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The day Arthur legalises magic is the first time Merlin cries since his father’s death. He is so overcome by the emotion that he starts weeping and sobbing behind the king on the balcony as he makes the announcement.
Arthur, being the clotpole he is, takes Merlin aside afterwards and gives him a stern talking to.
“Merlin, I know you’re scared.”
Merlin is taken aback, and stares at him. “What?”
“I know Merlin.” Arthur soothes. “You’ve been scared of magic for years, but I’ve seen the good it can do. You don’t need to be afraid.”
“Arthur, I’m not-“
Arthur, in all his golden haired glory, smiles at him and clucks his tounge as if talking to a child. “It’s okay. Its normal to be scared – I am. I just want you to support me in this. I know you said there was no place for magic in Camelot, and I do trust your judgement, but I saw the pain that magic users have been through, and magic has saved my life so many times now. I am not my father, and I think this is the right thing to do. If you don’t, that’s fine, but please don’t let’s be at odds.”
It’s a heartfelt speech, and Merlin is truly proud of Arthur for finally getting around to trusting magic, but he is dumbfounded as to why Arthur thinks he’s scared.
“I’m not scared.” He tries, ‘It’s just…”
“Merlin, its fine.” The king reassures. “Now, magic or no magic, my armour still needs polishing.”
“Prat.” Merlin mutters under his breath.
“Heard that!”
“So Merlin,” Arthur says one day while Merlin is serving breakfast for them. Technically he’s serving it for Arthur, but he’s been taking a plate for himself for so long that Arthur has given up on stopping him.
“What?” he asks, pausing from where he is putting an extra sausage on his own plate.
“I’ve decided to appoint a court sorcerer.”
“Really? Merlin says, silently doing a jig in his head.
“Yes.” Arthur confirms. “I was wondering what you thought about my choice.”
Merlin sits down and turns to his friend expectantly. “Ok…”
Arthur takes a deep breath, picks up a drumstick, takes a bite and puts it down again. “It’s George.” He says.
“George.” Merlin repeats. “who’s George?”
“You know, George. The brass obsessed man. I think he’s replaced you on a few occasions.”
Merlin, who has been hoping against all hopes that there was another George in Camelot, slumps his head on the table. “George.” He says once he has finished banging his head up and down.
“Yes, George.” Arthur sounds way too enthusiastic about a man who’s only passion in life is cleaning. “It turns out he’s had magic for a number of years, and he has enough power to light two fires at once! I think he’s a perfect choice.”
Merlin, who can light all the fires in Camelot with a single thought, says, “He’s the only sorcerer you know, isn’t he?”
“Well yes,” Arthur admits, “But I don’t see how that’s relevant.”
A few weeks later, Merlin is sitting with Arthur while he writes speeches that were supposed to be written by the king himself at least three days ago.
“Merlin I’ve been thinking.” Arthur says suddenly, jerking Merlin out his writing stupor.
“Well that’s a new one.” He teases. “What did you come up with?”
Arthur meets his eyes, and Merlin can see the honest sincerity in them. He can also see the reflection of the pen he enchanted to write the speech, but he doesn’t pay attention to that. The king seems to want serious Merlin right now.
“What is it?” he asks.
“Merlin,” Arthur says again, “I was thinking that you should learn magic.”
“What?” Merlin is flabbergasted, and he may or may not fall off his chair. Once he has recovered and Arthur has stopped laughing, he questions the king’s sanity.
Arthur shrugs. “I just thought that since you insist on coming with me and the knights on quests and such, you should have some way to defend yourself. I know its futile teaching you to use a sword, but maybe you might have more luck with magic.”
“Arthur,” Merlin begins. “I don’t think that’s a good…”
“Brilliant!” the traitorous king grins. “You start lessons with George tomorrow morning.”
“Seriously?”
“Yes seriously. I don’t want you to die, you idiot.”
The next morning comes, and Merlin topples out of his bed because Gaius decides it is a good idea to wake him up with a pitcher of water dumped on his head.
He groans, pulls on his clothes wearily and stumbles out to the table where Gaius has lumpy porridge waiting.
“The king told me to tell you your services would not be required today because you are learning magic.” Gaius says as he sits down. The eyebrow goes up. “Care to explain?”
Merlin sighs and swings his legs round on his chair to face the old man. “Arthur thought I should learn magic to defend myself.”
“And Arthur doesn’t know you already…”
“Nope. Not a clue. I lit the fire with magic yesterday and he didn’t notice a thing!”
Gaius laughs, and continues to eat.
Merlin arrives at the new court sorcerer’s chambers at half past eight, which, while being much later than he would usually get up, is still early enough that most of the castle is asleep. George however, is not.
George is wide awake and beaming as Merlin closes the door behind him.
“Merlin!” he cries. “Never thought I’d see you here.”
Merlin scowls. “Arthur ordered me to come.”
“Well now that you’re here, lets get started!”
What follows is a half hour of George, who only knows one spell, attempting to teach the most powerful man ever to exist the first spell he ever learned. About ten years ago.
Needless to say, Merlin gets impatient. He finally snaps when George is going over the pronunciation of forbaernen for the fiftieth time.
“Would you shut up!” he growls. “I know the spell. Look.” And, without even muttering a word, the fire in the fireplace roars to life, looking vaguely angry. Perhaps Merlin has overdone it a little.
George has probably never seen a non verbal spell in his life, and he staggers back stuttering.
Merlin smiles. He lights all the torches in the room with a flick of his fingers and then, just to show off more, creates a fireball in each hand. “I think,” He says, “that I know how to do fire.”
“This isn’t your first time learning magic, is it?” George breathes from his place pressed up against the wall in fear.
“No. it isn’t.”
“And you’re much more powerful than me, aren’t you?”
“Yep.”
George frowns. “Aren’t you a little young to be so good at magic?”
“Yes. Yes I am.” Merlin grins.
“But it takes decades to get that sort of control.” The other man continues. “How?”
Merlin sighs again, and his arm reaches out to stop the fires around the room. “George, I’ve had magic since I was born. In my first breath I set my cradle on fire. And,” he grins, “once I set the brass from the kitchens on fire too.”
“No!” George gasps in horror. “You wouldn’t”
“Oh but I would. Arthur told me to polish it and I got bored.”
“But… its brass!” he stammers. “You can’t disrespect brass!”
“I can do whatever I like.” Merlin argues. “I’m a powerful warlock.” He pauses, “also, please don’t tell Arthur about this. I’ll tell him when I’m ready. Just say I’m a natural learner or something.”
“I don’t like to lie to the king.”
“I’ll scratch the brass.”
George gulps and nods.
“So.” Arthur says. This time, they’re in Gaius’ chambers and Merlin is helping him label potions while Arthur is standing around doing nothing.
“What, you prat?” Merlin grumbles. “Help me put these labels on.”
“I am the king, Merlin. I don’t label jars.”
“What did you want?” Merlin asks instead of protesting. He figures it’s probably easier to do it himself anyway (he can tell the difference between hemlock and garden weeds).
“I’ve invited a druid envoy to come to Camelot on Tuesday.”
Merlin stops labelling the deadly poison. In fact, he’s so shocked that he drops the deadly poison and the jar shatters on the floor. Merlin has to quickly cover both their mouths with damp cloth and does his best to clean up the mess without killing himself.
“A druid envoy.” He repeats dumbly. “On Tuesday.”
“Yes. I thought it would be a good idea to show the druids that we mean no harm to them. I know how they’ve been prosecuted in the past, and I want to make sure they know they are welcome in Camelot.”
Merlin is so proud of him, except he can’t say that, so he just smiles and nods. Of course, he is terrified that the druids might let something slip with their constant bowing and praying and ‘lord Emrys’ing.
Tuesday comes faster than he thought, and somehow, he gets through his magic lesson with George. Today, Merlin is teaching him how to make whirlwinds, which George likes because they don’t damage brass.
Once they have finished, the two head out into the courtyard and George puts on his fancy ostentatious court sorcerer robes. Merlin changes his neckscarf to the slightly less frayed one.
He actually does have his own fancy robes which are even more pretentious and flamboyant, but he only wears them when it’s absolutely necessary, and he hates them with a passion.
They arrive just in time to position themselves on either side of the king. George stands to his right a little behind him in respect, and Merlin to his left with his arm round Arthur's shoulder in what he likes to say is support.
Merlin can hear the druids getting closer, chatting about everything from magic and prophecies to that night’s dinner. As they reach the courtyard, Merlin can see that he doesn’t know any of them which is annoying. He had been counting on Arthur inviting Iseldir’s tribe because he has told them on many occasions not to out him to the king. These druids won’t know that.
His bad luck kicks in as the druids arrive in front of Arthur and instead of bowing to him, they bow to Merlin. They call him ‘my lord’ and he can hear the horrible reverence in his voice.
The leader comes up to him and bows so low that his nose touches the ground. Then, he gets down on his knees and looks Merlin in the eyes. Merlin registers that he’s holding out something, so he takes it and raises an eyebrow at the man á la Gaius.
‘An offering.” The druid explains. “The finest pendent made by our best craftswoman. For you, lord Emrys.”
“Thank you.” Is all Merlin can say. “That is uh… very kind, but please get up.”
The man scrambles off the floor hastily muttering an apology.
While all this has been going on, Arthur and George have been getting more and more confused. Gaius’ eyebrow has been rising higher and higher up his forehead.
When it is all over and the druids have been shown to their accommodation, Arthur turns on Merlin with all the fury of a two year old.
“When were you going to tell me you’re a druid king?” he whines. “And what were they saying about Emrys? Who’s Emrys? Are you even called Merlin?”
George decides to join in at that moment. “Emrys is like a god to the druids. He’s meant to be the saviour of magic and he’s the most powerful man ever to walk the earth.” Arthur gapes at him.
“He’s also immortal.” George adds cheerily.
“Thanks George.” Merlin glowers.
Arthur looks pensive, which Merlin knows is never a good thing.
“What?” he asks.
“If you’re a god,” Arthur starts, “then shouldn’t you have a pointy hat?”
“What?”
The king studies him. “Yes.” He says. “I think you’d suit a pointy hat.”
‘I think you’d suit being a frog.”
Arthur laughs. “I think you’d suit the stocks.”