheer beauty of the creature was incredible, a shining beacon of light and hope, a glorious radiance that bathed him in joy as he gazed at it in awe. As it stepped slowly towards him, he almost believed that it was there for him, to reassure him that he was not alone - that the magic of the world cared for him too.
The Unicorn
But then Arthur released his arrow, and the beautiful glory was snuffed out, gone as though it had never been. The resulting silence was so painful it was all Merlin could do not to sob like a child. As Camelot began to die around him, strange discord blighting the previously healthy fields, he struggled to find it in himself to care. Will was gone, the world had no unicorn, why should he care for anything or anyone?
But then Arthur was gone on a quest, and he was drinking poison for Merlin, the idiot, and he was dead but then he wasn’t and the unicorn was back and as beautiful as ever, the glory of its music in harmony with Arthur piercing the wall of Merlin’s apathy like it was made of straw.
When they returned to Camelot, Arthur as radiant as ever and smiling like nothing could ever make him sad, Merlin felt a small flame of happiness light in his chest. If he could hear things like the unicorn and Arthur uniting in a duet, he couldn’t find it in himself to hate the magic.
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The Questing Beast was deafening. The ferocious, ravenous baying of a pack of hunting hounds rang in Merlin’s ears as it chased them through the forest, stumbling, hearing Sir Bedivere scream and be silenced behind them. It echoed through the caves so loud that Merlin couldn’t tell where it was, and then suddenly it was behind them, going for Arthur who pushed Merlin out of the way, the prat, leaping towards the beast and getting himself bitten like a complete idiot. Merlin heard the instant the poison entered Arthur’s system, the seeping venom dimming the prince’s music as though a thick veil had been drawn over Arthur’s bright flame.
The trek to the Isle of the Blessed was a blur of noise and desperation. The island itself rang with a heady mix of earth and water, into which Nimueh’s soft rain-song merged flawlessly. The deal was an easy decision, his life for Arthur’s, and Merlin watched in wonder as the priestess let her song swell, louder and stronger until dark clouds gathered overhead and real rain began to fall into the goblet that hummed with power.
Merlin did not remember the trip home, did not remember staggering into Gaius’s chambers holding the life-giving water. But he did remember pouring the water into Arthur’s slack, open mouth, stroking the almost-silent prince’s cheek and bending low to whisper encouraging words as the bright music slowly, so slowly, began to get stronger.
He could hardly bear the horrible distorted sound that was now Hunith, sores covering her skin and song almost unrecognisable. And then he realised Gaius had gone to take his place, and the world blurred into noise and desperation once more.
When he reached the island, the green song that was Gaius was almost gone. Enraged, he called on the magic, remembering the lesson of the four elements the physician had taught him so long ago. Here, in a place where earth and water reigned, surely fire would have the power to destroy Nimueh.
But she laughed, and hurled balls of ringing flame back at him, burning his clothes and his skin before he could silence the violent heat. As he lay on the ground, gasping in pain, a strange thought came to him and he remembered Old Man Simmons and the village apple tree.
Agony shot through him as he climbed to his feet and raised his hand, but he knew what to do now. Calling on the rain-song that was Nimueh, he let it swell as she had done only the day before, stretching up to the clouds above, making them thicken and churn with storm-song. Reaching out his mind, he thought lightning, and the high bright chiming blossomed over his head. He felt for Nimueh’s rain and connected it to the storm now raging above them, and the bright lightening rushed down, obliterating the priestess in a blaze of heat and sound.
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Late one evening several days later, Merlin watched Gaius pottering contentedly around his room, mixing some concoction or another for Arthur’s rapidly-healing wound. Hunith’s recovery had been something like miraculous, and she had left for Ealdor that morning. Merlin missed her, but he was glad she was well again.
He had spent the past few days pondering the dragon’s betrayal, and wondering how much he could trust anything it had told him in the past. Gaius had been ready to die for Merlin, and Merlin still hadn’t told him the whole truth. The dragon had betrayed him and in light of that, Merlin had come to a decision.
“Gaius? There’s something I need to tell you.”
The old man turned, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, Merlin?”
“Umm. Maybe. You should sit down?”
The eyebrow went even higher, but Gaius put down his equipment and moved over to sit at the table with Merlin, a slight frown on his face. “Merlin. Is this about the Isle of the Blessed?”
Merlin fidgeted uncomfortably. “No - well, sort of. It’s complicated.”
“Just spit it out, boy,” Gaius told him gently.
Merlin stared at the wood-grain of the table, tracing it with his finger as he listened to the gentle hum of the wood.
“What do you know about the musica universalis?”
Gaius’s eyes went wide. “Where did you hear about that?”
Merlin opened the book sitting next to him. With a soft hum, it flipped to a page that was already worn from much use. Gaius stared at the words.
“No, Merlin! You cannot be thinking of trying this. It is far too dangerous! What on earth made you think this might be necessary?”
Merlin started to respond, but Gaius waved him silent.
“I have seen others try to perform this spell. Witches, warlocks, not one of them ever succeeded. It was held to be one of the greatest possible accomplishments, the mark of a great sorcerer, to have heard the musica universalis, the harmonia mundi, and lived to tell the tale. But you do not need to do this! There is no need, and I absolutely will not let you take the risk for so little gain. What would Arthur do if you went mad? No. You must not do it.”
A smile had crept onto Merlin’s face as he stared at the table, and Gaius frowned again. “What is it?”
Merlin looked up. “I don’t need to perform the spell, Gaius.”
Puzzlement filled the old man’s face. “Then why did you ask me about it? Surely not out of academic curiosity.”
Shaking his head, Merlin dropped his eyes back to the table. “No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I don’t need to perform the spell. I can hear it already.”
Gaius’s eyes went wide. “You can hear...”
“I hear the music, Gaius, and I always have. Ever since I can remember, I’ve heard the music. I just didn’t know there was a name for it until I came here.”
Mouth open, Gaius just sat and stared. Merlin kept talking, words that had been held back for so long now coming out in a rush. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but the dragon said not to tell anyone, but after what happened with the Isle of the Blessed I don’t trust anything he ever said and with Will gone it’s been so lonely and I just...” he trailed off, surprised to find he was fighting back tears. He wiped at his face angrily, and looked down again, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“Oh, Merlin.” Gaius stood up, walked around the table, and pulled the boy into a hug. “Well, I always did say you were special,” he mused. “Though I admit, this was a bit more than I expected.”
Merlin sniffed. “You’re not angry? That I didn’t tell you?”
“No. Well, I wish you had trusted me before this, but it sounds like you thought you had good reason not to.” Gaius let Merlin go, sitting back down at the table. “We’re going to have a talk about what you said about the dragon, but that can wait for another time. I want you to tell me more about what you hear. Imagine, born hearing the harmonia mundi,” Gaius shook his head. “I can hardly believe it.”
Merlin shrugged. “When I was little, I thought everybody could hear it. Will was the one who told me he couldn’t, and I thought he must have been special or something until I realised that Mum couldn’t hear it either. I could hardly believe it.”
“Doesn’t it deafen you? How do you hear anything else?”
“It - I don’t know. Its distracting, sometimes, and hearing voices over the music can be hard, but I’ve gotten a lot better since coming to Camelot.” Merlin huffed a laugh. “It was so loud, when I first got here I thought I’d go mad from it. But I got used to it, eventually.”
“Incredible. Just incredible.”
“Not really,” Merlin shrugged. “It just is, it always has been. I mean, I couldn’t be without it. I can’t imagine how you can live in silence and not go mad. I couldn’t bear to not hear the mountains, or the city, or the spring,” he shuddered at the thought. “I can’t think of anything more terrifying than silence.”
Gaius shook his head. “Incredible. You hear the mountains, the spring? What does it sound like?”
“Um. I don’t know, sort of like flowers? And warm, but not yet, just like it will be. And growing green things. It’s hard to describe. Arthur sounds a bit like spring, actually.”
“Really? People have music too?”
“Of course!”
“Incredible. Can I .. I mean. What do I sound like?”
Merlin smiled. “You? Like the forest - green, and comforting. I used to hide in the forest when I wanted to get away from the village, and when I first heard you I thought you sounded just like the trees I used to sing with.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Gaius smiled. “You really are quite extraordinary. I hardly believe such a thing could be possible, and yet here you sit. Just - incredible.”
Warmth rose to Merlin’s cheeks, and he looked back down at the table.
“Merlin.”
He looked back up. Gaius was still smiling at him. “My boy. Tell me everything.”
Much later, Merlin went to bed smiling. Somehow, he didn’t feel nearly so lonely any more.
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After that, time flew past. Merlin could hardly keep track of all the crazy things that kept trying to kill Arthur or take over Camelot or whatever, and really, they all just blurred into one big discordant mass of bad-things-to-defeat. Though a few events did stand out from the rest.
Morgause was a waterfall, forceful and strong. Merlin didn’t trust her, or the silent phantom of Igraine she summoned.
Freya sounded like the high mountain lake she longed for, a peaceful note Merlin thought he could listen to and love for the rest of his life. He tried not to think about how much he missed her after she was gone.
Morgana’s betrayal was not the surprise it should have been, somehow. The dragon’s warnings had planted the seed of doubt, and Merlin could only regret that he had not been able to stop her.
The Crystal of Neahtid sang a resonant, glorious symphony in his hands, the entwining songs of past, present and future both alluring and terrifying even as he tried not to listen.
When the soft, irresistible lullaby-spell filled the castle, Merlin felt fear. The silent, undead knights terrified him, and the quiet, deadly note of the hemlock hummed a constant reminder of what he had to do. And even though he knew it was necessary, the slow, agonised fading of Morgana’s proud-eagle song would haunt him.
Freeing the dragon was easier than he had thought it would be, but when the beast turned on the city Merlin knew they were in trouble. He could do nothing against the mighty song of fire-and-mountain, and neither could the knights of Camelot.
Balinor was just a man, in the end. Merlin had expected him to sound - different, special, and in some ways he did. There was a soft note of fire underlying his resonance, not quite a second song but somehow reminiscent of the dragon, and Merlin knew it was his birthright as a Dragonlord. But if Merlin had not already known, if Gaius had not told him, he would never have thought the man might be his father.
After Balinor was silenced, Merlin wondered if his song now chimed with that underlying note of fire. He had never been able to hear his own song, so he didn’t know if he had indeed inherited his father’s gift until he stood on the now-quiet field. Mastering the dragon was unlike any magic he had ever performed before, and he could hear the tone of fire ringing through his words as he spoke and forced Kilgarrah to obey his will. And if the victory seemed a hollow one in the face of what Merlin had gained, so briefly, and then lost - well. He tried to put it out of his mind.
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To Part Three
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It was probably a good thing, Merlin decided, that Arthur’s voice was easily audible over his song - otherwise, Merlin would never have been able to focus enough to hear the long lists of chores Arthur kept giving him. Or hear anything the prince said, really, because Arthur was enough of a prat that listening to his beautiful fire-and-spring music was much more pleasant than actually paying attention to what he was saying.
But it wasn’t just that. Somehow, it was strangely nice to be able to hear Arthur so well - it was oddly comforting, as well. It made Merlin feel more like a normal person, especially after the dragon’s revelation about the music. He still lay in bed at night, listening to the symphony of life around him and feeling like the only person awake in a world full of walking sleepers. To be able to bicker and argue with the prince, without having to expend any effort to hear him over the constant roar of the city and all its many citizens, was reassuring - and it was fun.
Doing the chores he kept getting assigned was less pleasant, but Gwen was there to help him, the steward was only a little annoyed by Merlin’s sudden promotion, and the kitchen staff already liked him. From there, once he learned what ‘clean’ sounded like, it was easy enough to get the work done. And if the prince was annoyed at a servant who seemed to be singing or humming all the time, Merlin, really, he didn’t complain too much.
Arthur was still an arse, of course, but he sounded so fascinating and was so dedicated to the things he loved (even if they were clearly stupid things like fighting in a pointless tournament) Merlin could forgive him the general idiocy and prat-like behaviour. And then Merlin discovered that Valiant’s shield sounded like a nest of snakes because it actually was a nest of snakes, and that the king really was as fierce and cold as he sounded, and even if Arthur hated him but he still couldn’t let the stupid prat die.
When Merlin finally managed to use a spell from the magic-book for the first time, to change the statue into a real dog, he heard that strange duality of sound again. He wondered if the second layer was the magic, or if the magic caused the second song - but then dismissed the question in favour of saving Arthur’s life (again).
And then, somehow, Arthur didn’t hate him after all, and life went back to something that might, one day, resemble normal. After that, time seemed to fly by - though Merlin was astounded at how often Camelot was be struck by some new calamity.
As the weeks passed, Merlin learned what magical illness sounded like, that the presence or absence of poison in a goblet was impossible to hear over the din of a room full of angry nobles, that pretty handmaidens who sounded like a rainstorm were not always to be trusted, and that magical creatures like the griffin also resonated with the same beautiful duality of harmony as the dragon.
It was a surprise to Merlin that an evil murderous sorceress didn’t sound evil, or that the flesh-eating griffin didn’t sound like a monster. Their songs were no different from anything else Merlin had encountered, and there seemed to be no specific sound that indicated evil.
Merlin thought this was rather unfortunate. He could have used the hint before Edwin, with his strange-sounding beetles and mossy-forest note, attempted to kill both Gaius and Uther. Or when Sophia and Ulfric arrived at the court, resonating like warm sunlight and then ensorcelling the prince. Merlin was amazed by the tingling music of the Sidhe, resonating like underwater sunshine, but the bright warmth turned to burning heat as they bespelled Arthur and pushed him under the glittering, gently-thrumming water. The bright-tingling staff was surprisingly powerful, vaporising the two would-be fae into a flurry of separate notes that petered away to nothing, leaving Merlin scrambling to hear Arthur under the cold humming water.
On the other hand, Lancelot did not sound especially noble or strong. He rang with the cool comfort of a pure forest spring, and Merlin was enthralled by the serenity of the sound. It harmonized beautifully with Gwen’s flower-song, he thought as he listened happily.
Lancelot's Song
Lancelot and Guinevere: Duet
The druid boy was another conundrum. If the dragon hadn’t told Merlin that he was the only one who could hear the music, Merlin would have been convinced that the boy heard it too. As it stood, the boy’s voice rang clear as a bell in his head, just like the music, and the dragon was telling him to just let the boy die.
By this point, Merlin was fairly sure that evil had no particular sound, but that didn’t stop him from listening closely to the boy’s song. It reminded him a bit of Gaius, deep and green and somehow mysterious, like a deep pool of water in a silent forest. As well as that, the boy reminded him even more of himself when he was young - vague and silent, as if he was lost inside his own head. And Merlin almost did as the dragon told him, but somehow he just couldn’t. He was only a boy, and he sounded so innocent and so young, and Merlin couldn’t disappoint Arthur like that.
The black knight was something else altogether. Merlin could hear the armour clanging loudly, but the man inside seemed completely silent. It was as if he were dead. As if he did not exist. The eerie, unnatural silence was terrifying. Gaius named the creature a wraith and Merlin went to the dragon to beg for aid.
The combination of the best, strongest-sounding sword Merlin could find and the dragon’s roaring flame resulted in the most beautiful weapon Merlin had ever heard. Excalibur chimed in harmony with Arthur’s ringing resonance, fierce and bright and strong, like the fire from which it was born. But then Uther was wielding it, and the clashing discord between his cold-river-wind and the blade’s incandescence made Merlin wince. The weapon was still able to destroy the wraith, fire burning the silent undead creature away to nothing, but the horrible screaming dissonance of Uther-and-Excalibur was almost more than Merlin could bear.
The dragon was, of course, furious, and Merlin was forced to take the blade and hide it in a lake that could conceal its fiery radiance. One day, he hoped, it would sing for Arthur as had been intended.
By now, Merlin was learning steadily. The spell-book helped, and through it he found he could use words to shape the eerie, second layer of sound he had come to associate with magic. Sometimes it was easier to just change the music, as he had always done, but for bigger changes the words seemed more effective.
His friendship with Gwen and Morgana grew steadily stronger, and Merlin settled comfortably into palace life. Arthur too seemed content with his servant. For his part, Merlin loved nothing better than to sit and listen to the prince’s song as he cleaned armour or sharpened a sword, and Arthur didn’t seem to mind his servant’s presence. They bickered and teased each other relentlessly, and Arthur was always taunting Merlin about his constant music-making, but the prince almost never ordered him to be silent.
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Hunith’s arrival at Camelot was a surprise and a delight, but the news she brought was not. Without Merlin there to twist the bandits into harmony and send them away content, Kanen was asking for more than the village could afford to give and would not take no for an answer.
It was no surprise that Uther refused to help. Arthur’s and Morgana’s protestations gave Merlin a surge of happiness, but he knew they could do nothing. But Merlin’s aid was all the village would need, and he would return with his mother to protect Ealdor. He would miss his friends, but the village needed him. His mother needed him.
When Merlin found he couldn’t dissuade proud-soaring Morgana or sweet-flower Gwen from coming with them, he was torn between delight and resentment. Their desire to help was gratifying but how was he going to re-tune the bandits, or at least scare them away, without revealing himself?
Late that night, he stared into the fire and wondered how they would react if (when, a small voice whispered) they found out his secret, anxiety twisting tight knots in his belly. He’d just about convinced himself that he wouldn’t mind not going back to Camelot, if it came to it, when he heard the unmistakable sound of Arthur approaching. A wave of pleasure swept through him, and though it was tinged with unease, the sheer joy he felt at hearing the bright resonance of Arthur’s song was surprising in its intensity. He couldn’t believe how much he’d missed the familiar sound of Arthur in the mere hours they’d been separated, hadn’t realised how much he had come to rely on Arthur’s continuing presence nearby and how much he’d felt the absence of that bright music when he had left it behind. He tried to ignore the anxiety blossoming into cold, hard fear, and the knowledge of how much it would hurt if (when) he had to leave Camelot behind forever.
Ealdor was much quieter than he remembered, but the chorus of the village was so wonderfully familiar Merlin couldn’t help the huge grin that spread over his face as they rode towards it. When he heard the familiar chuckle of Will’s stream-song he raced to hug his old friend, alight with happiness. But somehow, Will was not the same as Merlin remembered. He seemed - deeper, colder, angrier. And he soured with fear and anger as he argued with Arthur before storming away and leaving Merlin to chase after him in confusion and disappointment.
Their argument was not a surprise, and Merlin knew his friend had a point, even though he didn’t want to admit it. Merlin had changed since he had left Ealdor only a few short months ago, and now he felt like he no longer fitted into the simple, sweet harmony of the small village. Will’s anger had only served to make him feel even more a stranger in what had once been his own home. It was all so bewildering - the new strangeness of Will, the incongruity of Arthur’s bright resonance and the simplicity of the village song, the growing fear of what the prince would do when he found his manservant was a liar and a wizard. And not just any wizard, but one who could hear what no man had ever heard before, powerful and loyal to Arthur alone. And if Arthur sent him away - well. Merlin had no idea what he would do, if Arthur despised him. If he would never hear that bright, happy song again. He tried not to think about it.
When Matthew’s silent body approached, Merlin knew they were in trouble. When the loud, fierce raiders came rushing towards the village, he felt guilt shoot through him, hot and sharp as a blade. As men and women went silent around him, he knew he had to act.
Calling on the air was easy, tuning the small breezes together into one mighty chord, a windstorm that sent flying both friend and foe alike. Will stood next to him and Merlin drew strength from his steadfast song, his strongly chiming support. He knew Arthur had seen.
The duel with Kanen was loud and painful to hear, but Merlin was confident in Arthur’s victory. When his prince did win, Merlin turned away from the fading of Kanen’s song. He didn’t want to hear the slow-creeping silence overtake anyone else today. He focused on Arthur, raising his chin and letting the prince’s bright song wash over him once more before he admitted the truth.
He didn’t hear the arrow until it was too late.
When Will took the blame, Merlin held back sobs. As his happy, bubbling song faded, Merlin felt tears running down his cheeks. As silence bloomed in that still, quiet room, Merlin felt despair overwhelm him. Will was gone, and Merlin was alone.
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The journey from Ealdor to Camelot was a lot faster on horseback. This time though, Merlin hated the deep song of the mountains, despised the high ringing of sunlight on snow. He didn’t want to hear the music. It was still there, it always was, but at least he could try his best to ignore it and pretend it didn’t exist. He could pretend he was as deaf as the rest of the world, just blissful as they seemed in their ignorance - because how could he bear to hear life when Will was dead, and no one knew Merlin’s secret? Gaius and his mother knew about the magic, but the dragon had told him to keep the world-chorus secret, and he had done as it had instructed. Now not one human soul knew about the music, and Merlin felt utterly alone.
At night, as he lay in the dark and resented the swell of sound from the city, Merlin wondered if it was worth it. If the music was worth the terrible isolation, fear and loneliness. He wished he was normal, just like anyone else, living life in happy silence and never knowing that something was lacking. Not knowing there was anything to miss if he didn’t hear the coming of the winter on the wind, or the sharp sigh of the birds flying south. Not hearing the silence where a friend should be singing bright and clear.
He tried to tell himself that he would give it all up to get Will back again, that Will’s life would be worth the emptiness of silence - but it was a lie, and Merlin hated himself for that. And he hated the music for meaning more to him than he was sure it ever should.
Days turned into weeks, and still Merlin tried to ignore the music. Arthur was strangely considerate of his silent manservant, but Merlin barely noticed, too busy trying not to listen to the prince’s song.
But then he met the unicorn.
The sheer beauty of the creature was incredible, a shining beacon of light and hope, a glorious radiance that bathed him in joy as he gazed at it in awe. As it stepped slowly towards him, he almost believed that it was there for him, to reassure him that he was not alone - that the magic of the world cared for him too.
The Unicorn
But then Arthur released his arrow, and the beautiful glory was snuffed out, gone as though it had never been. The resulting silence was so painful it was all Merlin could do not to sob like a child. As Camelot began to die around him, strange discord blighting the previously healthy fields, he struggled to find it in himself to care. Will was gone, the world had no unicorn, why should he care for anything or anyone?
But then Arthur was gone on a quest, and he was drinking poison for Merlin, the idiot, and he was dead but then he wasn’t and the unicorn was back and as beautiful as ever, the glory of its music in harmony with Arthur piercing the wall of Merlin’s apathy like it was made of straw.
When they returned to Camelot, Arthur as radiant as ever and smiling like nothing could ever make him sad, Merlin felt a small flame of happiness light in his chest. If he could hear things like the unicorn and Arthur uniting in a duet, he couldn’t find it in himself to hate the magic.
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The Questing Beast was deafening. The ferocious, ravenous baying of a pack of hunting hounds rang in Merlin’s ears as it chased them through the forest, stumbling, hearing Sir Bedivere scream and be silenced behind them. It echoed through the caves so loud that Merlin couldn’t tell where it was, and then suddenly it was behind them, going for Arthur who pushed Merlin out of the way, the prat, leaping towards the beast and getting himself bitten like a complete idiot. Merlin heard the instant the poison entered Arthur’s system, the seeping venom dimming the prince’s music as though a thick veil had been drawn over Arthur’s bright flame.
The trek to the Isle of the Blessed was a blur of noise and desperation. The island itself rang with a heady mix of earth and water, into which Nimueh’s soft rain-song merged flawlessly. The deal was an easy decision, his life for Arthur’s, and Merlin watched in wonder as the priestess let her song swell, louder and stronger until dark clouds gathered overhead and real rain began to fall into the goblet that hummed with power.
Merlin did not remember the trip home, did not remember staggering into Gaius’s chambers holding the life-giving water. But he did remember pouring the water into Arthur’s slack, open mouth, stroking the almost-silent prince’s cheek and bending low to whisper encouraging words as the bright music slowly, so slowly, began to get stronger.
He could hardly bear the horrible distorted sound that was now Hunith, sores covering her skin and song almost unrecognisable. And then he realised Gaius had gone to take his place, and the world blurred into noise and desperation once more.
When he reached the island, the green song that was Gaius was almost gone. Enraged, he called on the magic, remembering the lesson of the four elements the physician had taught him so long ago. Here, in a place where earth and water reigned, surely fire would have the power to destroy Nimueh.
But she laughed, and hurled balls of ringing flame back at him, burning his clothes and his skin before he could silence the violent heat. As he lay on the ground, gasping in pain, a strange thought came to him and he remembered Old Man Simmons and the village apple tree.
Agony shot through him as he climbed to his feet and raised his hand, but he knew what to do now. Calling on the rain-song that was Nimueh, he let it swell as she had done only the day before, stretching up to the clouds above, making them thicken and churn with storm-song. Reaching out his mind, he thought lightning, and the high bright chiming blossomed over his head. He felt for Nimueh’s rain and connected it to the storm now raging above them, and the bright lightening rushed down, obliterating the priestess in a blaze of heat and sound.
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Late one evening several days later, Merlin watched Gaius pottering contentedly around his room, mixing some concoction or another for Arthur’s rapidly-healing wound. Hunith’s recovery had been something like miraculous, and she had left for Ealdor that morning. Merlin missed her, but he was glad she was well again.
He had spent the past few days pondering the dragon’s betrayal, and wondering how much he could trust anything it had told him in the past. Gaius had been ready to die for Merlin, and Merlin still hadn’t told him the whole truth. The dragon had betrayed him and in light of that, Merlin had come to a decision.
“Gaius? There’s something I need to tell you.”
The old man turned, raising an eyebrow. “Yes, Merlin?”
“Umm. Maybe. You should sit down?”
The eyebrow went even higher, but Gaius put down his equipment and moved over to sit at the table with Merlin, a slight frown on his face. “Merlin. Is this about the Isle of the Blessed?”
Merlin fidgeted uncomfortably. “No - well, sort of. It’s complicated.”
“Just spit it out, boy,” Gaius told him gently.
Merlin stared at the wood-grain of the table, tracing it with his finger as he listened to the gentle hum of the wood.
“What do you know about the musica universalis?”
Gaius’s eyes went wide. “Where did you hear about that?”
Merlin opened the book sitting next to him. With a soft hum, it flipped to a page that was already worn from much use. Gaius stared at the words.
“No, Merlin! You cannot be thinking of trying this. It is far too dangerous! What on earth made you think this might be necessary?”
Merlin started to respond, but Gaius waved him silent.
“I have seen others try to perform this spell. Witches, warlocks, not one of them ever succeeded. It was held to be one of the greatest possible accomplishments, the mark of a great sorcerer, to have heard the musica universalis, the harmonia mundi, and lived to tell the tale. But you do not need to do this! There is no need, and I absolutely will not let you take the risk for so little gain. What would Arthur do if you went mad? No. You must not do it.”
A smile had crept onto Merlin’s face as he stared at the table, and Gaius frowned again. “What is it?”
Merlin looked up. “I don’t need to perform the spell, Gaius.”
Puzzlement filled the old man’s face. “Then why did you ask me about it? Surely not out of academic curiosity.”
Shaking his head, Merlin dropped his eyes back to the table. “No.”
“Then why?”
“Because I don’t need to perform the spell. I can hear it already.”
Gaius’s eyes went wide. “You can hear...”
“I hear the music, Gaius, and I always have. Ever since I can remember, I’ve heard the music. I just didn’t know there was a name for it until I came here.”
Mouth open, Gaius just sat and stared. Merlin kept talking, words that had been held back for so long now coming out in a rush. “I wanted to tell you earlier, but the dragon said not to tell anyone, but after what happened with the Isle of the Blessed I don’t trust anything he ever said and with Will gone it’s been so lonely and I just...” he trailed off, surprised to find he was fighting back tears. He wiped at his face angrily, and looked down again, swallowing against the lump in his throat. “I’m sorry. I should have told you.”
“Oh, Merlin.” Gaius stood up, walked around the table, and pulled the boy into a hug. “Well, I always did say you were special,” he mused. “Though I admit, this was a bit more than I expected.”
Merlin sniffed. “You’re not angry? That I didn’t tell you?”
“No. Well, I wish you had trusted me before this, but it sounds like you thought you had good reason not to.” Gaius let Merlin go, sitting back down at the table. “We’re going to have a talk about what you said about the dragon, but that can wait for another time. I want you to tell me more about what you hear. Imagine, born hearing the harmonia mundi,” Gaius shook his head. “I can hardly believe it.”
Merlin shrugged. “When I was little, I thought everybody could hear it. Will was the one who told me he couldn’t, and I thought he must have been special or something until I realised that Mum couldn’t hear it either. I could hardly believe it.”
“Doesn’t it deafen you? How do you hear anything else?”
“It - I don’t know. Its distracting, sometimes, and hearing voices over the music can be hard, but I’ve gotten a lot better since coming to Camelot.” Merlin huffed a laugh. “It was so loud, when I first got here I thought I’d go mad from it. But I got used to it, eventually.”
“Incredible. Just incredible.”
“Not really,” Merlin shrugged. “It just is, it always has been. I mean, I couldn’t be without it. I can’t imagine how you can live in silence and not go mad. I couldn’t bear to not hear the mountains, or the city, or the spring,” he shuddered at the thought. “I can’t think of anything more terrifying than silence.”
Gaius shook his head. “Incredible. You hear the mountains, the spring? What does it sound like?”
“Um. I don’t know, sort of like flowers? And warm, but not yet, just like it will be. And growing green things. It’s hard to describe. Arthur sounds a bit like spring, actually.”
“Really? People have music too?”
“Of course!”
“Incredible. Can I .. I mean. What do I sound like?”
Merlin smiled. “You? Like the forest - green, and comforting. I used to hide in the forest when I wanted to get away from the village, and when I first heard you I thought you sounded just like the trees I used to sing with.”
“Oh, Merlin,” Gaius smiled. “You really are quite extraordinary. I hardly believe such a thing could be possible, and yet here you sit. Just - incredible.”
Warmth rose to Merlin’s cheeks, and he looked back down at the table.
“Merlin.”
He looked back up. Gaius was still smiling at him. “My boy. Tell me everything.”
Much later, Merlin went to bed smiling. Somehow, he didn’t feel nearly so lonely any more.
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After that, time flew past. Merlin could hardly keep track of all the crazy things that kept trying to kill Arthur or take over Camelot or whatever, and really, they all just blurred into one big discordant mass of bad-things-to-defeat. Though a few events did stand out from the rest.
Morgause was a waterfall, forceful and strong. Merlin didn’t trust her, or the silent phantom of Igraine she summoned.
Freya sounded like the high mountain lake she longed for, a peaceful note Merlin thought he could listen to and love for the rest of his life. He tried not to think about how much he missed her after she was gone.
Morgana’s betrayal was not the surprise it should have been, somehow. The dragon’s warnings had planted the seed of doubt, and Merlin could only regret that he had not been able to stop her.
The Crystal of Neahtid sang a resonant, glorious symphony in his hands, the entwining songs of past, present and future both alluring and terrifying even as he tried not to listen.
When the soft, irresistible lullaby-spell filled the castle, Merlin felt fear. The silent, undead knights terrified him, and the quiet, deadly note of the hemlock hummed a constant reminder of what he had to do. And even though he knew it was necessary, the slow, agonised fading of Morgana’s proud-eagle song would haunt him.
Freeing the dragon was easier than he had thought it would be, but when the beast turned on the city Merlin knew they were in trouble. He could do nothing against the mighty song of fire-and-mountain, and neither could the knights of Camelot.
Balinor was just a man, in the end. Merlin had expected him to sound - different, special, and in some ways he did. There was a soft note of fire underlying his resonance, not quite a second song but somehow reminiscent of the dragon, and Merlin knew it was his birthright as a Dragonlord. But if Merlin had not already known, if Gaius had not told him, he would never have thought the man might be his father.
After Balinor was silenced, Merlin wondered if his song now chimed with that underlying note of fire. He had never been able to hear his own song, so he didn’t know if he had indeed inherited his father’s gift until he stood on the now-quiet field. Mastering the dragon was unlike any magic he had ever performed before, and he could hear the tone of fire ringing through his words as he spoke and forced Kilgarrah to obey his will. And if the victory seemed a hollow one in the face of what Merlin had gained, so briefly, and then lost - well. He tried to put it out of his mind.
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To Part Three