Chapter Text
I can’t believe I’m really going to have to serve that prat. Merlin supposed that attitude wasn’t the healthiest way to begin a working relationship that presumably would last the rest of his soon to be miserable life. Oh lord we really are living in the Dark Ages.
He could hear Gaius now saying how much of an honor it was to be chosen as the personal manservant to the Prince of Camelot, how he should be grateful for the opportunity, and the influence he could have as Arthur’s closest companion- gag me- most likely because that was precisely what Merlin was trying to tune out.
Once assured Gaius’ sage wisdom had finished unspooling, Merlin asked the obvious. “That’s all well and good, but why can't I just remain on as your apprentice?” That was more or less what Merlin had been doing in an unofficial capacity since he was sent to court, as an orphaned boy with no relations and no prospects.
Gaius sighed. Perhaps he should be more concerned by how frequent an occurrence that was. “Merlin, this is a directive from the prince himself, cosigned by King Uther himself, you cannot ignore it.” Watch me.
Living at court had done much to break down the mystique of monarchy. Uther was arbitrary, narrow-minded, and quick to rage. One could scarcely believe he was the leading candidate to reunite Albion and defeat the marauding Saxons. And Angles and Jutes… oh my.
Already a plan was forming, if he made a mess of his duties, he'd likely be released from his bondage by a frustrated Arthur. And if he had to bear a verbal lashing or two to do that, well it would still be worth it.
“Fine.” It took everything Merlin had not to cross his arms, roll his eyes, and go sulk somewhere very high on the battlements with the gargoyles. I could jump, put an end to this farce before it even begins.
“Your acquiescence is noted but unnecessary.” Oh Gaius must you make this more difficult. I know I have no choice. It seemed very much to Merlin that duty was the death of choice. “You are to report to the prince’s quarters posthaste.”
Merlin gave a stiff little bow in acknowledgment and left Gaius’ apothecary-cum-living quarters with all the willingness of someone about to be executed. Never thought that would ever be the more merciful option.
Merlin made his way down stone passageways, ambling without anything remotely resembling haste. He paused every so often to examine the elaborate tapestries designed to break up the monotony of the stonework, as if he had never seen them before rather than thousands of times. Re-runs the lot of them.
Any guards he passed stared straight on, right through him. The only advantage of being of the serving class is invisibility. And given his new position this state of affairs was hardly likely to change. He’d be more invisible than ever. No one would give him so much as a first glance, let alone a second, when there was the shining prince of Camelot in their midst. Gag me.
He was in the midst of studying a highly implausible scene of Uther Pendragon on horseback slaying a fire breathing dragon when a voice called from behind him, “A little birdie told me that you’re going to be Arthur’s personal manservant. I suppose some congratulations are in order.”
He turned round to see Gwen, fresh-faced and carrying some fresh-picked flowers from the gardens in a basket at her side. She was more or less his only friend within these castle walls, at least the same age as him.
He stuck his tongue out at her. “Oh don’t start, Gaius already gave me the whole you’ll bring honor to us all spiel.” Far more likely I implicate them in sedition and some light treason.
Merlin mimed gagging as Gwen let out a soft unwilling laugh and then he said, “I mean you get to be companions with Lady Morgana, now that’s something worthy of celebration.”
Morgana was everything Arthur was not: well read, diplomatic, and quick-witted without being cruel. Unfortunately, being the daughter of a deceased nobleman, even one who was a close comrade of the king, did not a successor make. The only queen Camelot will want is the kind that rears children for their precious future king. “Care to trade?”
Gwen blushed. “Something tells me Morgana would not care for a boy in her inner sanctum.” Oh I wouldn’t be too sure, palace life can be so monotonous, surely a change of pace would be welcome.
“Besides isn’t this what you always wanted? A chance to get up close to our prince and study his faults so you may regale me with them in exacting detail later.”
Gwen was always accusing him of being obsessed with Arthur. As if. If he never gave another passing thought to that goddamn prince, it would be far too soon. It was hardly his fault that Arthur (quite wrongly) thought himself God’s gift to chivalry, knighthood, and ladies. And if Merlin was the only one willing to take it upon himself to dispute this grotesquely inaccurate portrait, so be it.
“I’ve yet to be convinced this is not some kind of punishment.” Cooked up by Gaius when I called him a stubborn old goat one too many times. “And like I didn’t want to be chained to him.”
“Yes, well…” She glanced away so as to avoid his gaze. Wait, she didn’t believe him. Why didn’t she believe him? “I need to get these to Morgana before she beings to wonder what’s taking so long. I’d suggest you do the same and report to Arthur before you get fired.” Potentially literally based on how they treat heretics. Oh the joys of monarchy.
Merlin wistfully watched Gwen leave, desperately wishing he could follow her. Although he supposed Arthur and Morgana saw enough of each other, he would still have plenty of opportunities to see her, even on duty. Small blessings.
Merlin stood outside the threshold of the prince’s quarters, working up the willpower to just go in and get it over with. It being the beginning.
Surprisingly there were no guards at the door, which denied him the peer pressure of an audience. Finally, more out of boredom than anything else, he approached the door. One experimental push later that revealed it to be unlatched and Merlin stepped into his future.
“For future reference people generally announce themselves before barging into rooms that are not their own.” Which is why you treat everywhere in the castle like your personal playground… which actually on second thought, I suppose it is.
A flash of indignation ran through him. “I was summoned.”
“And you’re late.”
Fair…. but also how does he know I wasn’t saving a cat from a tree or helping an old lady safely cross the road or even foiling assassins. Not that I was... but theoretically.
Arthur stood erect, broad shoulders set back, his golden locks fitted under a thin princely circlet. He was dressed in chainmail, which seemed like it would be quite uncomfortable for casual wear, not that Merlin would have any idea. If Arthur’s manner was any more stiff, the sword at his side would have a matching number between his legs.
“I want to set expectations early,” said Arthur, in a well-practiced authoritative voice, one could say regal but Merlin would call it pompous, that belied the fact he was the same age as Merlin, barely fourteen. “Lest you later accuse me of being a cruel taskmaster.” That was a given regardless. It comes with the territory of servitude.
“You will be my sparring partner, ride and hunt with me, maintain my living quarters, collect any item that I should require, and otherwise obey any and all commands I give without hesitation.” Oh is that all?
“Now,” Oh lord there’s more. “Any questions? Speak freely.”
Merlin deeply resented the implication that he would need the prince’s permission to do just that and was sorely tempted to take the opportunity to give it voice. I really don’t have much of an instinct for self-preservation now do I. Merlin bit down on his tongue, lest he let loose a volley of a thousand sarcastic remarks. Plenty of time for that later.
Merlin reviewed the rather long list of his official duties and realized he was precisely the wrong person for the job. He had no skill at arms and little desire to learn. He didn’t have the heart (or stomach) to harm another living creature for sport. His (well-earned) reputation for being a smart ass among the castle staff hardly spoke to his obedience or discretion.
He found that he did after all have one question.
“Why me?”
Arthur’s frowned, in concentration, clearly taken aback by this line of inquiry. Merlin supposed it wasn’t often that anyone questioned why the prince did anything, so busy were they figuring out exactly how to bend themselves to his vision. Hardly encourages self-reflection. Although Merlin probably suffered the opposite affliction. Forget what they say about idle hands, idle minds overthink themselves to ruin.
As for the question itself, Merlin thought it perfectly fair. As not only a prince of Camelot, but also the heir apparent, Arthur could have had a pick of any companion or servant that he could wish for. The skinny, unremarkable, nearly friendless orphan boy who knew more about plants than swords hardly seemed like the obvious choice.
Finally after what felt like an eternity, Arthur spoke. “A future king ought to learn from even from the lowliest of his future subjects so as to represent their interests.”
Merlin was left at a loss for words. I don’t know what I was expecting but generally not being insulted so casually to my face would be a start.
Arthur, not missing a beat, “Now then, let’s get started.”
The following weeks blurred in a whirlwind of activity. Merlin was shocked how easily he fell into the regular rhythm of a routine. Well as regular a routine can be when serving a mercurial, overactive prince with what appears to be a death wish and daddy issues.
Most of his duties were in fact along the line of things he already did for Gaius. Oh God, he’s been grooming me for this since the beginning.
Unexpectedly, the most difficult part was dressing Arthur. Despite the fact that Merlin was anything but athletic (reading and passing herbs to Gaius hardly constituted a vigorous exercise routine), he found he was able to keep up with Arthur well enough. Or maybe, more accurately, Arthur was taking pity on him. Merlin had the sneaking suspicion that a wooden dummy would put up more resistance than him on the training field.
But the dressing, well it was forcibly intimate, even with Arthur always wearing an under-tunic for modesty’s sake. There was no ignoring the well-developed muscles honed by hours of training. Merlin tried to avoid staring, lest Arthur notice and comment upon it, but it was difficult not to notice what was right in front of him.
Merlin did not understand why his pulse seemed to race, that his throat ran dry while sweat collected in the most unfortunate of locations. Perhaps it was just a greater awareness of the inadequacy of being nothing but sinew and bone.
Gwen was always cracking jokes about how he must be a faerie changeling with his odd ears and fine cheekbones. Well at least she did until word reached Uther and he was interrogated for hours before finally being released. I was eleven.
Merlin’s attempts to sabotage and get demoted back into true anonymity failed miserably. All his snark and cutting wit were taken for jests like he was the court’s fool. Which was not in the job description, I really ought to be compensated for it.
Similarly, Arthur seemed charmed by all his bumbling. Or if by chance he wasn’t laughing at Merlin’s expense, he seemed to take equal pleasure in dressing him down. He always seems to come out on top.
Merlin just threw up his hands in frustration and had resigned himself to the fact that this was in fact his life now. God help me.
Given the job required him to be Arthur’s constant companion from more or less dawn to dusk, and on a couple memorable occasions in which they had managed to get lost in the woods, well into the night, they got to talking. It wasn’t really purposeful on Merlin’s part. He had no real desire to dig into the inner workings of so obviously shallow a person. But he soon found that the only thing that would be worse than speaking with the prince would be agonizingly long silences. So he took the conservational bait, hook, line, and sinker.
And frustratingly, infuriatingly, Merlin had to concede that underneath the shiny layers of swagger and ego, Arthur wasn’t so bad. Certainly not the worst thing since the fall of the Roman Empire. I think.
He had a vision for a more equal Camelot, with knighthood assigned on the basis of merit rather than birth. And a path forward with the war against the Saxons through negotiation to create a grand federation of the disparate Britons to beat back the tide. He has a brain as well as muscles… who knew.
One night they were just lazing about in his bed after a particularly intense bout of training that had begun sundown. “I need to be able to fight in all conditions. My future enemies will not be so kind as to always attack at high noon.”
Arthur seemed to be in particularly magnanimous mood, having shared with Merlin choice bits that Merlin had secured from the kitchens so Arthur need not dine with his father and Morgana in the Great Hall. Merlin blamed it on the wine that Catherine had kindly slipped him.
He had not personally partaken, knowing from Gaius that alcohol loosened inhibitions. And as it was, he was toeing the line on how much sass was acceptable in response to a prince’s command.
Between the satisfying ache of his tired muscles, the full belly, and the warm surroundings, Merlin could see himself easily drift off into slumber. If not for the lightning like charge being generated by the close proximity to the prince at his side. It is hard to properly relax around one’s rival.
Unprompted, Arthur burst the warm, comfortable quiet, “Would you want to know the real reason I chose you?” There was an unfamiliar tension in his voice. One could almost call it nervousness if not for the thought of Prince Arthur the Bold having nerves being patently ridiculous.
“Oh there was more? I was not just the most immediately available lowly subject at hand?”
“You can never just shut up.” Sitting up, he good-naturally ribbed at Merlin, who propped himself up on his forearms so Arthur wouldn’t loom quite so large. “I would say it aloud but some things are actually easier to say without words.”
Before Merlin could react, Arthur leaned in. Merlin’s field of vision became filled with those brilliant ocean eyes, a cheekbone, and then absolutely nothing as they collided lips finding lips.
And although he hadn’t the faintest idea of what he was doing, Merlin found himself kissing Arthur back. Properly and willingly mind you, it wasn’t like some misguided sense of duty that he so obviously lacked suddenly decided to kick in.
He tasted sweet, presumably of the same character as the wine. Arthur’s hands planted themselves on either sides of Merlin’s hips, leaving his arms to encase Merlin. Merlin’s mind was a blank slate on fire, like melting wax. He only knew that he did not want it to end.
They broke apart. Arthur had a dreamy look in his eyes, a descriptor that proved quite literal as he nodded off before Merlin’s eyes. This sudden sleep did nothing to assuage Merlin’s suspicious that this was some elaborate prank or dream. Or nightmare? I think I enjoyed that kiss a little too much for it to be a nightmare.
Merlin knew how these things were supposed to go. Young boys were supposed to find girls vaguely unappealing and kind of gross until suddenly they didn’t like a torch suddenly catching fire. Then they’d pick one, usually for a suitable dowry in land or gold or in kind but sometimes for honor or a laugh or passion and to make babies who’d repeat the whole cycle over again. Grow, fuck, procreate, and die. A human lifespan broken down to its bare essentials.
And well, the stories for princes were much the same, only with the fate of entire kingdoms hanging in the balance. And passion was even less likely to figure into it with the acceptable pool so drastically limited by birth and standing. Princes certainly weren’t supposed to kiss serving boys. And I’m not supposed to have kissed back.
He guessed, if he were pressed to name a girl that he found attractive, he’d say that he found Morgana pleasing to the eye, but in the same idle way one appreciates a sunset or a gemstone. And she is safe because there is no chance that she’ll ever notice me. I’ll never be threatened with consummating my lukewarm desire.
His surroundings suddenly brightened. Merlin panicked that someone would have entered to see him sitting beside the sleeping prince. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw the source reflecting in the mirror. My ears… they’re glowing crimson.
Merlin fled Arthur’s chambers immediately. There was only one man who could possibly help him. Now it was just a matter of reaching him without being noticed. At this hour of night, perhaps they’d be mistaken for torches at a distance, and he’d be able to run faster not trying to (and failing to) cover his ears. So he made a mad dash through familiar corridors made sinister by the faint red glow that followed him.
“Gaius,” he whispered, hoping to avoid accidentally alerting the night watch that something was afoot. Alas Gaius slept on like a gargoyle. But when he’s awake, he’s so sensitive, I swear he could read my mind. “Gaius, help!”
There was a soft groan that indicated to Merlin he had finally gotten through. With his eyes still shut, Gaius started rubbing his temples. “Merlin my boy, what could possibly be of such urgency that it could not wait until mor-” Gaius opened his eyes, trailing off as he took in the obvious problem.
He sat up with a curious look of concentration on his face, as if he were searching for and failing to find something to say. Finally, right before Merlin could no longer bear it, Gaius uttered, “Tywyllu.”
Instantly upon hearing the word, despite having no understanding of its meaning, Merlin’s ears dimmed. He could still feel the flush of blood roaring in his ears, but they were no longer unnaturally lit up like glowworms.
They now sat in the proper darkness of night, silent but for the sound of their own breathing. Merlin was too alert to even think about sleeping, and Gaius made no move to dismiss him and return to rest.
Unable to bear the suspense much longer, Merlin asked the obvious question, “What was that?” He didn’t know whether he was referring to his ears or what that word did, but obviously they were from one and in the same phenomenon.
“Forbidden knowledge.” Make it sound more desirable why don’t you. “And should word get out of that little stunt I just pulled, I would be burned at the stake with nary a tear shed from Uther Pendragon for all my years of service.”
“Wait that was magic?” Merlin had always assumed it would be more impressive than spontaneously glowing ears given how paranoid Uther was about it. A party trick could hardly bring a kingdom to its knees and did not seem worthy of the genocidal intolerant campaign that had been waged for years and years.
“I… dabble.” Merlin raised an eyebrow. “Dabbled,” he corrected himself forcefully. “In some esoteric branches of knowledge in my study of medicine. I survived the Great Purge by renouncing the Old Religion and all its rites and practices.”
Gaius did not elaborate further. And as much as he wanted to, Merlin did not press. From all the gory and fiery stories that were told, Merlin was sure Gaius had no wish to relive those days, even in the safety of memory.
I always suspected you had latent abilities.” And you never thought to tell me? “I thought sending you away from me would keep the magic within asleep and afford you a modicum of protection. Ignorance would be your greatest shield. I see now that I was wrong.”
Merlin was disturbed to see a man of learning, one who had spent these past years teaching Merlin that knowledge was the greatest weapon one could hone, praise ignorance as if it weren’t a paper tiger.
“I will teach you a modicum of control, so we won’t have any repeat incidences.” You say as if I want my ears lit up like a bonfire at every possible moment.
But still Merlin was excited at the potential of what this newfound ability could do. And if Gaius taught him control, well how to use it would be up to him.
“Concealment is the only way to survive. For if they were to see you for what you are, they would declare you monstrous. And you know as well as I that monsters do not live long within the borders of Camelot.” Tell that to the Saxons.
“What triggered it? Your ears.”
“Arthur.” Merlin couldn’t elaborate further than that. Not that he would wish to. What had just happened between them would not be profaned by speaking it into mere words. And the confusing jumble of feelings jostling within him needed to be sorted out in the privacy of his own mind on his own schedule.
He hurriedly added on, anticipating Gaius’ concern, “Don’t worry he passed out before they started doing that. My secret is safe.”
“For now,” said Gaius, voice grave. And on that cheery note, time to sleep.
Merlin’s mind and body alike were distinctly uncooperative. Like his eyes were shut the whole time, but his brain just kept on replaying the incident over and over and over again. Thankfully his ears didn’t start glowing again because he certainly couldn’t remember whatever magic word Gaius had said to undo them.
The next morning, still exhausted, he went through the motions of an ordinary day. When he entered Arthur’s chambers, he was surprised to see Arthur still passed out. Normally he was already awake, doing this or that exercise, admiring himself in the mirror (no one had the right to look that good bedraggled), or otherwise defying the natural order where sleep was a treasured gift to be enjoyed until the sun was, at the very least, completely visible above the horizon.
“Rise and shine.” Merlin opened the still drawn curtains without mercy. It wasn’t often he got to taunt Arthur while being completely aboveboard in terms of his duties.
Arthur groaned, more guttural for still being enveloped in the heavy hands of sleep. “That is unnecessarily bright.”
“You mean the sun?” Which as far as Merlin was concerned was of fairly consistent brightness (or not) on this rainy misbegotten island.
Arthur moaned in the affirmative as he tried to use a pillow to shield his eyes from the incoming rays of light.
Merlin approached the bed, the site of last night’s… incident. The memory came rushing back unbidden and with it a rosy flush of Merlin’s cheeks, thankfully of the non-magical kind. He had to know what was going on in Arthur’s head. Was it to become a regular thing? Or a one-off? How much further could they go? Was there even a “they” to be worked up about?
“Exactly how much of last night do you remember?” Merlin was pretty sure memory loss was a side effect of drinking too much alcohol.
“Merlin, please make your meaning plain, I have the most monstrous of headaches.”
“Well, when we…” A false start. Why must this be so difficult? “When we… you know.” He couldn’t even gesture weakly, Arthur’s confusion seemed genuine. Or maybe he was a better actor than Merlin gave him credit for. I certainly had no inkling he had those kinds of feelings for me before last night.
Arthur’s eyes narrowed in suspicion, the blue taking on the character of ice chips, hard and cold. And that’s why this is so difficult. “I have no idea what you are attempting to imply. Just this once, I will be generous and assume you are confusing a dream with reality.” Of that we can both agree.
“Come now, we have much to do.”
Merlin trudged on behind him, convinced more than ever that Arthur Pendragon, Prince of Camelot was an insufferable prat.