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The silver tray in his hand swayed dangerously when he tried to rub his heavy eyelids with his other hand. His heart couldn’t help but skip as he pulled the balance back—almost dumping Arthur’s lunch on the way to his room. An uncontrollable yawn formed at the back of his throat, he had to fist one hand in front of his wide-open mouth, just so people wouldn’t see his uvula.
A handmaiden gave him a strange look as their paths crossed. He assumed the tiredness that was eating him alive had, somehow, managed to show on his face. Working two days straight wasn’t something he would try ever again.
The red potion he took before getting to his morning routines didn’t seem to help that much. He remembered putting a spell on it though—could still feel the burning in his chest when he swallowed the whole content down in one go. ‘pínulítið’ he had said—to strengthen the effect, as stated in one of Gaius' potion books.
Wait, or was it ‘þrúðugr’?
“Hey mate, is it just me, or you look shorter?” was how a stable boy greeted him—smiling and showing his crooked-yellow teeth—before slapping his shoulder boldly. He staggered back a step, managing to save the chicken on the tray, but the drink spilled out a bit and stained the silver surface disgustingly.
Merlin looked at him but found he needed to look up a little more. Their height was different from the other day, that was true, but how could he be shorter?
“Or are you taller?” He replied, raising an eyebrow.
The stable boy gave him a funny look, laughed and shook his head. He bruised his shoulder some more, then said a brief goodbye and continued his way.
Merlin stared at him until he disappeared into the crowd of servants, scratching his head all the while.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
It wasn’t clear what had happened to him when reaching the top of a wardrobe became an impossible task. It wasn’t clear when the bed was almost leveled at his sight, wasn’t clear until he clung desperately to the edge of Arthur’s dining table, floor seeming like hundreds of feet below him.
That was when he realized he’d mixed up the spell.
A grunt escaped from his throat as he pulled himself up on the table, now a massive wooden field before him. The food he’d brought in was still in the tray on the table. An apple the size of a hill and
a chicken the size of a mountain stood tall in front of him. His mind was still racing, trying—with his panicking brain—to think of a way to cancel out the spell, when the door creaked open.
He only needed to see the tip of the arrival’s shoe to know it was Arthur. With his heart beating high up at his throat and a pair of sweaty hands, he ran and ran until his whole body was hidden by a gigantic sausage.
Arthur closed the door loudly with the heel of his boot and made his way to an open window. He leaned on a wall next to it, starting outside—huffing and carding his hand through his hair all the while. Merlin sighed and put his hand on the nearest surface for support, only to get it all slippery by the excessive oil from the food.
Once Arthur turned his head to the table and located the food tray, he stared at it, calmer now but a trace of grumpiness still in the line of his brow. His eyes flicked left and right, looking around the room—searching for something.
“Merlin?” He said once, and then twice, louder than the first. When there was no answer, he grumbled, “Don’t pay him to loiter around.” and started his way towards the table.
So, before Arthur dropped to his seat, Merlin—with an abrupt fury and the eruption of childish thoughts which somehow left floating around in his system—rubbed his backside on the sausage then sprinted his way to hide behind a goblet. And, oh yes, there was no question to how much he enjoyed sniggering when he witnessed Arthur bite down a large chunk of it.
When the whole sausage was gone, he moved to the chicken, spared a glance at a tiny hill of mashed-potato then frowned. He poked at it with a fork, and Merlin knew full well why. Apart from losing to one of his knights, another thing he hated the most was, in his words, ‘A tasteless gooey-thing that keeps sticking to my palate.’ Merlin brought it anyway, though, just to get on his nerves. Arthur swept it aside and cleaned his fork with a napkin.
A set of knocks came some time later. Arthur said, “Come in.” with a mouth full of chicken. He reached for the goblet, and Merlin almost threw up when the tip of his thumb brushed his sleeve. The cup was raised, eventually, but Arthur didn’t look, instead staring at the creaking door. Uther snuck his face in, look bashful. Arthur raised an eyebrow—putting the goblet down.
“Arthur.” The king greeted, half way behind the door. Arthur nodded, “Father.”
Uther cleared his throat. “I came to remind you to take princess Alys for a ride this afternoon.”
The corner of Arthur’s mouth twitched—barely noticeable. He ran his hand through his hair, then sighed. “Yes, father.”
“Good, good.” Uther nodded again, rhythmically while staring at nothing in particular. Shifted his gaze back at Arthur who was clenching the fork. He continued with, “I know she can be a little...” and waved his hand vaguely—looking for a word—then decided not to say it. “Just be nice to her, yes?”
Arthur poked his fork at the chicken, nudging it. Made the tip pierce through the skin then pull out, poked it then pulled out, and kept staring at it when he replied. “Yes, father.”
“Good.” Uther cleared his throat some more. “Good. Good.”
Uther left, then, shutting the door softly behind as if fearing loud noise would set Arthur off. Arthur—for his part—exhaled, rubbed his temples then gave up on his appetite all together.
Merlin crossed his arms, raised an eyebrow and looked at him—wondering how bad a princess could possibly be?
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Merlin’s first intention was to use Arthur as a ride to Gaius’ quarters—taking a leap to Arthur’s sleeve and climbing up a light line of hair that led to his ear. His little grunt made Arthur turn swiftly, calling out, “Merlin?” then pick his ear when he couldn’t find him anywhere.
When he was near enough the place he needed to be, he realized he didn’t have the guts to jump, and climbing down would take him an eternity and a day, so, yes, he was pretty much stuck.
The princess, as it turned out half an hour later, wasn’t particularly...bad. She just kept saying everything on her mind. Even things others wouldn’t wish to know, such as, ‘I feel like passing gas...wait, No, It’s gone now.’ and managed to pull out the longest belch Merlin had ever heard. Also, she wouldn’t stop complimenting Arthur’s ‘majestic nose’ for reasons that were beyond him.
Merlin had learnt how to ride a horse when he was ten, never ever got sick riding one, until he was sitting in Arthur’s ears, head bobbing and swaying round and round. Nausea built up in his stomach, pushing at his throat. So, part way through a forest’s entrance, he couldn’t help but complain.
“Couldn’t you ride any better, you arse?”
Just when the princess asked, “Do you hunt a lot, Arthur?”
Arthur turned his head, and made Merlin’s whole world spin in the process. He almost fell out, but Arthur’s earlobe saved him from his miserable fate.
Arthur said, “Well, that’s none of your business, is it, you arse?” before realizing the only person apart from him and the princess was far behind them. Also, that person was the princess lady maid, not Merlin.
The princess went silent. Merlin—hanging on the tip of Arthur’s ear for dear life—could see the princess staring at Arthur, wide eyed, hands letting go of the rein in shock. “Oh, I’m sorry.” she said then catching the rein back again, turned to the road, frowned.
Merlin climbed up on Arthur’s hot, red ear. “No, that wasn’t-, I-” The prince sputtered. Lost control over his horse but gained it back fast enough before any harm was done. “In the past, yes. Now, not so much.”
“Charming.” She replied, and kept staring ahead, poker face.
But she only lasted five minutes with her anger, though. With all the exceptional flora and fauna of Camelot, soon she pointed at every little thing along the way—asking endless questions about them, too. Anyway, Arthur was relieved to see her enthusiastic and smiling again.
They settled near a lake not far from the castle—private enough for having lunch. The princess sat upright, arms hugging her knees, looking around, turning her head every time at sounds of birds chirped and foxes called. Arthur was on his elbow, eating half-heartedly, looking at nothing in particular. Almost absent-minded enough to jump when she pointed out, “Lovely weather, isn’t it?”
It was summer, sticky, almost-no-wind-and-even-less-cloud-to-block-the-blasting-sun summer. Merlin—sweating in his cloth answered, “Lovely my arse.” unnecessarily rolling his tongue at the letter R.
Arthur snickered at that, unintentionally but it slipped out. He pretended to cough afterward with a fist in front of his lips to cover the corner of his mouth that wouldn’t stop holding up a smirk. The princess was not a fool, however, so she leveled him with a glare.
“What’s so funny?” The sharpness of her darted eyes almost made them bleed.
Arthur sat up and shook his head. “No, nothing...It just...The weather...is-” Pointed vaguely at the clouds and the sun “-so good it makes me happy—enough to laugh.”
Merlin couldn’t help but chuckle at that. Arthur put a finger in his ear and scratched it, looked back warily. The princess picked up some bread.
“What’s your favourite food?” She asked, after a while.
“Anything that increases the content of my giant arse will do.” Replied Merlin.
Arthur jumped at that, hissing, “My arse is not that big!” checking it then froze, turned his hand back to the princess who was picking up the bread she must have dropped around the word ‘big’.
She glanced at it, shifted her gaze back quickly, saying, “Oh, no, no...It’s...quite nice. Not that big, yes.” to the bread in her hand.
“Uh, I...like meat pie.” Was Arthur’s reply, small and shameful.
***
They flirted. Arthur half-heartedly, though, and Merlin was dozing off. He lied on his back, arms as a pillow, enjoying the rare breeze that happened to come by. Some parts of their conversation were indistinct to his half-asleep brain but once in a while, his mind kicked back and let him hear parts of the conversation like;
“—you ever wonder how your nose is so majestic?”
“When will she stop obsessing over your nose? It’s ridiculous.” Merlin mumbled, eyes still close.
“Right?” Arthur replied, and regretted it immediately because the princess suddenly said, “Yes!”, Then, “May I?”
Merlin opened his eyes in time to see the princess reached in, hand looming over his nose. He threw his head back and laughed and laughed and laughed.
Arthur used his finger to pick at his ear again, then followed by a slap that made Merlin slipped further in and almost stepped on an ear wax. His skin crawled at the thought. He couldn't sleep, after that.
***
When they got up and prepared to leave, Merlin was relieved that the whole boring thing was finally over so he hummed and sang broken lyrics of a song he’d heard from the market. He wasn't even sure what the original lyrics were. He thought it went, ‘Ass, Ass, what a giant Arse you are...’ so he sang it like that.
Arthur cleared his throat, seemed uncomfortable, tried to say something at the lake but ended up with “I’ve never enjoyed the view of the arse before.” The sputtered, red face and ears, “The lake! I said the lake!”
The princess stared at him and shook her head, looking at the maid who was gathering her things.
Merlin could feel the ear pulled as he made an attempt to give her an apologetic smile. He picked his ear again. Merlin smiled and shook his head. “You absolute Arse.”
Arthur turned sharply to his right, groaned, picked his ear. His eyes wide and frantic. “Did you hear that?”
She looked around warily. “Hear what?”
“That bloody voice, won’t stop saying the word ‘arse’”
The princess glanced at the lake, face pulled, arm crossed. “Yes, I do.”
Arthur turned to her, happy to find someone who agreed, a proof that he hadn’t gone mad, but the excitement faded quickly when he realized it was him she was talking about.
***
It seemed that her limit had been reached. Her facial expression was locked in one state which could only be read as; ‘If throttling you wouldn’t start a war, I’d do it without a second thought.’
She kept that expression on the whole way back to the castle. It didn’t waver when Arthur walked her to her room and kissed her hand, and she was still pulling that face when the king called them all to the throne room.
Arthur started with, “Princess, I apologize for the unpleasant evening. I-”
The princess turned red and charged him, almost reaching him when her father caught her arm, gave an apologetic bow, then dragged her out.
The lady yelled and struggled to get loose—saying the prince had some kind of ear disease and conflict in his brain. Then added that if he likes arse so much, she’ll send him one as a farewell gift.
After a good while of silence, the king burst out laughing, slapped at his son's shoulder a couple of times. Arthur gave a nervous laugh. Merlin laughed along and Arthur had to pick his ear again.
The court was dismissed and the king suggested “You should see Gaius about that.” looking pointedly at his ear.
“Of course.” was Arthur’s reply.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
Arthur strode all the way back to his chambers. Jogged up the stairs and made Merlin’s head bob again. When the door was shut, Merlin had only a few seconds to feel relieved, because, out of nowhere, a numbness started at the tip of his fingers and flushed through his body.
“Shit, what now?” He whined.
He tried to shake it off, literally, got up and shook his arms and feet and everything. It didn’t help at all. And if that wasn’t enough, his hands started to swell too. Followed by his thigh and “Wha- no no no no no n-” his limbs grew longer and he knew exactly what’s going on.
Arthur must have noticed the gaining weight in his ear, though, because he bent sideways and Merlin fell out, landed on his enlarging butt cheeks. Arthur's expression turned blank. He took a step back, arms stretching at both sides.
He blink rapidly, looked like he wanted to say and ended up with, “Wha- did you just come out of my ear!”
Merlin hurried up on his feet—still reeling down from the wooziness of the transformation. He rubbed his jaw. “Urmm...no?”
“Yes!” Arthur almost screamed at him. Both of his hands stretched forward.
“Well, I can explain that...” He pointed up, his heart thudding wildly. Arthur took a step back when he took a step forward.
“Oh, come on!” Threw his hands up and he—unintentionally—made rolls of documents fly around the room.
Arthur eyes widening. “You have magic.” Whispered. “I-”
“You have magic.”
“Yes, but that doesn’t mean-”
“You have magic.”
“Yes, but I-” He reached out—wasn’t sure what for—but Arthur took another step back with a hiss. His face turned to something ugly—mirroring his emotion. “Leave me.”
“Arth-”
“Go!”
Taken aback, Merlin swallowed the lump in his throat and walked backwards to the door. Arthur made his way to the bed, sat down with his back to Merlin—hand fisting in his hair, hanging low between his shoulders—visibly shaking. When the door was closed, something was thrown at it, making the wood tremble. Merlin jumped at that. His eyes felt hot when he turned away and ran to his room.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
His room was cold in general. This part of the castle didn’t get much sunlight during the day, and the broken windows that kept letting cold breeze in at night weren't helping at all. But today it felt colder than before, emptier too, even with his shirts and books that were scattered on the floor just like they always had been.
He sat on his bed, head blank for a moment before he started to cry. Then he stopped, numb, then cried again. He thought he’d gone mad, but he hadn’t. He wished—at some point—that he had gone mad because he thought that would make him feel less pain, less guilt.
Gaius came in an hour later and he pretended he was sleeping. When he heard the door close again, he let warm tears streamed down his face once more—for lack of anything else to do—until he fell asleep.
That night, every single sound woke him up. Bell tolling, clattering of something outside, footsteps of the guards. Even when there was no more sound to disturb him, he still woke up from his nightmare—shaken and sweaty. Every single one of his dreams was about hundreds of different ways the king would deal with his crime.
The new day was dawning and he hoped it was all a bad dream. He pulled his heavy body out of the bed, splashed his face with cold water, and inhaled—deep. He headed to the main kitchen, avoiding eye contact as he went. Pretended to be deaf whenever anyone asked what had become of his eyes.
With a breakfast tray in one hand and a shaky smile, he headed to Arthur’s chambers. He was about to knock when another person—coming from heaven knew where—did it first and entered the chamber with another food tray.
Arthur was on his bed. Still asleep, with his shirt off, back facing him. His breathing was deep and constant. He looked peaceful; doing fine, without Merlin.
His eyes felt hot again. The door shut in his face in the time it took for the first teardrop to fall down his cheek. His fists clenched and his heart twisted painfully.
***
His legs took him to his room—his brain had stopped processing a while ago. His hand shook when he shoved his shirts furiously into his bag and he cursed when he couldn’t pack all his belongings because of the messiness of it. He sat on the bed beside the bag and let magic take care of getting everything out, folding it all neatly before putting it back.
His hands came up to cover his eyes and cheeks—elbows resting on his knees—rubbing his face a couple of times, then letting them stay there. It was ridiculous how much he’d cried over Arthur, but he couldn’t help it. He almost started crying again when his bedroom door opened.
Gaius, he thought, and let his magic continue its work. Clothes flying around the room, waiting in line for their turn to be folded into the bag. He didn’t look up from his hands, just sat there, waiting to be scolded for using magic in the heart of Camelot.
The speed of the steps approaching him was too swift to be Gaius—he noticed that far too late—so he barely had a second to register what was going on before he was dragged up by his collar and slammed to the wall.
Arthur stared at him, eyes red and nostrils flared. His hand that was gripping at Merlin’s neck shook visibly.
Merlin’s eyes widened. “Arth-”
“You idiot.” Arthur cut in. Shoved him to the wall and made his head knock against it. All the floating things collapsed down to the floor, lifeless as they should be.
“How can you be so careless? If anyone saw you, if my father saw you. What if the guards saw you and started gossiping—” Arthur choked.
Merlin opened his mouth and managed a shaky “I—” before Arthur pushed at him again, trying to merge him with the wall.
“Shut up!” He yelled.
“Sorry.” was all Merlin could say before his breath hitched, swallowing the ball in his throat as he tried so hard to keep the tears from his eyes.
Arthur growled, and Merlin thought he was about to be knocked into the wall again when Arthur pulled at his collar, but he wasn’t. Arthur didn’t push back, instead he dragged him into a hug. A nose came pressing at his nape, one arm over his shoulder and another at his waist, pressing their bodies together, still trembling from anger, heartbreak—both.
Merlin opened his mouth, wanted to say something nice, but words escaped him. He lifted his arms up and hugged back, cheek flatten on Arthur’s golden hair.
He whispered “I’m sorry,” into Arthur’s ear and then another “I’m sorry,” while kissing his hair then his ear and another “I’m sorry.” when he heard a sob coming from the side of his neck.
••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••••
“I have something to confess.” Merlin spoke. The sound was muffled by the pillow, so Arthur pulled his arm and turned him to make them lie face to face—hugging loosely. “What?” He whispered, kissing Merlin’s forehead.
Merlin laughed at that, calling him silly, then rested his hand on Arthur’s cheek—using his thumb to draw a circle on it absentmindedly. Arthur smiled at him.
“When I was under the potion’s effects ... I, uh, rubbed my bum on your sausage.” He snorted at his own memory. “You kinda pissed me off, you know?”
Arthur shifted back a little—still hugging but giving some space to look at Merlin properly. “You rubbed your what on my what?”
Merlin laughed again, eyes dancing with it, but when the words sunk in and he realized how obscene that might sound, his cheeks flushed.
He looked at Arthur and saw that he was smirking—had every intention to make fun of the thing he’d just said. Merlin pushed him away by his face and jumped out of the bed—gaining a disapproval sound and a hand reaching out to drag him back down.
Just then, a set of knocks came from the door. Merlin was relieved he was still wearing trousers. Arthur called whoever that was behind the door in, but no one came. Merlin looked at him and found a curious look mirroring his own.
They put on their shirts and made their way towards the door, Arthur with his sword and Merlin with his magic ready. There was nothing behind the door but a large bag with a small piece of paper beside it. Arthur picked it up. It read; A.
They switched another curious look before opening the bag. They both looked at it at the same time but Merlin was the first one who realized what it was and he laughed and laughed and gave Arthur no explanation. Arthur—frustrated, not liking the feeling of missing out—gave it a closer look and then, suddenly, he knew what it was.
A pig bum.
Merlin was wheezing—couldn’t stop laughing and didn’t care to do anything with it. So Arthur had to help him. He dropped the bag and deliberately swung his hand back and swatted at Merlin’s backside.
He stopped laughing abruptly, eyes widening. “You’re so not getting away with that.” He declared as Arthur darted back inside to the bed.
Merlin chased him—brain flushed with revenge thoughts as he flung the door close—leaving the bag outside.