Archive of Our Own

Merlin sent Hisirdoux on a short errand: go out to the marketplace, buy some ingredient he’d needed, and come straight back. No dawdling, no distraction, and no stopping to make lovesick puppy eyes at that maiden who frequented the market at the same time Hisirdoux himself did. 

He couldn’t remember the exact thing he’d told his apprentice to fetch, for the memory was soon overtaken by worry when the boy hadn’t come back by late afternoon. He’d only sent Hisirdoux out that morning, and even if he had forsaken his instructions and tried to muster up the courage to ask that girl her name…

“I, er… don’t exactly know her name yet,” the moppet had said, “But I think it’s something with a Z! At least, that’s what I heard the person she was talking to call her. I haven’t, er… actually spoken to her yet.”

“Focus on your studies,” Merlin had said, “before distracting yourself with thoughts of courting this girl from the shops, and-”

“But Master-”

“Don’t “But Master” me.”

...He still should have been back at this point. Hisirdoux wasn’t one to wander off when he was out on errands. He knew the dangers of that - of being caught alone by the wrong person, prejudiced against users of magic, without anyone knowing where he really was.

The boy’s familiar shared Merlin’s worry, so Archie kept his form as a mostly-inconspicuous black cat (save for his glasses, for he figured he should have the best sight as he could at this moment) and slinked through the town beyond the castle, following the young wizard’s scent, unmistakably that of burnt cloves.

Sure enough, Hisirdoux had gone to the shops he’d needed to visit, but the scent trail made a sharp turn into an alley - one that he’d been dragged into, Archie had feared, if the signs of struggle and kicking feet in the cobble were any indication.

It was then that Archie resolved to fly back to the castle and tell Merlin to follow him, warning the Master Wizard that it was overwhelmingly likely that Hisirdoux didn’t disappear of his own volition. 

To say that worried Merlin, or even terrified him, would’ve been the understatement of the past twelve centuries.

It only took a few hours to track down Hisirdoux’s trail to some cabin in a patch of forest, but every second was too long - far too long for Merlin to wait to find his son.

The thugs looked rudimentary from where Merlin stood unnoticed outside the clearing. One or two - three at the most - stood lazily outside, near the doors. Merlin tapped his staff against the forest ground, and it was enough to send a little spell through the soil and right under their feet, shooting up their bodies like a reverse lightning rod and knocking them to the ground, unconscious. It didn’t kill them, but that wasn’t a mercy; really, the wizard still hadn’t known the condition of his apprentice, and if something had been done to him that only these men could reverse, ending their lives would've been an unwise choice, to say the least.

But the sound of the men hitting the ground was enough to draw out the last two of Hisirdoux captors, who spotted Merlin in the woods. Fine - he hadn’t been keen on hiding for much longer anyway. Stealth was for wizards whose apprentices hadn’t been snatched up by lowly bandits; who weren’t using a headstrong facade to hide their fear for their sons’ lives.

And right now, while he rendered the last of the bandits unconscious, Merlin Ambrosius was no such wizard.

The door was still open, as Merlin dealt with the last of those men before they could even come five steps out of the shack, so the wizard ran to the opening with Archie flying next to him, stepping over the idiots until he was close enough to see into the dark interior, lit only by rays of light that shone in-between boards nailed into the windows.

Merlin hit his staff against the ground and cast a spell with enough to break the boards and let more light into the hovel - light that shined on his apprentice that lay trembling on the ground, unresponsive on his side, not even fighting the restraints that bound him. With his back turned to his mentor and his familiar, he seemed barely aware of their presence at all.

Merlin never ran faster in his life.

Thankful for his armor’s plating, one of his knees slammed against the ground as he knelt down behind Hisirdoux, looking over his bonds and feeling like, for once in his long, long life, he could barely breathe at the sight before him, even though it wasn’t nearly as bad as what could have been - it was more at the audacity than anything else.

His apprentice had been bound with rope at the ankles and knees, with another few winds of it pinning his arms to his back and metal shackles binding his wrists behind him. Of course, the shackles must have been cast with a magic nullifier infused in the cruel metal, so the boy couldn’t use spells or enchantments to break his other restraints; as if to add insult to injury, the boy was also missing his magic bracelet, which had been thrown across the hovel.

(Again, the audacity.)

Merlin knew one of the bandits must have had the key, so he got back up, telling Archie to stay with him before he went back to the cluster of idiots that lay outside the door.

The wizard watched the boy’s shackled hands grasp at the air as he reached for him in vain, and the weak twinge in his pale, thin fingers made something in Merlin’s cold aged heart ache . He wished he’d been a hundredfold more brutal with those bandits than simply knocking them out.

Anyway, it took only moments for him to get the key, and by the time he came back, picking up the boy’s charm bracelet on the way, Archie had broken the rest of Hisirdoux’s bonds.

The boy still hadn’t said a word, or even made a sound.

Confound it, Merlin loathed this.

Once he’d finally uncuffed Hisirdoux, he helped the boy, now entirely free of his bonds, into a sitting position. He was, indeed, quite conscious, his eyes following Archie as the familiar stepped onto his lap. Hisirdoux started petting the black cat before wrapping his gangly arms around the cat in a desperate hug, still as silent as he’d been when Merlin stormed in. He wouldn’t have any more of this… this vexing silence from his apprentice - not if it could’ve been helped.

(...If only he knew how little it could’ve been helped at that moment.)

“Hisirdoux, say something!”

The boy looked up at Merlin with wide, glistening eyes and a trembling lower lip.

He shook his head.

His lips contorted into a grimace, and he mouthed the words…

“I can’t.”

Tears threatened to spill down his cheeks as he put his hand on his throat, the skin on his wrist raw from the cruelty of those shackles, and shook his head. Those teary hazel eyes that looked at Merlin were exactly those of a terrified child - his terrified child, and Merlin could see the desperation in those eyes, like he was wordlessly begging him to do something.

...But for the first time in his long, long life, Merlin felt utterly and entirely unsure of a way to fix this. He knew how much his apprentice adored singing, humming, blathering incessantly - his voice almost seemed more central to his character than his magic.

And it was…

No, no, no. It couldn’t be - it couldn’t be gone. Those bandits couldn’t have taken this from him - not from his apprentice - not from that innocent moppet who almost always had a tune about him as he bumbled around the castle. No, Merlin couldn’t accept it - he - he wouldn’t accept it -

The old man was pulled from his shock when Hisirdoux sobbed, a heart-wrenching noise even without any vocal influence, and mouthed three words - a desperate plea from a terrified little Wizard, silent but understandable - silent but utterly heart-wrenching .

“Take me home.”

...And how could Merlin put that off?

With a sigh, he raised a hand and mumbled…

“Interminus Nocti Somburso.”

A jolt went through Hisirdoux’s already shaking body as green light popped out from his widened eyes - but only for a fleeting second before sleep claimed the boy. He fell backward, but Merlin caught him by putting his arm behind the boy’s back.

The spell not only made him fall sound asleep in seconds, but it also conjured a green, velvety blanket that draped over the boy. The velvety cloth, brought forth from Merlin’s will when he’d cast the spell, helped to keep the boy warm through means of a rather cozy enchantment that would never let him get cold as long as the blanket lay on him, as well as it would quell his unconscious trembling.

Merlin wrapped the boy up in a blanket-cocoon of sorts and stood up, letting Archie curl up on his human’s abdomen and start purring to soothe the sleeping boy whose head lolled against Merlin’s shoulder, his cheek pressed against an edge on his armor that couldn’t have been very comfortable.

Merlin glanced at the unconscious bandits and cast an immobilization spell as a quick preventative measure in the event that they woke up and tried getting away while Merlin took the boy back to the castle. There was no way in all the realms that these monsters - more monstrous than any troll or goblin - would get away with what they’d done, and the Master Wizard was absolutely sure of that.

So, with that settled, he started back to the castle with Hisirdoux sleeping in his arms. The bandits could wait, for getting his apprentice - his son home safe was his first and foremost priority, and beyond that was finding out how to get his boy’s voice back, even if he’d had to rip the answer from the bandits themselves.

But Hisirdoux, of course, was his priority.

Douxie felt more or less dragged back into consciousness by an ache in his… well, it was everywhere. It was low, barely noticeable - a residual soreness from… from… 

Right.

He sighed - a hollow, quiet thing - and trailed his fingers down his throat, still not opening his eyes yet. Douxie’s throat was free of any tightness or pain, but, as he expected, his attempts to mumble out vocal sounds were fruitless.

Beyond the ache, he felt warmth around him. Yes, he felt the familiarity of his bed, his quarters, his - 

A weight he didn’t even know he was still bearing came off of him, and he sighed a shaky sigh.

- his home.

But he also felt something soft and velvety draped around him. It was a blanket, he realized - a new one, and a rather nice one too. He realized Merlin must have conjured it with that sleep spell he put on him right after he found him. That must have been why it felt like it had been magically heated, and it had a uniquely soothing, almost sedative effect that none of his normal blankets had.

Master…

Douxie finally opened his eyes. Even though he knew his master probably had more pressing matters, he hoped that Merlin might have been sitting at his bedside.

Alas, all he saw was empty space in front of him.

The little apprentice wasn’t wearing his vest anymore, he realized when he couldn’t feel the leather that usually weighed on his torso, but he did feel a little purring mass curled up against his abdomen.

Archie…

The boy turned his head a little and saw a black mound of fluff nestled up against him, laying curled up on the green blanket with round little glasses reflecting sunset light from the window.

Douxie bent down and scratched Archie’s little head, right between his triangular ears, causing his familiar to open his eyes and look at him.

“Douxie, you’re awake.”

The boy smiled - a little, shaky thing. Archie got up and stretched before walking closer to his human’s face.

“It’s over now, what you went through today.” he said as he put his paw on Douxie’s cheek in assurance, “Those bandits are in the dungeons now.”

Douxie’s eyebrows furrowed a little. Sure, he was thankful that they’d been apprehended, but if there was a dungeon break, they could come right through the castle, and...

Archie nuzzled Douxie’s head, sensing his human’s worries.

“You’re completely safe.” he said, “You’ll never have to see them again, I promise.”

Douxie only petted the cat again with a nod. He trusted Archie, and if Archie said he didn’t have to worry about them again, then that’s exactly what he didn’t have to do.

Besides, he had a more pressing worry.

With what would have been a grunt if his throat could’ve made the noise, Douxie pushed himself up, despite his grogginess, into an upright position. He could see his vest folded at the foot of his bed, along with his two belts laying on top of it that had his little pouches and a small green journal he liked to keep on hand for little notes.

He might have to use it for more than that now, though. Perhaps if he’d started studying sign, or learned spells to communicate visually...

The boy was pulled from his thoughts by a very light knock on the door. He couldn’t exactly say it was open, so he turned to Archie, eyeing the door with a nod.

“Come in.” the cat said, understanding the nonverbal message.

The door creaked open, and Douxie hoped it would be Merlin standing there. After everything he’d gone through today… he just wanted to see his father.

But it was Morgana, smiling softly as she walked in and closed the door behind her.

But really, the boy wasn’t disappointed with this - the sorceress had been like a big sister to him ever since he’d been brought here, and her presence was comforting, regardless of whether or not she was the person he hoped to see the most. So, Douxie raised a hand and waved to her as she walked in.

“Hello, Little Douxie.” she said softly as she came to stand in front of him, “When I heard your familiar talking, I assumed you’d awoken. Are you feeling alright?”

Although it was a hesitant response, Douxie nodded, thankful that she’d stuck to a yes-or-no question. Merlin had probably told her about his voice’s condition, then.

What he knew about it, anyway.

“You’ve been asleep for about four hours - a long rest to help accelerate your healing.” she explained, “You hadn’t gotten any broken bones, but you did have some nasty bruises when you were brought back here.”

Douxie winced, a little hiss whistling through his teeth as he traced his hand over his hip, where he distinctly remembered getting kicked by a rather angry bandit with a rather hard boot.

Ouch.

He brought that same hand to his chin and stroked an invisible beard, glancing around the room as if looking for someone.

Morgana laughed a soft little laugh, amused by the moppet’s charade.

“Merlin’s down in the dungeons, interrogating your former captors.” she answered, “He’s mostly putting the screws to those bandits about how to reverse what’s happened to your voice more than anything else.”

Douxie nodded in understanding, but he knew the truth; he knew those bandits didn’t know anything about what had been done to his voice.

“He hasn’t gotten anywhere.” she said, putting her hands on her hips, “It’s of a magical nature, and none of those bandits were wizards. They’re sticking to some ridiculous testimony that you casted a silencing spell on yourself.”

Douxie cast his gaze to the floor. All of a sudden, the lint and strands of black cat fur on the floor looked rather interesting. Indeed, very interesting.

“...They are making that up, right?” Morgana asked.

Douxie shrunk in on himself, hugging himself as if caught in a lie, even though he hadn’t actually lied about anything. How could he have? At most, all he’d done was hesitate. Besides, his body language was apparently enough of an answer for Morgana, whose eyebrows furrowed in confusion, Douxie saw as his gaze flickered back up to her, as she realized they hadn’t made that up at all.

Archie’s eyebrows, indicated by the grey patches in his fur above his eyes, raised a bit as that realization dawned on him as well.

“Douxie…?”

The boy rubbed the back of his neck sheepishly.

“...Merlin doesn’t know, does he?” Morgana asked.

Douxie shook his head.

After a moment, she sighed.

“Well, he probably should.” she said, “Not that the way he’s treating those men isn’t undeserved, but he shouldn’t waste his time.”

So, Douxie stood up to go down to the dungeons, his balance just a little askew from his legs’ time out of use. Archie got up with a stretch and stood next to Douxie’s feet, deciding not to sit on his shoulders due to his already imperfect balance.

“I’ll go down with you.” Morgana said, sounding like it was more of an insistence than an offer. But Douxie didn’t want to be a burden; surely, Morgana le Fay had much better - certainly, more important uses of her time than using it to accompany him to the dungeons.

“I know the way.” he mouthed, hoping it was understandable just by reading his lips, but Morgana shook her head all the same.

“It’s not about whether or not you know the way.” she crossed her arms, “You still don’t have all your strength back, and I can tell you’re off balance. What if you fall?”

She didn’t say it, but Douxie could tell what her biggest concern was: if he got hurt, he’d have no way of crying out, and Archie might not be enough to keep him balanced.

Morgana was just worried, and Douxie knew that. It was sort of nice - better than Merlin’s scolding, anyway - so he took the gesture with a nod, and he started down the corridors and stairwells to the dungeons with Archie stepping alongside him and Morgana hovering a hand close to his shoulder in the event that his balance wavered.

Douxie always hated the dungeons - so dark, so damp and dingy, so utterly miserable. But making sure Merlin knew the truth was worth it, and he was glad to be accompanied down. Yes, it was even worth sidestepping puddles of questionable liquids as he stayed next to Morgana. He kept his gaze down and avoided looking into the cells, tuning out the jeers of imprisoned trolls and “waka-chakas” of goblins as Morgana guided Douxie and Archie to the corridor where that gang of bandits was being kept.

It turned out that they were imprisoned in a far emptier corridor of the dungeon, which made sense, considering any sort of interrogation would’ve done well not to involve the taunting and interjecting of other prisoners. As the halls got quieter, it got easier to hear his master’s voice as he got closer, until he finally stood at the end of an almost empty corridor of cells, where Merlin stood listening to one of the bandits - the leader, Douxie realized.

Whoever he was, and whatever he was saying, Merlin looked more than fed up with it; he hadn’t even looked as angry as he did right now when the moppet had slipped and accidentally sent one of Merlin’s favorite books soaring into his fireplace.

“I tol’ ya already, dust-fer-brains,” the bandit said, speaking in a voice that unsettled Douxie to his core, even though he was safe on the opposite side of a barred cell door and on the opposite end of the hall, “He put a spell on ‘imself. Shut ‘imself up.”

Morgana was only a moment away from shouting to the end of the hall in an attempt to get Merlin’s attention. If Douxie had his voice, Merlin most certainly would have known he was here by now; he probably would have mumbled to himself about nonsense, or hummed a tune, or squeaked when something scared him. As it was, Merlin had no idea that Douxie was standing just a handful of metres away from him.

And maybe if he did know, he wouldn’t have shouted…

“Again, with that ridiculous lie! Hisirdoux may be an idiot, but even that level of incompetence is beyond him!”

Those words were a punch to the gut, worse than every time those bandits kicked him this afternoon. At least he expected that from them, but hearing that…

His breaths got shaky. His eyes stung. His feet felt rooted to the dungeon floor, like he was more trapped here than the prisoners.

He was no stranger to Merlin’s harshness, and he knew his master thought he was an idiot, but hearing that this was something of a new level of incompetence…

Was it really that much of a stupid idea?

His lip trembled.

What was he thinking, of course it was stupid. Of course he was stupid. A stupid, incompetent numbskull of an apprent-

“MERLIN!” Morgana yelled.

The Master Wizard whipped his head around. When he laid eyes on the shaking moppet at Morgana’s side, his face fell, as if he wished more than anything that he could’ve pulled his words back into his mouth and made them unheard again.

But it was too late.

In an instant, Douxie didn’t feel rooted to the ground anymore. No. Now it felt like hot coals lay burning under his feet, and he needed to run. Fuzzbuckets, he needed to run.

“Hisirdoux…”

Douxie’s tears fell.

He needed to run, run, runrunrunrun RUN.

So, he ran.

Pivoting on his heel so fast he scraped the heel of his boot against the dungeon ground, he ran away from the corridor.

“Hisirdoux!”

“Douxie!”

His eyes stung so badly with tears that he couldn’t open them, but he knew the dungeon corridors well enough that he didn’t need to see to get out of there. He could tell Archie was at his side, but that was okay. He knew his familiar wasn’t trying to stop him, but only to catch up to him.

By the time he got to the stairwell back into the non-dungeony part of the castle, he’d gotten winded, and just barely in earshot, he could hear Merlin and Morgana getting in a shouting match.

It sounded like Morgana was winning.

Once he’d caught his breath, he ran up the stairwell and half-ran-half-stumbled to his room, making sure Archie slipped through the door before slamming it. His legs shook as he sat on his bed, curling his legs up so his knees almost touched his chest, which felt so tight that he could barely breathe without gasping.

It was too much. All of it, everything that happened - it was too much for one day, and he -

He could feel Archie drape that blanket from earlier over his shoulders - the green velvety one. The warm one. The one from - 

Douxie shook his head and wrapped the fabric around himself. It was fine, he didn’t care who it was from. He just needed warmth; he needed heat that didn’t come from his face feeling like it was on fire and hot tears streaming down his cheeks.

After a few moments, keeping his legs curled up like that started to ache, so he stretched them out and let his feet lay on the floor while he sat at the edge of the bed, leaving a perfect spot in his lap for Archie to sit and start purring in that way that always calmed him down after his nightmares.

Maybe, Douxie thought as he stroked the cat in his lap while his torso rocked back and forth, Archie could calm him down from this nightmare, too - one he couldn’t seem to wake up from.

There was a tightness in his throat now, an awful one - not from the spell, but from being overwhelmed by all of this.

Today was one of the most terrifying days of his life.

He’d been ripped off the streets by bandits and taken where he wasn’t sure if he’d be found, or even be looked for. He’d been bound and chained and beaten and terrified. He didn’t even have his voice, and of course, Merlin thought he was more stupid for doing what he did than usual, even though he only did it because - because -

Douxie hugged the cat in his lap and let more tears stream down his face, and he realized there was one upside to not having his voice after all.

He didn’t need to stifle his cries.

Merlin was no stranger to guilt, to shame. He didn’t often make mistakes, but when he did, they were horrendous ones, and despite his sense of pride being strong enough that it could power a whole trollmarket, he’d had many opportunities to find himself well acquainted with the feeling that he’d done something horribly wrong.

But when he saw his apprentice’s wide eyes shine with tears at the end of that hall, shame didn’t feel like a mere acquaintance, but an inseparable companion.

He’d barely gotten the boy’s name out of his mouth before he turned on his heel and ran out of the corridor, his familiar running behind him. Merlin shouted the boy’s name again and started after him, but since he wasn’t weighed down by any armor, the gangly little moppet ran off rather fast, despite how exhausted he must have been.

Stopping at the corner of the dungeon corridor, Merlin put his hand to his forehead and groaned.

“Look what you’ve done, old man!” he heard Morgana shout next to him.

“It’s not as if I knew he’d be down here.” he brought his hand away from his face, “I thought he was still resting. How was I supposed to know you’d taken him down here?”

Morgana’s eyes widened, seemingly at his absurdity.

“So you’re saying that’s a fine thing to say about him when he isn’t around? That there’s nothing wrong with calling that boy - your apprentice - an idiot and making clear just how stupid you think he is, as long as he’s out of earshot?”

“You’ve seen the way that boy bungles every task he’s given. Really, it would be especially idiotic if he’d put a-”

“What do you think he came down here to tell you, old man?!”

...Oh.

Oh, confound it all.

Morgana pinched the bridge of her nose, “Honestly, and you wonder why his magic backfires whenever you’re around! How can he grow his confidence when you-”

“Why would he do that, Morgana?”

“Why would I know ?” she answered his question with one of her own, “As soon as I found out, I figured you should know. Better to stop wasting your time grilling these numbskulls over nothing. If you want to know so bad, go and ask him.”

But facing the most fierce of trolls had been less jarring a task.

His other apprentice crossed her arms, “You owe him an apology, old man. We both know that.”

And, as frustrating as it was, Merlin knew that indeed.

The wizard figured that Hisirdoux ran to his room, and when he got to the door, he found he was right; he could hear the boy’s hiccups and voiceless sobs from the other side, far more heartbreaking in their quietness than if they had been loud.

Merlin knocked on the door.

“Hisirdoux…”

He honestly wasn’t expecting to be let in at all, so he was surprised to see the door glow blue as Hisirdoux opened it with a spell. If this was a lighter time, he would have scolded the boy for using a spell so needlessly. But this obviously wasn’t a lighter time, and he was just glad to be allowed in.

Hisirdoux sat on the edge of his bed with the blanket he’d been given draped over his shoulders and a contemptuous black cat in his lap. His hair was still unkempt from his ordeal, completely loose from the bun he usually wore, and tears streaked his cheeks. His big hazel eyes, puffy and ringed with tears, stared down at the ground.

He couldn’t even look Merlin in the eye, and perhaps that was fair.

As Merlin stepped into the room, Hisirdoux shrunk in on himself, pulling more of the blanket around him as if it would shield him from… well, everything.

“I hope you’re here to apologize.” Archie said coldly, but the feline-dragon obviously meant something else, an unspoken message: If you’re not here to apologize, then leave. The boy’s had enough turmoil today.

But he was here to apologize.

After years of trying to prepare for everything he could as a Master Wizard, he knew as he stood there that he was unprepared for what to say, standing here in front of Hisirdoux. He had no speech prepared, no ageless wisdom or proverbs. He wasn’t ready.

...But he knew that his apprentice sitting on the edge of the bed, staring glassy eyed at the floor with tears streaking his cheeks - tears of the old man’s own doing - had gone through too much today that he wasn’t ready for, that he could never be ready for. Far too much.

And he deserved better than to have to wait for an apology.

“Hisirdoux, I’m sorry.”

His apprentice lifted his head and looked up at him, eyes widened and eyebrows raised as if he never in a million years expected to hear an apology of all things from him. But what did he expect, then? A scolding? A lecture on how dangerous what he did was?

A moment later, Merlin realized that was probably exactly what the boy expected, and on all levels except physical, the wizard was whacking himself in the head with his staff right now.

He knelt down on one knee in front of Hisirdoux, both because he wanted to be on eye level with the boy and because he couldn’t stand the thought of him feeling looked down upon any longer.

“The things I said to those men in the dungeons were products of anger, fabrications of desperation.” Merlin said, “I’d been furious at those lowlifes and their audacity, and I said things that weren’t true. It wasn’t fair to say that, especially not after all you’ve gone through today. Forgive me, Hisirdoux.”

But the boy looked like he didn’t know what to say, even if he could’ve spoken. He looked at the old Wizard with wide eyes that still glistened with tears - tears that seemed to have been there ever since Merlin first found Hisirdoux in that shack. Even his familiar seemed surprised by his apology, and to be completely honest, Merlin didn’t blame either of them.

Hisirdoux broke his gaze away and looked down, to his left.

Patting around, the boy’s hand landed on his little green journal and a charcoal stick he kept with it, both clipped to his belt that lay on top of his folded vest. When Hisirdoux opened the book and started to write in the first blank piece of parchment he could flip to, Merlin looked away. He didn’t want to pry - he’d done enough as it was.

After a few seconds of scribbling, Archie stepped on the parchment.

“That’s not true, Douxie.” he said about whatever the boy had written, “You shouldn’t say that about yourself, especially not now.”

But the boy just sighed and started writing again, the motion in his hand leaving Archie no choice but to take his paw off.

After a few more moments, Douxie flipped the book around to show Merlin.

“It’s alright, Master. I know I’m an idiot.” he’d written in that shoddy penmanship of his.

Right, that must’ve been what Archie denied.

“I know there’s a lot I mess up and don’t think through, and I know that most of the time, I can be awfully incompetent, but using that spell is one of the few times where I know that did something smart.”

Merlin sighed.

“But why did you do it, Hisirdoux?”

Hisirdoux hesitated, but Archie looked up at the boy with the same question in mind, and that seemed to be what convinced him to answer.

But this time, he set the journal and charcoal aside. Instead of using those tools to communicate, he brought his hands out in front of him. With the way his hands started to tremble, he was obviously about to cast a nonverbal spell.

Archie stepped back a few paces, “It seems he’d rather show than tell.”

Merlin didn’t think Hisirdoux was in the right state to carry out any sort of spells right now, weakened as he was, but nonetheless, he didn’t stop the boy.

In the future, Hisirdoux would become capable of more powerful spells as his experience grew, and one such spell would be able to create vivid - albeit ghostly - life-size apparitions that replay events of the past in to-scale space. But this wasn’t the future, and he was nowhere near that strong or experienced yet. All he could manage was a little phantom-ish playthrough of events in the little space in front of him, like he was holding in his hands a hazy, blue-tinted window into the past.

Even then, “hazy” was an understatement. The several figures that seemed to be huddled a bit away from where Hisirdoux must’ve been (Merlin rightly assumed the vision in front of him was from the boy’s point of view) looked distorted and grainy, barely distinguishable as those bandits from before. What else, their voices were fuzzy, dreadful murmurs overlapping on top of each other until they were almost indistinguishable.

Merlin couldn’t tell if this haziness in memory reflected how much of a blur the events were in the boy’s mind, or if this was just the best Hisirdoux could manage.

It seemed not to be the latter though, because he squeezed his eyes shut and curled his fingers a little, obviously trying to use more of his strength to make the events more clear. His efforts actually worked, much to a worried Merlin’s surprise and worry, and the bandits’ voices became much easier to hear, their awful words far more enunciated. 

“This was probably a stupid move.” one of them said, “How’re we s’posed to know that wizard gives a rat’s tail about ‘is errand boy, anyway?”

“If he does, imagine the coin we could get ou’o it.” said another voice Merlin knew was the leader.

“An’ if not, we’re stuck wit’ a brat from the castle.” yet another said, followed by a thwack sound that must have been the leader smacking him in the head, if the distorted movement of the figures was any indication.

“If not , we’ve got a vault o’ information on all those wizard-y secrets they keep in th’ castle. Maybe stuff abou’ the king, too.” the insidious leader corrected, “We can beat it ou’a ‘im if we ‘ave to.”

“Not much to beat though, is there?” another bandit joked, “Gangly little brat.”

Then the view changed, and Hisirdoux’s own trembling hands came into focus. Through the phantom replay, his ghostly fingers’ movements were light but hasty as he tapped his bracelet. This must have been before his captors had the idea to restrain him, but Hisirdoux was clearly afraid they’d get the idea soon (and rightly so, as the condition Merlin found him in made clear that they obviously had), so as soon as his bracelet glowed, he whispered… 

“Vox Silentii.”

Immediately, Hisirdoux gasped in the vision. The noise became more hollow with each passing millisecond, as if - no, because his voice fell away just as fast, sucked away by the enchantment.

And it got the bandits’ attention, shown clearly by the nightmarish figures turning to face him.

“Sod it, I thought you stuck the cuffs on ‘im already!” the leader yelled to one of the other bandits, and whether it was at the display of incompetence, or out of sheer relief that his self-destructive spell worked, Hisirdoux laughed. It was a hollow, raspy, voiceless thing, but clearly a laugh all the same - a laugh that carried on until the leader marched over and raised his boot and - 

The spell dissipated, and though it only lasted a few moments, it clearly took a lot out of an already weakened Hisirdoux in the present, whose arms fell to his sides as he started to sway, his eyes rolling back as his eyelids fluttered.

“Hisirdoux!” Merlin exclaimed, reaching out to steady him.

Before the boy could collapse, Merlin put one hand on his shoulder and the other against his head, cradling the side of it. Internally, he cursed himself, for he knew he should have told Hisirdoux not to carry out that vision spell, and to simply stick to writing out an answer. He’d already been exhausted by both the stress of his ordeal and the lingering effects of whatever nullifier was in his cuffs, and his magic, like everything else, was weakened, and the toll it took on him was far higher than usual.

But it hadn’t exhausted him completely. Though it took a moment, Hisirdoux put his hands down on the bed on either side of him to help keep himself upright, and his tired, tired eyes opened again.

“That spell…” Merlin pulled his hands away, “I had you study it in the event that you encountered another wizard with harmful intentions, so you could cut them off from saying an incantation at your expense.”

Fumbling to get his journal again, Hisirdoux quickly jotted something down and held up, “and sirens.”

“And you knew you couldn’t reverse the spell without a vocal incantation, didn’t you? An incantation you knew those bandits couldn’t perform.”

Hisirdoux nodded, and Merlin sighed. As much as the boy bumbled around as he did his chores, seeming at times like there was naught a competent thought to be found in that brain of his, he was clever. Even when it came to sabotaging himself, he was clever.

But somehow, that cleverness coincided with recklessness in a way that only Hisirdoux Casperan could manage.

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“Do you have any idea how dangerous that was? If you’d botched the spell, it could have closed up your windpipe, or-”

“This isn’t the time for scolding him, Merlin.” Archie reprimanded. There had been few times where the Master Wizard adhered to the advisings of a cat with glasses, but for his apprentice’s sake, this was one of those times.

Hisirdoux got his journal again and wrote…

“I’d never been tortured like that before. I didn’t know if I could’ve handled it.”

The thought of his apprentice - that sweet, gangly moppet who’d been bested by his own broom once - enduring any sort of torture made the Master Wizard’s skin crawl. He almost wanted to convince King Arthur that those bandits’ transgressions warranted far more harsh treatment than wallowing in their own despicability in the dungeons, and if it weren’t for the fact that he was focusing on Hisirdoux right now, he would go to the throne room right now.

But as it was, Merlin thought Hisirdoux was probably right; it was obvious that he had never endured torture, or…

Merlin reconsidered when he remembered that the boy knew how to use sleep spells that caused permanent memory loss.

...None that Hisirdoux himself could recall, at least.

“It’s not that I would’ve wanted to say anything.” he wrote on a new page, “I was scared I’d blurt something out. And I got knocked out before I woke up there, so I didn’t know where I was, so I didn’t try running away. It was the smartest thing I could think of.”

...Of course. Of course that’s what this was. Of course the boy would’ve taken such a drastic measure, but for what ? So those lowlife scoundrels didn’t have an upper hand, an advantage over a Master Wizard? No, it was too late for that, for they already had the biggest advantage over Merlin that they could’ve held in their grasp; they had his son, the one individual he would always put above the greater good, as a hostage.

Really, not only was Hisirdoux the only apprentice Merlin ever had who was as clever as he was reckless, but the only one who was as selfless as he was reckless - a combination that Merlin couldn’t decide whether or not he was more proud of or worried about.

“...I can reverse the spell now, you know.” he said, “Now that I know which spell you used, I can use a counterspell.”

The little Wizard’s eyes widened hopefully, as if the prospect of a counterspell was a shock.

“Oh, come now, Hisirdoux. Surely you knew-”

Oh.

He stopped.

No.

“Wait a moment… you did know another wizard can cast a counterspell to reverse the effects and restore your voice, did you not?”

As his eyebrows upturned, making him look like a scolded puppy, the boy shook his head.

...Oh, sod it all.

If Merlin Ambrosius were a swearing man, he’d have a sailor’s tongue right now.

Hisirdoux didn’t think the spell could be reversed, and he did it anyway. He thought it would be permanent, and he did it anyway. For all that boy knew, he’d taken his own voice away forever; he’d taken what he’d always used to blather on about nonsense and sing his heart out (albeit very off-key), and he destroyed it.

Merlin put his hand to his forehead, only pulling it down when he heard the boy scribbling again.

“Making sure they didn’t find out anything about wizards felt more important.” he’d written in frantic scribbles, “Or Camelot, or King Arthur, or Morgana, or you, Master.”

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose.

“So you thought this would’ve been permanent,” he tried to keep his voice level, “that you would have lost your voice forever, and you did it anyway, just to nullify the hair-slim possibility that you might have revealed some secret to those idiots?”

Hisirdoux looked down and wrote again.

“It felt like-”

No.

No, no, no.

Merlin saw the words at the end of that page, but he did not want to read them. Reading them made them real…

...But they would be real whether he read them or not, and he knew that.

“It felt like the greater good.”

Merlin never thought he could hate that concept as much as he did right now.

No, the greater good was something for him to prioritize - him and him alone, and it never came at the cost of the safety and wellbeing of his son. If it did cost him that, then let the greater good fester and crumble to dust.

Hisirdoux curled his arms and hugged himself, looking down at Archie as the feline nuzzled his arm to soothe him. As much as it pained him to see the boy like this, he couldn’t bring himself to comfort him - not when he had a solution right at his fingertips.

“Hisirdoux, do you want your voice back?”

The boy lifted his head and nodded, almost pleading with his eyes, as if there was ever a chance of Merlin denying him the return of his voice.

The wizard raised his hand and said…

“Vox restituet.”

Hisirdoux gasped, just as he did with his own spell, but it’s effect was contrary to that of the former enchantment; the sound became less and less hollow with each fleeting millisecond as the boy’s voice came back to him.

When his breathing fell back into its normal pace, Hisirdoux traced his fingers down his throat.

“Master…”

His voice sounded so hoarse, so little, but it was there , and as soon as Hisirdoux realized that, his whole body seemed to relax in relief that he probably didn’t even let himself feel when he’d first been rescued.

Merlin was relieved too, but it was outweighed by so much - most of all, by the contempt he still held for those bandits down in the dungeons for making his apprentice feel like he needed to do this to himself, and by the guilt he still felt for what he said down there.

Not only was his relief outweighed, but it was also short-lived.

“...I’m sorry.”

No. No, Hisirdoux did not just say that.

Out of all the things Merlin expected his apprentice to say… at best, he expected thanks for restoring his voice, and at worst, he expected him to voice how upset and hurt he still must’ve been for the things he said about him down in the dungeons. But never, never in a millenia, did he expect an apology.

“Whatever for?” Merlin asked. Truly, whatever for? Hisirdoux had done nothing but endure; but withstand circumstances beyond unfit for those as innocent as him, and do what he thought would protect what was important to him at a cost that Merlin himself could barely imagine - could barely conceptualize even now.

“I really really didn’t mean for this to be such a hassle,” Hisirdoux answered, coughing from his voice’s disuse, “and I’m really not upset about what you said in the dungeons. Everything was just too much, and back there, with the bandits, I just didn’t want to put you in danger-”

“No, Hisirdoux.” Merlin declared, putting two of his fingers against one of his temples. It seemed like now that Hisirdoux could speak again, there was a backlog to his blathering. “None of that.”

Hisirdoux’s eyebrows upturned with that scolded puppy look again, “None of what?”

“None of this…” Merlin gestured vaguely, “throwing yourself in harm’s way for my sake. There’s no sense in that. It is not your job to fling yourself into self-destruction in what you think is my best interest. You are my apprentice, Hisirdoux.”

You are my son . Merlin didn’t say.

“And it is my job to protect you, not the other way around.” he told Hisirdoux with no room for argument, “Your job is to focus on your studies and the tasks I ask of you. Should you ever find yourself at someone else’s mercy again, your first priority should be keeping yourself unharmed, or as close to such a state as possible. Secrets can be stopped from spreading, and memories can be wiped, but you are-"

He almost said invaluable, but he stopped himself; though he himself knew the word meant to be priceless or crucial, he feared for the chance that his apprentice could take the word to have a completely opposite meaning, that he was not valuable at all.

"You are indispensable, Hisirdoux.”

Merlin loathed the look of disbelief on the boy’s face when he heard that, but he continued.

“Whatever it entails, self-preservation should come before all else until you’re rescued, because you will be rescued.”

Hisirdoux nodded - a little, minute thing.

“I understand, Master.”

Merlin stood up.

“You must be starving.” he said, “I’ll have something prepared and brought here. You should go back to sleep until then.”

Hisirdoux nodded and pulled the green blanket over his shoulders again, the cloth having fallen off sometime a bit ago, after Merlin came in.

The boy looked down in thought as if remembering something before raising his head again.

“...They didn’t have what you asked for. At the marketplace. Every shop and stand came up empty.” Hisirdoux said, apologetic for the lack of the one thing he’d been sent out to fetch - as if it even mattered after all of this.

No, if anything, the whole errand being for nothing was just another frustration of the day, mundane - no, trivial in the face of everything else.

Also, it brought another pressing matter to the Master Wizard’s attention.

“That’s quite alright.” Merlin said, “If anything, that reminds me: clearly, it’s far too dangerous for you to go on errands in town unaccompanied. As my apprentice, there are many unfavorable people looking to get an advantage over me and use you as leverage to do so, just like those bandits tried today. So, for the time being, you’ll be chaperoned on your future errands outside the castle.”

“But-” he started, but, as if he remembered what Merlin always said when he tried to question him, he cut himself off and nodded, still looking deflated nonetheless.

“It’s a necessary precaution at this point, Hisirdoux.” Merlin said, “Even if it gets in the way of you trying to get the attention of that girl at the shops.”

The boy’s cheeks tinted pink.

“It’s not about her!” he yelped, his voice’s strength obviously coming back rather quickly, “You already told me not to focus on that, and I didn’t even try talking to her today.”

“You never try talking to her, Douxie.” Archie said, pacing around the boy. But Hisirdoux didn’t let himself get distracted by his familiar teasing him.

“It’s…”

He sighed.

“...I don’t want to be a burden.” he confessed, “There are so many more important things to be done around here. Why should anyone waste their time coming with me on errands?”

At this, Merlin realized that it was his turn to sigh. If there was a spell Merlin could use to cast such insecurity from the boy’s head, he would have cast it now. But, much to his frustration, he couldn’t (at least, not without facing something of a moral dilemma over the ethics of mind control). So, simple reassurance would have to do.

“Hisirdoux…”

He placed his free hand - the one not holding onto his staff - on the boy’s shoulder, causing him to look up at the old wizard with wide, questioning eyes.

“Keeping you safe isn’t a burden.” Merlin assured, “I would rather take a few hours out of the day to accompany you, or even complete those errands on my own, than ever have a repeat occurrence of what happened today.”

“...Alright.” Hisirdoux said, although obviously reluctant.

Merlin took his hand off of his shoulder.

“Now, you’re to keep resting the rest of the night, and likely for much of tomorrow, so-”

“But Master-”

“-Don’t “But Master” me.” he said, “Just rest.”

The heaviness in the boy’s eyelids made clear how much he needed that rest, and thankfully, Hisirdoux didn’t contest that.

“Yes, Master.”