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“You know, Arthur,” said Queen Annis, leaning in at the banquet table, “I can hardly believe that I once had the great Emrys himself juggling eggs at my court.”
Arthur choked on his wine. Hurriedly, he brought a fist up to his mouth, coughing into it as discreetly as he could, though he couldn’t quite keep his eyes from watering, nor his cheeks from flushing—though the latter, he had to admit, had more to do with the memory the Queen had just awakened in him than the choking.
“Ah, yes,” he managed at last, his voice strained. “He did juggle for us, didn’t he?”
“This, of course, is even better entertainment,” Annis added with a smile and nodded at the centre of Camelot’s great hall, where Merlin was currently putting on a show for the farewell feast.
It was a magnificent display of fire magic, a reenactment of Camelot’s knights fighting magical beasts. Just now, Arthur could see himself, fearlessly riding at a chimaera on a fiery-maned Hengroen while swinging Excalibur. The court oohed and aahed appropriately, clapping as the flames flared, then changed into the shape of Lancelot, attacking the griffin.
“And all that time, you really had no idea?” Annis asked from his left. “Who he is? What he can do?”
Arthur’s eyes remained on the flaming figure of Lancelot, whose fire-lance flared blue before it was driven into the body of the griffin to much cheering from the crowd. “No,” Arthur admitted quietly. “I didn’t know.”
“Well, it is only understandable, I suppose,” Annis replied, though she sounded a tad bemused. “With Camelot’s stance on magic…” She paused. “Well, former stance now, of course.”
“Of course,” Arthur agreed distractedly.
His eyes were still on the fire magic, but as Lancelot’s image dissolved into smoke, he let his eyes flicker towards Merlin instead. He looked completely and utterly happy, his whole face crinkling and dimpling as he effortlessly worked his magnificent sorcery. He was wearing his ceremonial robes, the official attire of Camelot’s court mage. It was a finely made ensemble of Pendragon-red silk, intricately woven brocade and gold stitching. With a different cut, the clothes would have been fit for a king.
Arthur felt his cheeks prickle again when he remembered the first time he had given Merlin robes to wear. Ceremonial servant robes, he had called them, when really, he had ordered a page to go and fetch the most ridiculous and gaudy hat and cape that could be found in the castle. He had made Merlin wear them to the feast to amuse himself, delighted by his servant’s embarrassment.
He had been young then; immature and spoiled, an arrogant prat. Humiliating those beneath him had been one of his favourite pastimes. It was Merlin, ironically, who ultimately cured him of this particular character flaw, teaching Arthur how to be a better man by stubbornly, recklessly opposing him and speaking his mind, even when it was most inappropriate.
Arthur, of course, had thanked him by throwing goblets at his back and emptying buckets of dirty water on his head. He realised now that, while he had treated everyone better, down to the lowest scullery maid, Merlin had still too often become the vent for his bad moods, or an easy target for his momentary relapses into juvenile conduct.
But Merlin had endured it all. Not always quietly, but ever so patiently. For years and years and years.
“I have upset you,” Annis said, startling Arthur out of his musings.
At last, Arthur turned his head towards her, aiming for a diplomatic smile as he met the Queen’s keen eyes. “No, no,” he tried to assure her. “Not at all.”
Just then, a huge round of applause went through the great hall as Merlin ended his performance. He bowed to the court with a flourish—Gwaine cheered the loudest—before turning to the head table to do the same for Annis, then his own Queen, who was sitting to Arthur’s right. Guinevere clapped enthusiastically, looking absolutely delighted at the show.
At last, as was proper, Merlin bowed to Arthur, a picture-perfect dip at just the right angle. “My liege,” he said, his face glowing with joy. But there was something else there as well: that faint note of reverence and pride that tended to creep in, ever since Arthur had finished the long, laborious process of legalising magic.
Inexplicably, Arthur’s stomach plummeted at Merlin’s deference. “Thank you for your performance,” he replied stiffly, still wearing the same diplomatic smile he had presented to Annis. “Why don’t you come and join us?”
If Merlin noticed Arthur’s discomfort, he didn’t let on. He flashed Arthur a wide smile and then, in no time, he was settled at the head table in a place of honour at Guinevere’s other side, where Elyan had readily made space for him. A servant swiftly served him a goblet of wine, and Merlin thanked the boy by name, eliciting a smile from him.
Arthur had to look away. Thanking the staff for their hard work was another habit Merlin had instilled in him. Of course, Arthur had hardly ever bothered extending the same courtesy to his manservant.
“Emrys.” Annis had leaned forward, speaking past Arthur and Guinevere to address Merlin. “A truly breathtaking display of magic!”
Merlin’s responding smile was shy but pleased. “You honour me, Your Majesty,” he said respectfully, bowing his head. It was strange to see him adhere so diligently to protocol and etiquette, but surprisingly, Merlin had adapted quite well to his new position at court.
“Any other sorcerer would have been exhausted after such a magnificent show,” Annis continued. “Yet you don’t even look to have broken a sweat.”
Merlin’s smile turned even shyer. “Ah, well… It comes easy to me, I must admit.”
Annis gave him a thoughtful look. “I suppose it would, to magic itself.”
Arthur immediately frowned at her words. Magic itself? Whatever did Annis mean?
Merlin seemed discomfited by the words. “I’m glad you enjoyed the entertainment,” he evaded diplomatically, then glanced at Arthur. “And I am lucky, too, for my King not to have tired of my little tricks yet.”
“Little tricks?” Annis laughed. “Hardly!”
“He’s always selling himself short, our Merlin,” Guinevere spoke up and reached out to squeeze Merlin’s hand, her eyes affectionate.
Annis smiled. “Humility is a virtue.”
With that, the conversation at the head table turned to other topics.
But Arthur found his thoughts lingering.
Annis’s assessment was right, of course. There was hardly a more modest man than Merlin, who very rarely sought credit and was always willing to blend into the background. Some of it, perhaps, was a habit from a decade of hiding. But since the legalisation of magic—and the slowly changing attitudes that came along with it—there was no reason for him to hold back. Merlin had the admiration of many, yet he never basked in it. He went out to save Camelot with spells so strong Arthur could hardly wrap his head around it, and then, he would show up in Arthur’s chambers and polish the royal armour until his fingers turned red, insisting no one else did it quite right.
Not for the first time, Arthur wondered how a man this powerful had so readily endured demeaning himself for a decade. For years, Merlin had dutifully served an arrogant prince—and ignorant king—who often treated him ill. He had scrubbed floors, scraped mud off boots and emptied chamber pots when he could have had the whole kingdom kneeling at his feet instead. Arthur was under no illusion that Merlin could not take Camelot’s throne and crown for himself by a snap of his fingers.
The great Emrys, Annis had called him. Arthur was aware of the name, of course, though Merlin did not tend to use it. Annis had mentioned something else as well, though, a term Arthur was unfamiliar with.
He glanced at Merlin, who was laughing at some tale Elyan was telling, Guinevere chuckling along with them, then leaned towards Annis. “If I may ask,” he spoke up quietly. “What did you mean earlier, magic itself?”
Annis’s eyebrows arched elegantly. “Ah. I had assumed you were familiar with the legends.”
“Legends?”
Annis looked at Merlin, her face turning thoughtful again. “Do you know what it means? The name Emrys?”
Arthur frowned, pausing to think. He knew that Merlin was called Emrys by the druids, and that there were prophecies about Merlin and Arthur, about a united Albion and the Golden Age. But he wasn’t aware of much beyond that. Merlin had always been reluctant to talk about it, stressing how unreliable foretellings could be. “I don’t,” he admitted.
“It is a title more than it is a name, really,” Annis explained. “Bestowed by the druids upon the one that is said to be the most powerful sorcerer of all. It means immortal.”
“Immortal?” A strange sense of alarm crept up on Arthur. He looked at Merlin, now happily nibbling away at a sweetmeat and getting crumbs all over his robes. “Surely they don’t believe…?”
“I don’t know if it is to be taken literally,” Annis conceded. “I myself can hardly fathom that a man could live forever. But the druids don’t think of Emrys as a man. To them, he is the personification of magic, magic itself. A god, if you will.”
“A god?” Arthur replied faintly, then swallowed against the sudden tightness in his throat. He had known Merlin was a force to be reckoned with—how could he not, after watching him wield lightning and bend time to strike down Morgana and the Saxons?
Still, a god?
“Whatever one wants to believe, the fact is that he is powerful. Very powerful,” Annis concluded. “We can all call ourselves lucky that he has decided to follow a noble king rather than a corrupt one. I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of Emrys’s loyalty.”
Arthur flushed at the unexpected praise. “You flatter me, Annis,” he murmured.
“Humility is in ample supply in Camelot, it seems,” Annis replied, amused. More seriously, she added, “I have come to know you quite well, Arthur. Your heart is true. No matter the blood that has been shed between our people, I have come to admire you. If the prophecies are accurate and you are to unite all of us under one banner one day, Caerleon should be glad to follow you.” She dipped her head. “Your Majesty.”
Arthur stared at her, his throat growing ever tighter. “Thank you,” he managed, barely.
Annis’s eyes crinkled kindly. “You’re quite welcome.” She looked about, making a show of changing the topic to something lighter. “Now, where is that dessert I was promised?”
But when the farewell feast had come to an end and Guinevere and Arthur had retired to their chambers, he was still mulling over his conversation with Caerleon’s Queen. I couldn’t think of anyone more deserving of Emrys’s loyalty, Annis had said, just after proclaiming Merlin a god of magic.
For reasons he could not quite grasp, her words weighed heavily on Arthur.
Naturally, Guinevere picked up on his mood. “Anything the matter?” she asked from the bed, where she was braiding her hair. She had already changed into her nightgown and slipped under the blanket, whereas Arthur was still standing by the dressing screen.
“Just tired, my love,” he evaded and put on his nightshirt.
As always, Guinevere saw right through him. “You and Queen Annis were conversing quite seriously for a time,” she said as she tied off her braid with a ribbon.
Arthur gave her a weak smile. “Nothing gets past you, does it?”
Guinevere shrugged, then made a beckoning motion. “What is it?” she coaxed.
Arthur sighed as he, too, slipped under the blanket, settling in next to her on his pillow. “It’s Merlin,” he said, his eyes coming to rest on the crimson canopy above.
“What about him?”
“Annis—she’s aware of some stories regarding him. Regarding Emrys.”
“Ah,” Guinevere replied cautiously. “More prophecies?”
“Something like that.” Arthur turned his head to meet his wife’s curious gaze. “She said that to the druids, Merlin is a deity of sorts. The god of magic, if you will.”
Guinevere’s face turned thoughtful and Arthur realised he had hoped she would laugh at his words. Instead, her serious consideration made his stomach turn.
“Yes, I can see it,” she said at last. “Just think of how much Mordred admires him. They are quite awed by Merlin, aren’t they, the druids?”
Arthur thought back to the druid delegations visiting his court. It had all been part of the effort to convince the lords to welcome back magic, and to make amends for nearly three decades of persecution. The druids had always shown Arthur the respect a king deserved, but Merlin, they had worshipped, clinging to his every word like gospel.
Belatedly, Arthur realised the terms he was using perfectly fit Annis’s claim of Merlin’s divinity. “Do you think he knows?” he asked. “That he’s considered a god by them?”
“He must have an inkling, certainly,” Guinevere replied. “Of course, he’s probably vastly uncomfortable about it. He still gets all flustered when someone tries to call him my lord.”
Arthur had to smile at that. “He never was one to care much for titles.”
“No,” Guinevere agreed, smiling, too. “Though he does have the uncanny ability to call you a dollophead one second, then look at you like you’ve hung the moon and the stars in the next.”
Arthur’s smile slipped, his eyes flickering away. “You’re exaggerating,” he murmured.
“Exaggerating?” Guinevere repeated, sounding amused. “Arthur, that man adores you.”
Arthur curled his hands into the blanket. “I don’t know why he would.”
Guinevere shifted next to him until she had scooted closer, draping one arm over his chest. “Because you’re a great king,” she replied. “One who is ready to admit to his mistakes, and seek reconciliation. Look at the peace you’ve forged, not just among your own people, but across Albion. We have strong allies in Gawant, Nemeth, Mercia, Caerleon, even Escetir. Now, the kingdoms of the North and the Western Isle are reaching out, too, seeking peace with Camelot.”
“I can’t take credit for even half of that,” Arthur deflected. “It’s thanks to the reputation of my knights, the diplomatic skills of my council, and yours as Queen. I would be accomplishing nothing without any of your support.”
Guinevere’s hand found his shoulder and squeezed it. “It’s exactly that attitude which people so admire about you.”
Arthur supposed he should feel bolstered by such praise, but at this moment, all he felt was an ominous sense of crushing pressure.
“Let’s sleep,” he murmured and pointedly closed his eyes.
With a quiet sigh, Guinevere blew out the candle on the nightstand.
In the morning, after Queen Annis’s party had left for Caerleon, Arthur was still feeling restless. Somehow, the idea of a divine Merlin haunted him. Was Annis misinformed, or was it true? Was Emrys magic itself, a god of sorcery?
In the end, he sought out Mordred on the training grounds.
“Do you want to spar with me, sire?” the knight asked hopefully, already raising his training sword.
“Some other time, perhaps,” Arthur turned him down. “Actually, I wanted to ask you something.”
Mordred’s face fell a little, but he was nothing if not eager to please his King. “Anything, sire.”
Arthur looked him over for a moment, hesitant. “It’s about Merlin.”
Mordred’s expression lit up like the sun. “Emrys?” he said. “What about him?”
Arthur swallowed at his reaction. He had always known Mordred harboured an intense admiration for Merlin, but had never given much thought as to why exactly that was. “You grew up a druid, yes?”
Mordred faltered again. “I did, sire,” he said more cautiously, and Arthur winced at the reminder that the memory of persecution still lingered.
Gentling his voice, he prodded, “And you call Merlin Emrys because of that? Because of your upbringing?”
Mordred fiddled with his training sword. “I suppose so, yes,” he said. “He is Emrys to me first, and Merlin second.” He scratched at the back of his neck. “I know he prefers the name his mother gave him, but it’s hard to think of him as anything other than Emrys.”
“And what does that entail?” Arthur pushed. “Him being Emrys?”
Mordred frowned. “Sire?”
“Your people… they admire him?” Arthur cleared his throat, then added, “Worship him?”
“Ah,” Mordred said, understanding flashing across his face. “Yes, he is worshipped. There are even those that pray to him, though I’m not sure he is aware.”
“Pray to him,” Arthur repeated slowly, feeling his stomach twist.
Mordred nodded. “Emrys is magic itself,” he replied, and there was a definite tone of reverence there.
Magic itself. There it was again, that phrase.
A strange sense of mortification worked its way up Arthur’s throat, tightening it. Part of him wanted to end the conversation then and there, flee into the castle and forget about all of this. But he wasn’t a coward, so he forced himself to ask, “Do you… worship him?”
Mordred averted his eyes. He fiddled some more with his training sword, then said, “Your Majesty, I am grateful for all you have done for me and my loyalty will always be to you first. But Emrys—I owe him everything. When my people cast me aside because of prophecy, he accepted me. He would not judge me for something I had no control over. He saw me, not a harbinger of doom. And it is due to his grace, his favour, that I am now welcomed by my own people. What is more, it is thanks to him that you, sire, have accepted magic, and that my kind can live freely and safely in your lands.” Mordred looked up and there was a distinct sheen in his eyes. “How could I not worship Emrys?”
Arthur did flee the training grounds then.
But he could not forget, nor push aside, what he had heard.
Merlin raced down the corridor, his robes billowing. The guards, seeing him approach, opened the door to the council chambers for him, failing to hide their amusement.
“So very sorry I’m late, sire,” Merlin exclaimed as he rushed inside, giving a hasty bow in Arthur’s direction. “I was having some trouble uncursing that bracelet we found in the vaults.”
When he straightened from his bow, he glanced around. Everybody else was settled at the Round Table, and a couple of lords were already glowering at him, not bothering to hide their disapproval. Of course, it was less Merlin’s tardiness and more his position at court they disliked, though his late arrival certainly didn’t help matters.
It had been a hard-won victory, legalising magic. Prejudice ran deep within Camelot. A whole generation had grown up in fear and hatred of sorcery, and even the older people, the ones that remembered a time where magic had not been outlawed, did not readily trust it. Despite Arthur’s best efforts, there was still opposition, though it had quieted considerably over the past months.
Wincing, Merlin looked back at Arthur, expecting a reprimand for arriving nearly a quarter of an hour late for the meeting. But no rebuke was forthcoming. Arthur didn’t even throw him a glare. He merely nodded and gestured at the chair to his right, his expression neutral.
Merlin quietly slipped into his seat, his heart sinking at Arthur’s reaction. It wasn’t like he enjoyed the King snapping at him, but being late usually warranted a scolding. The lack of it was just one of the many signs that something odd was going on with Arthur.
Recently, he had started behaving strangely around Merlin. It was discomfiting, to say the least.
“You were saying about the failing crops, Lord Ashe?” Gwen spoke up, smoothing over Merlin’s blunder with the ease of a tried queen.
Lord Ashe dipped his head at her. “Yes, Your Majesty,” he replied, then continued with the report Merlin had interrupted. “Half of the fields in Everwick are affected, I’m afraid. Barley, as well as rye and spelt. Whatever this blight is, it blackens the grain. Rots it, just as it becomes ripe enough for harvest. Hundreds of acres have been lost.”
Arthur looked around the table, frowning in concern. “This sounds unusually severe. What do we know of such diseases?”
“There was a similar blight about three decades ago,” Geoffrey of Monmouth recalled. “It came to Camelot from Nemeth, spreading into Balor and Nemeton right around harvest time. Hundreds of bushels of grain, destroyed.”
“Blights such as this can spread as fast as human pox,” Gaius weighed in. “We should act quickly before it passes into Landshire, and beyond.”
“What do you propose?” Arthur asked him.
“The usual way would be to burn the infected crops,” Gaius replied. “That includes any outwardly unaffected fields within two leagues of those that show signs of the blight.”
“That would mean burning down three quarters of all fields in my fiefdom!” Lord Ashe exclaimed, just shy of outraged by the suggestion.
“Such blights can secretly lie dormant in stored grain, my lord,” Gaius replied, unfazed by Lord Ashe’s reaction. “We would risk spreading the disease at the next sowing, if we’re not circumspect.”
Lord Ashe shook his head at him, then looked at the King. “What are my people supposed to eat, sire?”
Arthur raised a calming hand. “We would not see anyone starve, Lord Ashe. Other parts of Camelot can provide you with excess grain.”
Lord Ashe did not look satisfied with the solution. He seemed to struggle with himself for a moment, then asked, voice cautious, “Can’t we use magic?”
The mood in the council chamber shifted immediately. All eyes turned to Merlin, who promptly straightened on his chair.
“Sorcery? You cannot be serious, Ashe!” Lord Caradoc spoke up. Merlin knew him as one of the lords who remained the most sceptical about magic, and had heavily opposed the changing of the laws.
“I would remind you that magic is legal in Camelot,” Arthur replied calmly, though there was an edge of warning in his voice.
“Of course, sire,” Lord Caradoc conceded. “But can we risk using sorcery all the same? I can see how it might be necessary to fight beasts and witches with it, but using it on our crops? For all we know, such experimentation might only make matters worse!”
“We will take every care.” Arthur looked at Merlin. “Can it be done, do you think? Curing the blight with magic?”
“I would have to look into it,” Merlin replied honestly. “I can do some research, check my books and such.”
“But you think there is a chance?”
“I’m not sure I can save the grain that has already rotted,” Merlin said, trying to dampen Arthur’s expectations. “I might be able to keep the blight from spreading, though. Find some sort of protective spell for the fields that haven’t been affected, so we don’t have to burn them all down.”
“It’s not unheard of, such magic,” Gaius supplied helpfully from across the table. “It’s powerful sorcery, especially when evoked at a larger scale, but if anyone can do it…” He nodded at Merlin and smiled.
Merlin smiled back, grateful for his support.
Lord Caradoc, however, remained unconvinced. “With all due respect,” he said, “but this sounds exactly like experimenting to me. Your servant, sire, clearly has no idea what he is doing, and—”
“Lord Caradoc,” Arthur cut him off, and Merlin flinched at his sudden, sharp tone. “As you are well aware, you are speaking of Camelot’s court mage, and you are expected to refer to him as such.”
The room fell dead silent at the rebuke. Merlin half-expected a retort from Lord Caradoc, whose cheeks had flushed indignantly. But there was something to be said for kingly authority: after struggling visibly, the lord backed down. “Of course, sire,” he said stiffly, dipping his head.
But Arthur wasn’t finished with him. “Apologise,” he ordered.
Merlin blinked in bewilderment. He couldn’t remember Arthur ever defending him quite so vehemently to the more sceptical lords. It wasn’t unusual for the likes of Lord Caradoc to try and undermine him, but Arthur typically left it at a short reprimand. Certainly, he had never made anyone apologise to Merlin, and for such a minor affront, too.
It was another sign of Arthur’s strange behaviour, one that was certainly picked up on around the Round Table. The lords and knights exchanged looks, spanning from cautious to curious, with Gwaine appearing delighted at Arthur’s reaction.
Lord Caradoc, for his part, looked like he had smelt something foul. But he did not defy his King. “Apologies,” he ground out in Merlin’s general direction, then fell silent, probably sensing any further protest might not go down well with his liege.
As it was, Arthur had already come to a decision. “How long will your research take?” he asked Merlin.
“A day or two, with Gaius’s help,” Merlin replied. “I will have to take a look at the crops, too.”
“We shall leave for Everwick in two days’ time, then,” Arthur announced. “The roads are dry, and the days long. If we leave at dawn and travel light, we can be at Lord Ashe’s manor in the matter of a day.”
“You intend to go yourself, sire?” Lord Ashe asked, clearly surprised.
Merlin couldn’t exactly blame him. The times Uther had gone out of his way to ride out and look at a problem himself could be counted on one hand. He probably would have burnt the crops without a second thought, and let Lord Ashe deal with the consequences.
But Lord Ashe would do well to remember that Arthur was a much different king. “I would see this blight with my own eyes, yes,” Arthur confirmed. “Especially if we do end up having to burn good grain to stop it. It is not a decision I want to make from afar.”
Lord Ashe’s expression shifted into one of appreciation and he bowed his head respectfully. “Thank you, Your Majesty. I shall accompany you, of course, and will send a pigeon right away to have everything prepared for your arrival.”
“I don’t expect a grand welcome,” Arthur immediately reined him in. “Some made-up beds and a hearty meal for our party is all that is needed. Four knights will accompany Emrys and me, in case there is trouble on the road.”
Merlin’s head snapped around at Arthur’s words, and it was only with some effort that he kept himself from gaping at him, too. Had he misheard? Or had Arthur just called him Emrys?
Arthur didn’t look like he had noticed his slip. For that was what it had to have been, a slip of the tongue. In all the time he had known of Merlin’s magic, and the prophecies, Arthur had never once referred to Merlin as Emrys.
Nobody else seemed to have taken particular note of Arthur’s choice of words, however, and with the matter settled, they moved on to a report from Leon about bandits hiding in the Northern Plains.
Merlin could not let the incident go so easily, though. More than ever, he was convinced that something strange was going on with Arthur.
For well over a week now, the King’s behaviour had puzzled him. On the one hand, Arthur had started to avoid him, cancelling their joint dinners with some threadbare excuse and not once setting foot in Merlin’s quarters in the east tower, as he was wont to do at least once a day—if only to annoy Merlin. Merlin would have taken it for a sign of anger, except that on the other hand, Arthur had also been remarkably courteous with him whenever they had interacted. There had been none of the usual jibes and certainly no horseplay. What was more, he had apologised to Merlin, too, for some ill-worded comment he had made about sorcery.
Merlin wasn’t sure what to make of this behaviour, but he sure as all hells didn’t like it.
He was still mulling it all over when the meeting ended. Arthur seemed to flee the council chamber as soon as he realised Merlin was lingering, which did nothing to elevate Merlin’s suspicion that something strange was going on.
“Does the King seem odd to you lately?” Merlin asked Gaius when they had settled down in Merlin’s quarters to begin their research.
Gaius looked up from his book, one of the tomes belonging to the small but ever-growing magical library of Camelot. “Odd? How?”
“I don’t know,” Merlin replied. “He’s acting weird. Like today, at the council meeting?”
Gaius arched an eyebrow. “His Majesty seemed perfectly normal to me.”
“He snapped at Lord Caradoc.”
Gaius’s eyebrow travelled higher. “I thought you would appreciate him standing up for you.”
“Of course I do,” Merlin relented. “But over something so inconsequential? Servant is hardly an insult.”
“I wouldn’t worry about it, my boy.” With that, Gaius adjusted his glasses and turned his eyes back on the book.
“He also called me Emrys,” Merlin hurried to add.
“Did he?” Gaius asked distractedly, following a line of text with his finger as he did. “I hadn’t noticed...” He leaned closer to the book. “Mhm, interesting…”
Merlin grimaced, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. With a sigh, he tried to focus on his own research, though with little success. His thoughts kept circling back to Arthur.
He didn’t like things being strange between them. After Merlin had finally told Arthur of his magic, there had been tension for months. Merlin remembered the time following the revelation all too well, the weeks after Morgana’s defeat especially. There had been no banter then, either, no teasing or joking. Their conversations had been stiff, ripe with hurt and accusations.
But they had worked through it, with a lot of shouting on Arthur’s part, and a lot of tears on Merlin’s—though the roles had also been reversed, on occasions. There had even been a hug, with Merlin clinging to Arthur so desperately and for so long it still made him flush to think about it, though Arthur had not even made fun of him for it.
Well, not much, anyway.
The point was, he and Arthur had eventually found their old rhythm. Or a better one, even. Because Merlin was no longer sneaking behind Arthur’s back or lying to his face, and Arthur no longer hated sorcerers. What was more, Merlin was happy. Magic was returning to Camelot, Merlin had a place at Arthur’s court, and the kingdom was thriving.
The Golden Age was ahead.
Now, if only Arthur would stop ruining it by behaving so very strangely!
But much to Merlin’s dismay, he didn’t stop. Quite the contrary: his behaviour seemed to be getting ever stranger.
It was the day after the council meeting when Merlin entered the royal chambers to give his report to the King. Gaius and he had spent the better part of their waking hours doing research and finally stumbled across something promising.
“Sire?” Merlin called out, sticking his head through the archway that separated the main chamber from the side room that housed the King’s desk.
Arthur looked up from a parchment he had been reading, looking annoyed at the interruption. As soon as he caught sight of Merlin, though, he smoothed his frown and straightened on the chair. For a moment, it even looked like he might be getting up. “I’m sorry,” he said, which was just as strange as his reaction. “I didn’t hear you knock.”
“Because I didn’t,” Merlin admitted and approached the desk.
It was the perfect set-up for some snappy comment or the other, but Arthur merely nodded, as if that was perfectly reasonable, and not the sort of flagrant disregard of propriety he so often chided Merlin for. “You found something?” he asked, his eyes falling on the book in Merlin’s arms.
“I did,” Merlin confirmed. He opened the book on the page he had marked, then slid the tome across to Arthur, who immediately put aside his parchment to study it.
“I’m sorry, but I can’t make sense of these spell words,” he said, and Merlin frowned at his second needless apology of the day.
“I didn’t expect you to,” Merlin replied slowly. “I wanted to show you the illustration. That does look like the blight Lord Ashe was talking about, doesn’t it?”
Arthur looked the picture over, brushing a thumb over the depicted ears of grain, its kernels turned ink-black. “It does,” he agreed, then glanced up. “There is a spell, then?”
“If it is the same blight, yes.”
Arthur nodded and closed the book. He was being unusually careful about it, Merlin noted, treating it like a treasure. It was one, of course, as so many works on magic had been destroyed under Uther, but Arthur was a warrior, not a scholar, and usually had little appreciation for books. “Thank you for finding this so quickly,” he said. He sounded incredibly heartfelt about it, and even dipped his head a little, too.
Merlin accepted the book from him with a frown. It wasn’t like he didn’t appreciate Arthur thanking him for his efforts, but flipping pages in search of a spell hardly warranted a great show of gratitude.
“You’re welcome,” he said anyway. “We leave tomorrow morning?”
“At dawn,” Arthur confirmed. “Elyan and Lancelot volunteered to come, as well as Gwaine and Percival.”
Which left Leon to assist Gwen at home, as usual. Still, it was almost like old times, and Merlin smiled, happy to ride out on a quest with his friends. Hit by a sense of nostalgia, Merlin looked around the rooms he had spent so many years cleaning. George had taken over the post of royal manservant, which meant the chambers were in meticulous order, but there was some laundry on the floor by the bed, where Arthur had carelessly discarded it.
On a whim, Merlin put down the book and walked over to pick up the clothes.
“What are you doing?”
Merlin flinched at Arthur’s sharp exclamation. Quickly, he straightened to turn back to the King, who was watching him with barely disguised alarm. “Um, picking these up?”
Arthur grimaced. “That is no longer your job,” he pointed out, his voice turning strained.
“I know,” Merlin replied slowly, frowning. “But I do still polish your armour on occasions, and help you dress if I happen to stop by in the morning.”
“Yes,” Arthur said, and now, he sounded outright pained. “I know.”
Merlin sent the tunic flying to the laundry basket with a silent push of magic, his gaze remaining on Arthur as he did. The King tracked the shirt with his eyes, pursing his lips. Merlin’s frown deepened. He was still grappling with a response when the doors to the chambers opened, and Gwen stepped inside, returning from a long day at court.
“Oh, Merlin!” she said, sounding pleased to see him. “Are we having dinner together after all, then? Arthur said you might be too busy researching.”
“Just finished, actually,” Merlin replied. “I could use some dinner.”
Gwen looked delighted. “Wonderful! George will undoubtedly bring a feast fit for five again, so I’m sure we can spare a plate for you.”
Smiling, Merlin turned to look at Arthur. His face fell when he took in the King’s tense features. “Unless you wanted your wife to yourself this evening?” Merlin asked him carefully.
Arthur shifted on his chair. “No, please stay,” he said politely. “Of course you’re very welcome to join us for dinner.”
But dinner was an awkward affair. It was Gwen who kept up the conversation, with Arthur barely weighing in, and never joining in their banter. He got up as soon as his plate was empty, too, citing a need to retire early for their journey to Everwick.
“Gwen,” Merlin asked at the door, lowering his voice. “Is something the matter with Arthur?”
Gwen glanced over her shoulder to where George had started to unlace Arthur’s doublet. “He’s been a little broody,” she replied slowly, thinking. “And he was rather quiet at dinner, now that you mention it.” She looked back at Merlin. “Has anything happened between you two?”
“I don’t think so,” Merlin said. “But he’s been strange to me. A little reserved, perhaps?”
Gwen nodded thoughtfully. “Well, he’ll be on horseback all day tomorrow. That’s usually enough to clear his head. Perhaps he’ll loosen up on the way.”
Merlin dearly hoped she was right.
There was something to be said for riding through the beautiful forests of Camelot. Arthur had relaxed as soon as they had left the city behind and he couldn’t help but be reminded of old times, with the knights and Merlin riding right behind him.
Gwaine and Elyan were one-upping each other with stories from their travels, one tale more unbelievable than the other, while Lancelot and Percival listened patiently, only offering the occasional sceptical comment. Merlin was less reserved, jumping in with some snarky remark every other sentence, it seemed, making the lot of them laugh.
Arthur found he was enjoying it immensely. Even Lord Ashe, who was coming with them to Everwick, looked amused. He was riding ahead with Arthur, glancing over his shoulder every once in a while to take in the merry party.
“The men certainly seem to be in an optimistic mood,” he said after Gwaine nearly toppled off his horse laughing.
“You can be assured they are taking the matter of the failing crops seriously,” Arthur assured him. He should probably rein them in.
Lord Ashe nodded, though he looked back again when another round of laughter echoed through the forest, his eyes lingering this time. Arthur followed his gaze, only to wince when he saw the lord was looking at Merlin. He had dressed in simple travelling gear consisting of leather breeches and a red tunic, even going so far as to don his old jacket and a neckerchief, and it struck Arthur how much he looked like a servant again.
The thought immediately made him uneasy, and whatever amusement he had felt at his men’s antics faded. He opened his mouth to tell them to tone it down, but Lord Ashe was quicker.
“Your court mage is confident he can do something about this blight?” he asked. For all that he had asked for magic to be used, he sounded uncertain of the outcome.
“If anyone can work such sorcery, it is Emrys,” Arthur replied firmly.
Lord Ashe’s eyes were still on Merlin. “I remember the feast where he saved your life and became your manservant,” he said thoughtfully. “He used magic then, too, didn’t he?”
“Yes, he did.”
Lord Ashe shook his head and finally tore his eyes away. “Who would have thought,” he said, almost to himself. “A servant, harbouring such powers…”
“He’s no longer a servant,” Arthur said, his voice hardening without much conscious effort.
Lord Ashe immediately picked up on it. “I meant no offence by it, sire,” he hurried to say, dipping his head. “And I am very grateful for any help he can provide.”
They decided to stop for lunch not soon after, to give the horses a break. As their mounts grazed by a little stream, everyone settled on some fallen logs nearby. Belatedly, Arthur realised Merlin had taken it upon himself to pass out the rations, as he had always done on their travels.
Arthur found he didn’t like it.
“You don’t have to do this anymore,” he told Merlin when he accepted the bread and dried meat from his hands.
Merlin frowned at him. “What?”
“Serve others,” Arthur replied.
Merlin blinked at him. “Not even my King?” he said at last, smiling crookedly.
“Not like this,” Arthur stressed, gesturing at the food.
Merlin studied him for a moment, then shrugged. “I don’t mind,” he said, and went on to hand out rations to the rest of the party. He returned, though, to sit at Arthur’s side, where there was some space left on the log, and they ate in companionable silence.
It was only when the others were getting up again to stretch their legs and look after the horses that he spoke up again. “Arthur, I was wondering… Is something the matter? Did I… offend you somehow?”
Arthur found he had a hard time swallowing the final bite of his bread. The last thing he wanted was for Merlin to feel like Arthur was angry with him. “Of course not,” he evaded after struggling with his mouthful. “Everything is fine.” He glanced at Merlin, but found he couldn’t meet his searching eyes for more than a moment and opted to gaze out into the forest beyond instead.
“It’s just—well. Lately, you’ve been…” Merlin trailed off, sounding unsure.
“Nothing is the matter, I assure you,” Arthur stressed and got up from the log. Suddenly, his stomach felt like he had eaten lead for lunch.
“Arthur, if it was something I did—” Merlin tried again, but Arthur cut him off, not liking the direction this was taking.
“I’m sorry, but we need to get going.” He raised his voice. “Back in the saddle, everyone. I want to reach Everwick before nightfall.”
They did, as the roads were in good condition and the weather mild for high summer, with a fresh breeze keeping their horses cool. They rode into the courtyard of Lord Ashe’s manor long before dusk, where they were greeted by eager servants and stableboys, as well as Lady Audrey, Lord Ashe’s wife. She was much younger than her already greying husband—a second wife, if Arthur recalled correctly—and visibly pregnant.
“Your Majesty.” Despite her bulging belly, the lady greeted him with a picture-perfect curtsey. “Welcome to Everwick. Dinner has already been prepared.”
“Thank you kindly, my lady,” Arthur replied as he handed off his reins. “I hope you haven’t gone to too much trouble.”
“It is no trouble hosting the King, sire,” Lady Audrey replied politely. She offered her husband her cheek for a chaste kiss, then let her eyes roam over their party. “Your rooms have been prepared, though I’d suggest we eat first. Your men must be hungry.” She frowned, then added, “I thought you were bringing your court mage?”
Arthur stiffened. He glanced at Merlin, who had come to stand a half-step behind Arthur. He was looking right back at him, raising his eyebrows as his eyes crinkled with amusement.
“He did, my love,” Lord Ashe hurried to say, gesturing at Merlin.
“Oh, he’s not—? I had assumed—” Lady Audrey cut herself off, then cleared her throat, flushing at her faux pas. “I’m so sorry. You are very welcome as well, of course, Lord…?”
“Just Merlin, my lady,” Merlin replied, flashing her a smile. “The King has been trying to make me a lord for months, but I’m afraid I have steadfastly refused him.”
Lady Audrey laughed awkwardly, though the warmth in her voice seemed genuine when she replied, “I see. Well, you are still very welcome, just Merlin.”
She made a point to place Merlin at Arthur’s left at dinner, but still, Arthur found himself troubled by what had happened. “Why didn’t you introduce yourself as Emrys?” he asked, leaning in as he did.
Merlin gave him an incredulous look. “Why should I?”
Arthur pursed his lips. “When we return home, I will make you a lord,” he decided on a whim. “That’s final.”
Merlin stilled with his fork half-way to his mouth. “I’m sorry?”
“And we’ll get you some proper riding gear,” Arthur added firmly. “Something appropriate. Guinevere will know what to order.”
Merlin glanced down at himself. “What’s wrong with this? I bought these breeches just last year.”
“What’s wrong is that Lady Audrey thought you a servant,” Arthur pointed out quietly, mindful of their company. “Like this, people don’t recognise you as someone of importance. You’re not respected this way. You need a title, and a full wardrobe to match it.”
“I don’t care for the respect of those who would only show it to someone owning title and finery,” Merlin retorted, lowering his fork. His eyes had narrowed.
Arthur had to swallow at the rebuke. “Well, I care,” he replied.
Merlin stared at him, long and hard. “Where is this coming from?” he asked at last, voice clipped. “Are you embarrassed of my peasant ways? Is that it, sire?”
Arthur felt himself flush, realising he had offended Merlin. “Of course not.” Embarrassed? No. If anything, Arthur was ashamed—of himself. He didn’t want others to make the mistake he had made for so long, of not valuing Merlin highly enough.
“I don’t want a title, Arthur,” Merlin stressed. “And I have clothes. Good, sturdy clothes, and beautiful robes for formal occasions.”
Before Arthur could argue further, Gwaine had leaned in from Merlin’s other side. “What are you two whispering about?” He grinned, nodding his head at a servant nearby, then wriggled his eyebrows. “Is it the ample bosom of that maid? Because if so, I have some thoughts to share.”
“Gwaine, behave!” Merlin scolded him at once, and that put an end to any serious conversation.
They retired to their rooms soon after, with Arthur having one to his own, while the others shared. Lady Audrey had provided him with a servant as well, a serious-faced man who looked to be Lord Ashe’s own manservant, and expertly helped Arthur out of his armour. A full bath was difficult to draw in a small manor, but the servant brought Arthur a washtub of warm water, then diligently made up the bed before bidding him good night with the lowest of bows.
As Arthur cleaned off the grime of the journey, he couldn’t help but feel the lack of company. Merlin had always stayed in his room when they travelled, often chattering on long after they had doused the candles. Arthur closed his eyes and grimaced when he remembered that most of those times, Merlin had slept on the floor, even when the bed had been large enough to share.
Had Merlin spelled the floor comfortable when Arthur hadn’t looked? Surreptitiously magicked up a pillow, or warmed his blanket? Or had he simply endured the cold, hard ground, as he had endured being clipped about the ear, shoved into the mud, and being told he was a useless coward?
Gods, how terribly he had treated Merlin! However had he borne it for a decade? Whyever had he borne it? He could have left Camelot and lived with the druids, who would have wrapped him in silks and provided him with every comfort. Abruptly, Arthur was assaulted by a vision of Merlin, draped in druid robes, smiling benevolently as Mordred knelt at his feet like a supplicant.
Quickly, Arthur plunged his whole head underwater, hoping it would clear his mind.
It did not, however, and he spent the better part of the night tossing and turning, thinking of all the cruel things he had said and done to Merlin, biting his lip so much it had started to ache by morning.
Breakfast was a quick, simple affair, as Lord Ashe was eager to ride out and show them the affected crops. They travelled to a nearby village and tied their horses to the well in the centre of the settlement, and the farmers quickly approached them, bowing low as they twisted their hats and caps in their hands.
“How fare your crops?” asked Lord Ashe.
One farmer, perhaps the headman, stepped forward. “Another one’s started to blacken, m’lord,” he said timidly. “We’ve but two acres of healthy grain left.”
“Show us,” Lord Ashe demanded, and the man led them to a field at the edge of the village. Most of the farmers followed, with their curious wives and children lingering a few steps behind.
Even without a thorough inspection, Arthur could see that almost half of the plants on the field had started to wilt, the grain turning dark brown to ink-black. Merlin drew a knife from his belt to cut off some of the ears, then pulled out the magic book from the bag he had brought and laid the ears on the page. “It’s most definitely the same blight, or something very similar,” he said, holding up the book so Arthur could compare the plant with the drawing.
Arthur nodded. “What does your spell entail?”
“It’s not complicated,” Merlin replied. “There’s a lengthy formula to speak, but that’s all there is to it.”
“And it will protect the plants which haven’t blackened?”
“Perhaps even more than that,” Merlin said hopefully.
Arthur looked over the field again. It was just one acre of many in Everwick, with thousands of ears swaying in the summer breeze. If Merlin could save at least some of this grain, it would be a mighty feat indeed.
“Go ahead, Emrys,” Arthur said and nodded his approval.
Merlin paused, eyes narrowing. For a moment, it looked like he wanted to say something, his jaw working away, and Arthur tensed.
But Merlin only packed away his book, then stepped into the field. Most of the farmers looked on warily as he knelt between the plants, placed both hands on the soil and closed his eyes. As soon as he started chanting, Arthur could hear the group mutter the words witchcraft and sorcery, and not in a friendly way.
Arthur had sent his heralds to even the smallest villages in the realm, informing all of the change in the laws, but too little time had passed to undo the work of decades. It was understandable they would be afraid, though it set Arthur’s teeth on edge all the same to see them so hostile. Lancelot and Gwaine had picked up on the farmers’ mood, too. They had already stepped closer, resting a warning hand on the hilts of their swords. Soon after, Percival and Elyan flanked them, too.
When Arthur looked back at Merlin, his hands had started glowing. The golden sheen was strong enough to be seen even in the bright light of a summer morning and had his eyes been open, Arthur was sure they would have glowed gold, too.
He looked eerie like this, otherworldly, and Arthur shivered despite the summer sun.
The farmers, too, became unnerved, and their murmurs swelled, with some of them making protective gestures, warding off the evil eye by wedging their thumb in their fist, or making the sign of horns, though nobody dared to protest.
Suddenly, the gold washed outwards, a wave of light spreading across the whole field, making the ears sway with the force of it. Then, right before their eyes, the plants changed. The fully blackened grain dissolved, lifting from the ears as a faint dust before vanishing into thin air. The rest of the plants recovered in the matter of moments, turning a healthy yellow-gold.
Arthur exhaled sharply, taken aback by the strength of the spell. He hadn’t expected Merlin to purge and heal the crops. The farmers gasped, too, their distrustful expressions quickly turning into ones of shock and amazement at the sight.
“The blight!” one exclaimed. “It’s gone!”
“The grain’s been saved,” another called.
“He saved our harvest!”
Arthur turned his eyes on Merlin, who had straightened from his crouch and was brushing a hand over the healthy grain, the golden glow fading quickly. Looking satisfied with his work, he flashed the elated farmers a smile, who had started whooping with joy, with several of them breaking from the group to come forward.
The knights shifted nervously, though they let the men pass when they realised the farmers wanted to touch the grain themselves—and express their gratitude to Merlin.
“Thank you!” one called out, bowing low to Merlin. “Thank you, m’lord!”
“Bless you, Sir Sorcerer!” said another.
“Yes, may the Triple Goddess bless you,” an older farmer called out reverently.
Merlin’s smile turned shy at their reactions, though he was kind enough to speak to all those that approached him, accepting their outstretched hands and well wishes. Soon, the farmers’ wives and children came closer, too, offering Merlin food and little trinkets, almost all of which he turned down.
“It’s good to see him appreciated,” Elyan spoke up next to Arthur, looking on with a smile.
Arthur tore his eyes away from the revelry. “Yes,” he agreed, though his voice had once more gone strained.
“I can hardly believe it,” Lord Ashe said, coming to stand on Arthur’s other side. “He saved over half of this grain!” He shook his head. “It’s a miracle!”
Arthur looked at the healthy field and felt his chest grow tight. Lord Ashe was right: it was a miracle.
The kind of miracle one could expect from a god.
By the end of the day, Merlin’s bag was laden with presents by grateful villagers—and he was bone-tired. In fact, Merlin couldn’t remember a time when he had ever been this exhausted, though he supposed it was still better than fainting, as he had done after the battle with Morgana at Camlann.
When he nearly slipped off his saddle on their way back to Lord Ashe’s manor, Lancelot insisted he ride double with Merlin. He settled in behind Merlin on Llamrei, with Gwaine leading Lancelot’s horse by the reins.
“Impressive magic,” Lancelot murmured into his ear as they rode on.
Merlin smiled vaguely, feeling fuzzy. “Thank you.”
“I think you changed more than one mind about sorcery today.”
“That would be nice,” Merlin slurred. He blinked sleepily, then sought out Arthur, who was riding ahead. The sun was dipping low, painting the King’s armour red-gold and brightening his hair. “Did Arthur say anything?”
“Arthur?” Lancelot asked. “What would he have to say, apart from well done?”
“I don’t know,” Merlin replied, though the words turned into a yawn half-way through. “He’s been strange.”
“Strange?”
“Mhm,” Merlin hummed, rubbing at his eyes.
Lancelot chuckled. “You’re beat,” he said. “Come on, lean back and sleep. I’ll make sure you won’t fall off.”
Merlin did doze off, only waking again when they arrived at Lord Ashe’s manor. By then, it had gone dark, and they were greeted by servants holding torches.
Word of their success had already made it back to the house, and they were offered a late supper and fresh mead by a happy-faced Lady Audrey, but Merlin was too tired, and not sure he could stomach anything, either.
He felt queasy, and, strangely, like his body was too small for him. Healing the fields had meant connecting with nature, pouring all of himself into the ground again and again, and towards the end there, it had almost felt like he was starting to lose himself a little. As if Albion herself was calling for him, beckoning him to stay.
He staggered upstairs like a drunkard, barely making it into the chambers he shared with Gwaine and Lancelot. Exhausted, he sunk into the mattress and fell asleep fully dressed, save for his boots, as soon as his head hit the pillow.
When he woke, it was with a start. He sat up abruptly, only to find that Arthur was looming over the bed, looking startled himself.
“Arthur?” Merlin croaked, realising his heart was beating fast and hard in his chest.
“Sorry,” Arthur murmured quietly, averting his eyes. “I didn’t—I only wanted to see how you were.”
Merlin took a couple of deep breaths to calm himself, then looked past Arthur to the other two beds, which were empty.
“They’re downstairs, celebrating with Lord Ashe,” Arthur said, before Merlin could ask. He studied Merlin for a long moment, his face unreadable, then turned on the spot. “I should retire,” he said, and made for the door.
“Arthur, wait!” Merlin called after him, brushing the blanket aside and swinging his legs over the mattress.
Arthur stopped, his hand already on the door handle. “I will see that some food and drink is sent up for you,” he said, his back still turned. Gods, but he sounded strange! Stranger than ever, with his voice all stiff and formal.
“Won’t you stay?” Merlin asked. “I’d like to talk.”
“I’m sorry, but I’m tired.” Arthur made to leave.
“Please?” Merlin added. Whatever it was that was going on between them, it could not be left to fester any longer. Arthur’s behaviour unnerved him, and some part of him even wished they had argued, so he knew what to say, or apologise for.
Arthur let out a near inaudible sigh. But he did close the door, and went and sat down on the bed across from Merlin’s. He folded his hands in his lap, then seemed to think better of it and unfolded them, only to fold them again.
Lords, was he—was he nervous?
Struck by this epiphany, Merlin found he couldn’t say any of the things he had wanted to say. The words just stuck in his throat.
Fortunately, Arthur fared better than him. “What you did today,” he said, his eyes on his lap, “was very impressive. I didn’t even think such a thing was possible, saving an entire fiefdom’s worth of grain with a few words.”
The praise warmed Merlin, and loosed his tongue. “I didn’t expect the spell to work so well either,” he admitted.
Arthur shifted on the bed, then looked up. Again, his expression was unreadable. “Did the book not speak of the effects of this magic?”
“Well… I adapted the spell a little,” Merlin explained. “The book only gave a protective spell for unaffected plants. I, um, tweaked it a bit.”
Arthur stared at him.
“To make it heal, too,” Merlin added, inexplicably growing nervous. “I just thought it was worth a shot.”
Arthur kept staring.
“It’s only, I know what it’s like,” Merlin went on hastily, suddenly feeling like he had to explain himself, or like he had overstepped, though the thought was silly. Why would Arthur disapprove if it had saved the harvest? “I grew up on a farm. We went hungry plenty of winters, because crops had been destroyed by some pest or drought. And Cenred, he wouldn’t have bothered to send us grain from other fiefdoms. He wasn’t like you.”
“Like me,” Arthur repeated slowly, still staring.
“A good king,” Merlin said, because apparently, Arthur needed it spelled out.
At that, Arthur finally stopped staring, but only because he dropped his eyes back onto his lap.
Merlin hated it, and found that he had had enough of this farce. “Arthur, please, tell me what is going on with you! You are acting so strange. Is it something I said? Have I done something to upset you? Disappointed you or…?”
Arthur let out a strange noise. It took Merlin a moment to realise he was chuckling. It was a harsh, grating sort of laugh. “Disappointed me?” He shook his head.
“It must have been something I’ve done,” Merlin pushed. “You’ve been strange to me. Avoiding me. Going on and on about—about clothes and titles.” He paused, then added, “You even called me Emrys.”
At last, Arthur looked up again. “Is that not your title? Emrys?”
Merlin frowned. “It’s the name the druids gave me. But you know I prefer Merlin.”
“I’ve heard it’s a title,” Arthur said. “And that it means immortal.”
“Does it?” Merlin replied, taken aback. “I didn’t know that.”
Arthur’s face turned a little incredulous. “How can you not know what your own name means?”
“It’s not my name, it’s a name. One I am called by some,” Merlin stressed. “Who told you its meaning, anyway?”
“Queen Annis,” Arthur revealed, and some things fell into place at last. Now that Merlin thought of it, Arthur had been behaving strangely since around the time of the farewell feast for the delegation from Caerleon.
“I see,” Merlin said. “And what else did she have to say about me that has got you so rattled?” Arthur twisted his mouth, and Merlin knew he was right. “Well?” he prodded.
“She said,” Arthur admitted reluctantly, “that the druids worship you. That you’re like a god to them.”
A laugh immediately bubbled up Merlin’s throat. It came out a little hysterical. “A god? Me?”
“Mordred confirmed it,” Arthur went on and now, he was almost starting to sound annoyed. “He said his people worship you. That he worships you. That there are those who pray to you, even.”
At that, Merlin felt his ears grow hot. “I’ve never heard such hogwash in my life,” he replied indignantly. “Nobody is worshipping me.”
“Mordred said—”
“Mordred,” Merlin cut him off, “was ostracised by his own people, shoved from one clan to another, because of some inane prophecy marking him the slayer of the Once and Future King—which, I might add, turned out to be false! He thinks I’m his saviour, and I have yet to cure him of this foolish idea, though not for a lack of trying.”
But it was like Arthur wasn’t even listening. “You can summon wind and lighting,” he said. “You bend time to your will. You—you—” He waved his hand towards the window. “You save a whole harvest, then sleep it off in a few hours like it was nothing!”
“I am not a god!” Merlin insisted, growing more and more frustrated.
“But you’re something!” Arthur retorted, his voice growing louder. “Magic itself, they say.”
Merlin threw up his hands. “Why do you care about this all of a sudden? What does it matter?”
“What does it matter? Don’t be an idiot!” Arthur snapped, and finally, finally, they were on familiar ground: Arthur lashing out. Merlin had never been more glad to be called an idiot in his life. “Of course it matters!”
“Why?” Merlin demanded. “Why does it matter?”
Arthur let out a groan. “Because—because—”
“Because what, Arthur?” Merlin pushed.
“Because you were my servant!” Arthur exclaimed and suddenly, he was on his feet, pacing. “And I treated you horribly! I made you clean the stables for hours on end, just to spite you. Pummelled you on the training grounds, for my own amusement. Not to mention that time I made you—to get on the horse, I—” He broke off, and even in the dim candlelight, it was clear he was flushing. “And all this time, you were a god!” He finished, then held up his hand when Merlin started to protest. “Or something!”
Merlin’s jaw clicked shut. He took a moment to think this all over, crossing his arms. “Let me get this straight,” he said at last, frustration slowly turning into something akin to anger. “You’re having some sort of personal crisis because you think that a person you treated like shite for ten years might have been a god all along, and now it could come back to bite you?”
Arthur stopped his pacing. “That’s not—” He frowned.
Merlin stood from the bed. “I don’t know if I should be flattered or insulted,” he went on, voice growing sharper. “I reckon it’s good you’ve realised that perhaps, you should have shown a little more appreciation for your manservant over the years, but your guilt does feel a little hollow when it’s based on the fear you might be smitten by lightning at any moment.”
Arthur gaped at him. “What? I—I never said that!”
“No?” Merlin retorted. “Is this not you, panicking, because you saw me work some mighty magic and now you’re afraid I’ll strike you down?” He shook his head, trying not to feel hurt. “Don’t misunderstand me: if you want to apologise for all those times you threw things at me, or handled me rough, be my guest, but I’m afraid it doesn’t ring quite true if you do it because you’re fearing a god’s wrath.”
“You don’t get it, do you?” Arthur snapped, taking a step closer. “It’s not about that.”
Merlin glowered at him. “What is it about, then?”
“It’s that I don’t understand,” Arthur cried.
“Understand what?”
“Why you stayed!” Arthur exclaimed and now, his eyes looked almost wild. “Why you took it! Why you endured it all, when you could have had the whole world kneeling at your feet instead!”
“I don’t want anyone kneeling at my feet,” Merlin retorted.
Arthur let out a strangled noise. “Why would you do it?” he asked, and now he almost sounded defeated. “Why would you fight for someone, sacrifice so much for someone, who treated you so horribly, so poorly?” He sank down on the bed again, slumping forward, then buried his hands in his hair. “Merlin, all this time, there were people out there who would have treated you a hundred times better than I. Who would have accepted you for what you are, worshipped you for what you are. And yet, you stayed at my side. Serving me, no matter what I said, no matter what I did, and I just…” He glanced up, looking just a little wrecked. “Why? Why me? How am I deserving of loyalty like that?”
At that, Merlin had to sit down, too. Arthur’s self-doubts weren’t exactly new to him, but seldom had Arthur voiced them so openly. He rubbed a hand over his face for good measure, buying himself some time, his mind reeling. “I don’t even know where to begin,” he said at last.
Arthur only looked at him, face pained.
“First of all, it is mind-boggling to me how an arrogant, prattish clotpole could be so insecure,” Merlin went on. He had hoped to elicit a smile, but Arthur didn’t even smirk. In fact, he looked a little bit like he might cry and so, much more gently, Merlin continued, “You treated me poorly, yes—at times. I won’t deny that. But many more times than that, you did things for me that no other prince, no other king would have ever done for a good-for-nothing peasant.”
Arthur frowned. “You aren’t—”
“I was a horrible servant,” Merlin interrupted, holding up a hand. “That’s all you knew me as. And I hardly gave you the chance to see me as anything but. Sure, I fought dragons with you, rode out on quests and missions, but how many times did I disappear with no explanation? How often did I neglect my duties for days on end? How many times did I lie to your face, and we both knew it?”
“Because you were out there, fighting for Camelot!” Arthur argued.
“But you didn’t know that,” Merlin replied. “All you saw was a terribly incompetent, unreliable fool of a servant. Brave, perhaps, but foolish all the same. Any other man would have long got rid of me, or at least given me a good whipping for my insolence.”
Arthur looked appalled. “Merlin, I would have never—”
“Of course not,” Merlin interrupted him again. “Because you’re a good man. And yes, before you argue again, even good men make mistakes.”
Arthur sent him a doubtful look. “Ten years’ worth of them?”
“They were ten years of friendship, too,” Merlin replied firmly. “Ten years of you willing to die for me. What’s a thrown goblet, knowing you would drop everything at a moment’s notice to come and save me? And really, what are some harsh words in the face of letting magic return to Camelot?” He sought out Arthur’s gaze, trying to convey with his eyes what he couldn’t quite put into words. “I stayed because you’re my friend, and my King. And you are deserving. You are worthy of my friendship. You are worthy of my loyalty and yes, of my magic. Whatever ill-treatment you doled out, you made up for it a hundredfold by now.”
“Did I?” Arthur asked dubiously, though he no longer looked as terribly abject. As usual, all he had needed was a good pep-talk—just like old times.
“Now you’re just fishing for compliments,” Merlin said and this time, he succeeded in making Arthur smile.
“I suppose I did some things right,” he said.
“Just a few,” Merlin teased. He frowned, when a thought occurred to him. “I hope this means you won’t make me a lord?”
Arthur rolled his eyes, but conceded, “Fine.”
“Because you don’t need to make amends, you understand?" Merlin pushed. “I don’t need clothes, either. And when someone thinks me a servant, let them. I don’t mind being called that.”
“All right,” Arthur grumbled.
“And don’t call me Emrys,” Merlin added. “It’s weird.”
“Anything else, sire?" Arthur quipped, and Merlin grinned.
“I think that about covers it.”
Arthur threw him a careful look. “You really didn’t know it means immortal?”
Merlin shook his head. “No. And I don’t want to think about the implications, either, believe me, nor about the praying and worshipping. My life is strange enough already…”
“You’re a very strange person,” Arthur agreed with a smirk. Then he faltered again and the smirk slipped away as he cleared his throat. “I still want to say, though—I am sorry. For, well, you know…”
Merlin nudged Arthur’s foot with his own. “You’re forgiven. Just as you’ve forgiven me for all the lies, and sneaking behind your back.”
“I’m not sure if I’ve forgiven you for all of those things, actually,” Arthur replied, his smirk reappearing, along with a dangerous glint in his eye. “I think some penance has yet to be made, for turning me into a simpleton, for example, and—”
“Ah-ah-ah,” Merlin said and wiggled his finger. “Remember, I’m the mighty Emrys—” He yelped when Arthur tackled him onto the bed and started to wrestle him, bringing his hand to Merlin’s mouth to keep him from speaking a spell.
Merlin struggled futilely for a moment until he remembered he didn’t need words to use a spell, but by then, the door had opened, and Gwaine stepped into the chamber.
“What do we have here?” he said, sounding amused, and slightly drunk. “And why haven’t the rest of us been invited?”
Arthur let go of Merlin and climbed off the bed. “Just making sure this one’s head isn’t growing too big after all the praise and presents he received today,” he said, rearranging his hair.
“Hah,” Merlin called from the bed. “Says the king of all big-headed prats!”
“Will you two ever change?” Gwaine asked, shaking his head as he leaned against the doorframe.
“No,” Merlin and Arthur said, in perfect unison, then exchanged a meaningful look.
“Well, a little, perhaps,” Arthur conceded, smiling an entirely private sort of smile.
“Yes,” Merlin said, feeling warm all over. “But only just a little...”