Chapter Text
Merlin wakes from a troubled, gray sleep, eyes open before he even realizes it’s already morning. He half-stumbles out of bed, changing slower than he should, then makes his way to the small table.
“Morning, Gaius.” Merlin said sleepily.
“You were certainly out late last night.” Gaius responded, raising an eyebrow. Merlin yawned.
“Had to make sure Arthur was alright.” Merlin shrugged. Maybe he didn’t have to be by Arthur’s side over a bit of exhaustion, but Merlin was too tired to mind.
He ate quickly, maybe quicker than he should, especially with Gaius sitting opposite him, raising his eyebrow in silent judgment. But Merlin didn’t care. How could he have stayed home, while Arthur was away, not sleeping?
He arrives at the kitchens earlier than he should, Gwen having not yet arrived. Merlin finds himself feeling so cranky and out of it that he almost wants to grab Arthur’s tray early and leave rather than wait for Gwen. But she has Arthur’s schedule, and she’ll want to know how he’s doing anyway.
Merlin doesn’t even know why he’s so upset. He can’t place the upset stomach, or nerves, or shaky hands. And the beating of the magic in his ears is only distracting.
Merlin leans against the wall, letting the back of his head tilt against the cold stone. He closes his eyes, just for a moment, trying to calm himself. What’s his problem? Seriously. Arthur came home a little sleepy and Merlin can’t seem to catch his breath; How does that work?
“Merlin? Are you alright?” Gwen spoke, making Merlin’s eyes abruptly open. He forces himself off the wall, straightening up.
“Yeah. Yes. I’m fine.” Merlin answered.
“Is Arthur alright?” Gwen asked, softer.
“He slept all day yesterday. Gaius says he’ll be fine.” Merlin answered carefully. For some reason, he couldn’t bring himself to say ‘yes’.
“Oh! Oh, good. I’ll let Morgana know.” Gwen answered, looking relieved. She told him Arthur’s schedule, and she must sense Merlin’s bad mood, because she doesn’t try joking with him. “I’ll see you later, yeah?”
Merlin nodded, feeling numb. Then he grabbed Arthur’s tray and went to his quarters.
When Merlin arrives, Arthur is still fast asleep. He doesn’t seem to be having a nightmare, like before, so Merlin decides not to wake him. Not yet, at least. The world can wait. Arthur deserves to rest.
Merlin places the Prince’s tray as quietly as he can, and opens the curtains just enough for the sun to peek through. His stomach finally feels settled now that he can see Arthur, safe and breathing, sleeping easily.
Merlin wants to stay in the room, but when he nearly trips over the chair, he decides he’d better let Arthur sleep in peace. Merlin leaves, but he remains in the hallway, sitting quietly, back against Arthur’s door.
He wants to do something to cheer Arthur up. He thinks it over, glad at least he’d left the bread on Arthur’s tray, just this once.
Oh! The tray!
He looks both ways in the hallway, hoping no-one is around to report him as he stupidly does magic out here in the open. Not that it matters, really. If it cheers Arthur up, it’s worth it.
Pluma airson mo ghràidh!
He had said the spell as quietly as he could, but surprised himself with the words he’d chosen for it. But it’s just a spell. It doesn’t mean anything.
A good sized plum appears in his hand, and his magic seems to sigh contentedly.
Plums are Arthur’s favorite. Not that he’s ever said, really. But in the spring, when the plums are ripe and arrive on his tray, he always comments on them, and eats them first. And he always gets this kiddish smile on his face when he sees one. Like a small piece of happiness has arrived on his tray each morning.
Merlin gets up and enters Arthur’s chambers once again, as quietly as he can. This is all for not when he looks over to see his friend already sitting up.
“Oh, you’re up!” He exclaimed, hiding the plum behind his back. Arthur looks around and furrows his eyebrows.
“Did you let me oversleep?” He asked.
“Only for a few minutes!” Merlin defended, feeling sheepish. He walked toward Arthur’s tray, dropping the plum on it as sneakily as he could. “We’ll skip the bath until after training. No big deal.” Merlin paused, then added, quieter: “You needed the sleep.”
Arthur seemed to accept this, and went to his desk for breakfast. Merlin watches him carefully, pretending to tidy, and can see the visible change in Arthur when he spots the plum. He seems to physically fight and swallow a smile, but he sits up straighter, and grabs the plum to hold.
“Is this a plum?” He asked, voice a little higher than usual.
“Looks like one.” Merlin said, trying to sound nonchalant.
“But…These are out of season!” Arthur exclaimed, a bewilderment in his voice. “Where did you get it?”
Whoops.
“I dunno. It was just in the kitchen.” Then, more sarcastically, “Why? Do you have a problem with plums?”
“No, no,” Arthur’s grin grew, which made Merlin’s stomach unravel with bubbles. “Plums are fine.”
Merlin tried to hide a content smile as he began to actually do his chores. He let Arthur eat in peace for a little while, but eventually informed him of his schedule for the day. He couldn’t help the scowl that crossed his face when he had to inform Arthur that his idiot father had asked for him. Arthur didn’t seem to have a reaction, however. He only nodded, finishing his breakfast in silence.
When Arthur allows himself to be dressed, Merlin notes immediately how shaky he is on his legs. Merlin wishes he could just put him back to sleep, just for a little while longer. But he knows Arthur would never allow it. Sleeping in is already crime enough. Merlin holds back an eye roll as he pretends to wonder who would have taught him that.
The best Merlin can do is change Arthur’s clothes slowly, and so he does, taking his time on the ties. When Merlin dusts Arthur’s shoulders he leaves his hand there, perhaps a moment too long, but how could he help it? Merlin puts Arthur’s drying blond hair into place, wanting to kiss his forehead.
The way one does, when a friend is sick.
Nonetheless, at that abrupt thought Merlin forces himself back. He watches, as if seeing through glass, as Arthur takes a deep breath and leaves to go see his father.
Merlin has never hated anyone, not really. Except for Uther.
King Uther is a coward. Blinded in his hate and his fear, awful towards Arthur, downright evil towards Morgana. Merlin sees the way she flinches when Uthur slams a fist on a table. And Gwen has told him, quietly, the way Morgana would be summoned from her room late at night when she was younger, the way she’d return hours later a little more broken and bloodied. Arthur doesn’t seem to know this. Merlin wishes he didn’t. He hates looking at Uther, having every reason to kill him, even having the power to do so, but unable to hurt him without also hurting Arthur.
No, Merlin can do nothing but watch as Uther berates and degrades his own son, somehow standing tall with the shadows of his sins on his back. Merlin is trapped in a state of silence with Uther.
It kills him.
To avoid this, Merlin rushes from chore to chore, hoping to keep his mind busy, wishing Uther would just hurry up and drop dead. Gwen runs into him in the laundry.
“Gwen!” He called out. She smiled.
“You seem to be feeling better.” She commented. Merlin crossed his arms, but didn’t have any defense. He is feeling better. Arthur seemed mostly alright, and he will be in training in a matter of minutes. “How's our Arthur?”
Merlin informed her of Arthur’s condition. He went a little more into detail that he should, but can’t seem to stop talking about him. “ —But he ate everything on his plate this morning!” By the end of his speech, Gwen seemed to be holding back a laugh. “What?”
“Nothing, nothing.” She shook her head, and went back to her chores. Gwen gossiped about the servant Uther had fired and banished last night, for whatever reason he chose. Gwen claims it was because he had been so upset about Arthur not going to see him. Merlin rolls his eyes. “Hey,” She defends, “I’m not saying he cares about Arthur. I don’t think him capable of that. Only that he had a fit when he heard the Prince had gone to bed.”
Merlin shrugged in response. He could stop Uther’s heart from here, if he wanted to.
See? Even with that thought, his magic wraps itself around Merlin’s fingers, as if urging him to do it. It doesn’t matter who it is, does it? His magic wants to explode. Merlin worries, maybe even knows, that it wants to kill. Knows that he was meant to be something evil.
Which is why he really should stop using it.
If he could cut it out of him altogether, he would. Merlin used to enjoy magic, the easy help of it, the way it came so naturally. But now, as he grows older, it seems to dampen and darken. The longer Merlin has lived here in Camelot, the louder and more overbearing the ring of his magic became.
The truth is that Merlin has found himself in a field of flowers. Everyone around him is so beautiful, each different but perfect, naturally lovely and worthy. For a while, Merlin can fool himself. After all, he looks like a flower. He can act like a flower. But deep down, Merlin knows he is a weed.
It doesn’t matter how hard he pushes against it, or how much he lies to himself. There is no way to cut it out of him. The druids have already confirmed it all too often: Merlin is magic itself.
What a horrific thing to have to be.
“Merlin?”
“Sorry?” Merlin realized he’d been steel-gripping one of Arthur’s shirts, and blinked to realize he’d been staring at it, even though his eyes hadn’t been focused on anything at all. He looks to Gwen to see that she’s already standing in the doorway.
“I was just saying that I’m sure Arthur is on the field waiting for you…Are you alright?” Gwen looked concerned.
“Good, yeah. Nevermind. Let’s go.” Merlin said. He smiled as he joined her, that easy-lie sort of smile that comes to him all too often.
Gwen almost looked like she was going to push, so Merlin walked ahead of her, knowing that at the corner of the hallway they’d have to part ways. Merlin loves Gwen, which is why this is something he’ll never be able to explain.
“Goodbye, Gwen!” He called over his shoulder, heading for the training field.
“Well, alright, goodbye, Merlin.” She called back, soft and maybe a little disappointed.
Merlin keeps walking.
“Merlin! Where have you been?” Arthur exclaimed, when Merlin arrived to help him into his armor. Merlin shrugged. “Alright, well, I have training, and then I’ll need to meet with Sir Gwaine, Sir Percival, and Sir Leon quickly afterwards.”
“How have you been feeling?” Merlin answered.
“Just fine, Merlin. Stop worrying, you sound like a girl!”
Merlin rolled his eyes, but their conversation dropped off, and Merlin dusted his shoulders, and watched as Arthur went onto the field to train his knights. Merlin waved at Gwaine and tried not to look at Arthur more than anyone else would, because why would he? He’s just like everyone else. He can act like everyone else.
Except Arthur fights with the sort of vigor of when he’s battling an enemy. His swings are with more force, and he knocks down the opposing knight in minutes. Which is impressive, considering that particular knight is usually knocked down much sooner.
Merlin doesn’t actually know most of the knights, especially most of Uther’s. He’s always found it best to steer clear of anyone who would willingly choose to praise Camelot’s current King.
Arthur seems to go easier on some knights than others, but he’s fighting mad all the same. Merlin has only seen it a handful of times, but this is definitely one.
“You were trying much harder today.” Merlin commented after training was over, helping Arthur out of his armor.
“What?” Arthur asked, confused. Why had he noticed? It was a ridiculous thing to think and even more ridiculous to say.
“Seemed like they were actually trying to win.” Merlin mumbled, trying to backstep. “For once.” He added, as if trying to make his sentence sound more believable.
“Well, I gave them good incentive.” Arthur answered. Merlin raised an eyebrow.
“Oh? And what would that be?”
“Sir Frederick will replace you in cleaning the stables today.” Arthur said matter-of-factly. Merlin nearly dropped Arthur’s chestplate.
“What? You can’t…You can’t do that!” He thought for a moment. “Can you?”
“Sure I can. He deserves it.” Arthur nearly growled, and Merlin looked to him to see a nervous swallow. Merlin had a feeling he shouldn’t ask why.
“Well, I suppose that’ll teach them to stop going easy on you.” Merlin turned to the now full table of Arthur’s armor, looking down at it, and said, without really thinking: “Which I always think is silly. You’re the best swordsman of them all.”
Several seconds passed before it actually occurred to Merlin what he had said.
“Better than Gwaine?” Arthur teased. Merlin laughed, louder than he should’ve.
“Oh, good point. Second best swordsman.” Merlin backtracked, then tried to laugh some more.
It turned into a real laugh when he saw Arthur’s pretend disappointment.
“I’m off to polish these, unless you want me in that meeting?” Merlin asked, picking up Arthur’s armor.
“No!” Arthur yelled out. Merlin took a step back. “I mean. No. That’ll be fine.”
Merlin wonders if Arthur can see his magic. If he can feel it, even though they are standing so far apart now. Suddenly he’s very ready to be away from Arthur for a moment, where everything suddenly feels like some sort of test.
“Alright. I’ll see you at lunch!” Merlin raced out of the tent, wishing his magic could stay behind.
Wishing that somehow he could outrun it.