Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

One hand on a plant, the other on his herb basket, Merlin froze.

Somewhere in the forest, a child was crying.

Oh, shoot.

Merlin couldn’t remember the last time he’d heard someone crying, let alone a child . They were usually yelling or cursing, not bawling. 

The sound set his teeth on edge.

Although he was tempted to hightail it out of there and head back to the safety of his cozy cabin deeper in the woods, he hesitated.

The sobbing had died down slightly since he had been crouching there. 

It could be a trap. It wouldn’t be the first time.

(Just the first time with a child.)

If it were, he could always send them packing, he reasoned, even though he might have to vacate the area for a while. It was a better option than leaving a child to fend for him or herself.

Grimacing, he straightened, dropped the plant he had pulled into the basket, and made in the direction he thought the cries came from.

The child heard Merlin before Merlin could lay eyes on it whenever a twig snapped underneath his foot.

“Who’s there?”

The words were plastered with false bravery.

“I’m armed. I’m warning you!”

The warning was accompanied by a snotty sniff.

Before he could get run through, Merlin pushed the rest of the way through the tree branches into sight.

It was a blonde boy.

Maybe seven, eight, or nine - after being alive for so long, Merlin sometimes forgot how they were supposed to look at certain ages. He was dressed a smidgen too finely to be a commoner, and he was carrying a small sword, which was raised and pointed at Merlin’s chest.

Ha. As thought that would do anything.

“Hello,” Merlin said, putting on his best smile.

At least, what he hoped was his best smile. He hadn’t been around other people in…a while. 

“Who are you?” the boy demanded. “Another one of them?”

To show he meant no harm, Merlin held up his hands. “Who?”

“Cenred’s men.” The boy sniffed.

“No, I’m not. I’m Merlin. I live here in the forest. Now who are you?”

Despite his fear, the boy straightened and tilted his head proudly. “Prince Arthur.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows.

A prince. How lovely.

And stupid for taking Merlin at his word and trusting a stranger, but that was another issue. 

“Prince Arthur Pendragon,” Arthur corrected himself hotly when Merlin apparently didn’t have the appropriate reaction.

Pendragon.

Mentally, Merlin swore.

Just his luck to have the whole blasted forest to himself and run into the child of Uther Pendragon who’d probably been breathing in anti-magic and Purge propaganda since the day he was born.

Nope. Merlin wasn’t going to do it.

“Well, where is his royal highness so we can get your royal highness back to him?”

That, apparently, was the wrong question because Arthur started crying again in a most unprincely fashion.

Dumb, Merlin stood there.

What was he supposed to do? If he were Uther’s son, he wouldn’t want to return, either, but-

“He’s-” Arthur blubbered, using his free hand to wipe his eyes. “He’s dead. Cenred’s men killed him.”

This time, Merlin swore aloud.

…

The woods started crawling with soldiers.

Since Merlin couldn’t think of a better solution, he did the only thing he could.

…

Arthur stared at Merlin’s cabin, his nose and forehead wrinkled in distaste. “This is a shack.” 

“This is my home, you brat, and it’s where you’ll be sleeping unless you fancy the woods.”

“You can’t call me a brat. I’m the prince.”

“Prat, then.” Merlin pushed the door open.

After hesitating, Arthur followed him inside, his eyes wide as he took in the living conditions.

Merlin didn’t own much. It wasn’t any use getting attached to something you would have to leave behind the next time you went on the run, anyway.

“This is where you live?” 

Setting his basket down on the only table, Merlin ignored the question. “Spare blankets are under the bed. You can sleep by the fire where it’s warm.”

The fire, he was happy to see, had not died in his absence. He wouldn’t have to figure out how to relight it without revealing his magic.

“The floor? You’re not going to give me the bed?”

His father had been killed, and Arthur Pendragon was concerned about cushioning for his royal backside.

Uther Pendragon’s son, indeed.

Could Merlin do the nice thing and give up his bed?

Yes.

Was he going to after all the misery his father had put Merlin through?

Merlin took a small degree of satisfaction in the shock that crossed Arthur’s face when he turned around, crossed his arms, and said,

“No.”

…

In the middle of the night, Merlin woke to the sound of crying.

When he rolled over, propping himself up, the crying stopped.

…

The next time Merlin woke up in the morning, Arthur was snoring like a wild boar.

(Despite his grumbling, it seemed he’d survived the night on the wood floor, and Merlin felt a tingle of guilt.)

Merlin nudged him with his foot.

The snoring deepened.

Since Merlin wasn’t totally heartless, he stepped over the prince to poke at the fire. The embers were glowing, but the cabin was a bit cold, so he added a couple of logs.

After checking to make sure his guest was asleep, Merlin uttered a word.

In the hearth, a fire sprung to life.

Behind him, Arthur gasped. “You can do magic!”

Merlin winced.

Blast it.

He should have been more careful. 

When she was alive, his mother had always warned him that he was going to get his head stuck in a briar patch.

He was now beginning to understand what she meant.

“You’re a sorcerer!” 

Merlin didn’t know whether to laugh or flinch at Arthur’s uncanny impersonation of Uther.

“Yes.” He didn’t turn around. “And what you’re thinking won’t work.”

“You can’t tell what I’m thinking...Can you?”

“You were going to run me through with that toothpick of an excuse of a sword. Well, it won’t work.”

“I’ve seen others like you executed the same way.”

“I’m not them.” Although some days he wished…

“My father says sorcerers are evil and should be purged from the earth.”

Too hot from leaning so close to the fire, Merlin stood. “Well, your father was a greater prat than you are.”

Arthur really was Uther’s son, Merlin realized. Born and bred in Camelot’s castle with palace paradigms and prejudices.

He only knew what his father told him.

That magic was evil. That it killed people. That those emotionless beings who used it deserved to be burned.

Not that magic could be used for good, too. That it saved people.

That those who went to the pyre died with fear on their faces and tear tracks on their cheeks.

Despite the warmth in the fire, he shuddered, closing his eyes.

“Are…are you going to kill me, too?”

Like those men who killed my father? 

He was just a child taught to fear.

They were all just children.

So many…

“No.” He turned to face Arthur. “Cenred’s men should be gone by now. I’m going to take you back to Camelot where you belong.”

And then he would be rid of royalty for a good long while and could sit and think about Uther Pendragon’s death and everything it meant.

Eyes wide, Arthur stared at him. “You’re not going to kill me.”

“ Try not to sound so surprised.” 

None of this was Arthur’s fault, he reminded himself. Arthur had been raised in ignorance, and if Merlin were in his shoes, he would probably think the same thing.

That didn’t mean his blood didn’t boil slightly. 

Arthur really did know nothing.

The prince frowned. “You really aren’t going to kill me?”

“If you’re that desperate to die-”

“No!” Arthur stubbornly crossed his arms. “I was just making sure.”

“Hmm.” Merlin crossed over to the wooden barrels he kept on one side of the room and began rummaging through them.

Like a lost puppy, Arthur followed him. “What are you doing?” 

“Getting food. Unless you want to go back home on an empty stomach.”

Far be it for the prince to return home and tell everybody how the evil sorcerer kidnapped him and tried to starve him to death.

“No.”

“Good.” Merlin pulled out a few apples. He didn’t know how much children Arthur’s age ate, but it would take too long to make bread or something else. 

When he turned around to offer an apple to Arthur, the prince had a strange look in his eye. Sad and almost steely, but naive all the same. 

“What? Is there something wrong with apples, sire?” 

“I’m not going back,” Arthur declared. “I’m going to stay here with you.”

Merlin stared at him.

He stared back.

Merlin started laughing.

Arthur clenched his fists. “It’s not funny!”

Was he even hearing himself? “ You… want to stay with…with me?” 

Oh, this was hilarious. 

If he had a grave, Uther Pendragon would be rolling in it.

“Yes!”

“Aren’t you the prince? Your father…isn’t your mother worried about you? Aren’t you supposed to be…crowned king or something?” Merlin didn’t know how it worked, and bringing up Uther felt a little insensitive considering Arthur’s loss and his own personal beef with the man.

Then again, Arthur was asking to live with the number-one public enemy.

“My mother’s dead. They won’t crown me king until I’m of age. Until then, they’ll make my uncle regent.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Won’t he be worried about you, then?” He set the apples down on the table.

“I don’t like him. He is a creep.”

While Merlin hadn’t laid eyes on this uncle, he could believe that. 

But for the love of green grass, he couldn’t figure out why on earth the prince of Camelot wanted to stay with him. Weren’t they enemies? Wasn’t he a murderer? Wasn’t Arthur the son of a murderer?

It was a terrible idea.

Merlin had tried living around others. They died. While he wasn’t planning on getting attached to Uther Pendragon’s spawn, it would only lead to problems and misery if he caved now.

“No.”

“Why not?” Arthur crossed his arms. “You have enough room.”

Merlin started ticking off fingers. “First, off, your uncle discovers you’re still alive and sends men to retrieve you and kill me-”

“I told you my uncle is a creep! He wants the throne for himself.”

“-second off, I have magic-”

“You said you weren’t going to kill me.”

“-and third off, this is a shack in the middle of the woods, not a comfy palace where you’re waited on hand and foot all day long. You’d be expected to do things.”

“So I can stay!”

“No!”

“But you just said-”

“I was just saying-”

“-yes!”

“No!” Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose.

Twenty-four hours ago, everything was fine. Now, he was arguing with a child who was the son of one of the men he hated most and who wanted to live with him, for magic’s sake. When had it come to this?

“My uncle wants the throne,” Arthur stressed. “Now that my father is dead, he’ll try to kill me, too, and I’ve decided that I’d rather take my chances with you.”

I’d rather take my chances with you. 

He’d rather take his chances with Merlin. 

Oh, goodness, why was he ever considering this?

He lived alone for reasons. He could write an entire book filled with names and incidents that firmly nailed a sign that read I want to be left alone above the metaphorical doorframe of his heart.

“ Please.” Arthur sniffed, then scowled at the floor. 

His father had just died, Merlin reminded himself, and he was only a child.

Even though he echoed Uther’s words, Arthur was not the same person as his father any more than Merlin was.

Merlin could deal with one child, right?

If he said yes (and that was a very large if), he supposed he could always take the prat back to where he belonged…

How hard could it be?

Chapter Text

Hands clasped behind his back, Merlin paced the length of the small cabin.

“Rule number one. Here, you are not the prince.”

“But-”

To cut him off before he could go off on a tangent about bloodlines and legacies or whatever, Merlin raised a hand. “You’re a prince, yes, but not the prince. I’m in charge around here, not you.”

Although it would probably come up again (multiple times), Merlin was not going to waste his future time on the matter. If Arthur thought he could boss him around, well…his royal highness would find himself on the back of a horse headed to where he belonged (and should have been).

Merlin stopped pacing to look at him. “Understand?”

A trifle sullenly, Arthur nodded.

Satisfied that it would last for at least two days, Merlin resumed pacing. “Rule number two. You don’t go traipsing off into the woods without me.”

“Why not?”

Was this how it was going to be every time he said something? “Because I say so.”

“Why?”

“There are others in the woods that should be avoided.”

“Other sorcerers like you?”

“Yes and no. Unlike me, they might kill you.”

Actually, there was a cult of druids that was trying to locate him to convince him to come to reign over them as some sort of supreme and eternal being while they danced barefoot around campfires and strung cranberry necklaces together or something. He didn’t know and didn’t want to find out and certainly didn’t want Arthur to find out.

It was embarrassing enough as it was.

Arthur raised his chin defiantly. “I’m not afraid.”

“At least your bravery can make up for your lack of brains, then.” To keep him from talking and interrupting more, Merlin set an apple down in front of him. “They could kill you with a couple of words. And there are beasts that would eat you in less. While that’s on you if it happens because you didn’t listen to me, I would rather not pick up the blame for it or have to go through the trouble of burying you. Now, rule number three. You don’t touch anything of mine.”

Arthur picked up the apple and started inspecting it. “Anything? What about the floor?”

“No. You’ll have to levitate.” Merlin rolled his eyes. “The floor is fine.”

“The table?”

“That’s fine, too.”

“What about the-”

“ Let me rephrase that. You can’t touch the trunk under the bed. Also, you see those glass jars?” He pointed at a row on the shelf on the wall. “You touch those, you die.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “You said you weren’t going to kill-”

“Literally. The ingredients are poisonous. If you don’t know what something is, keep out of it.” 

“What do you need poison for?”

“To knock off annoying princes. Now, rule number four-”

“I don’t have this many rules back home,” Arthur complained. “I make the rules.”

Somehow, Merlin doubted that a little. Otherwise, it was better, then, for the sake of Camelot that Arthur wasn’t there. “If you don’t like my rules,” Merlin shot back peevishly, “you can get on a horse and go back.”

“I don’t have a horse.” Scowling, Arthur finally took a bite of the apple.

Although Merlin did own one, he wasn’t about to share that quite yet.

Goodness, this was a lot of work. 

“Now, rule number five-”

Through the food in his mouth, Arthur tried to say something. 

A prince, indeed.

“What?”

Arthur swallowed. “You were on rule number four, not five.” You idiot. 

“Oh. Right.” Because of the interruption, Merlin forgot what he was doing with rule number four. He frowned.

“Is that all of them, then?” Hopefully, Arthur shifted in his - Merlin’s chair.

“No. Let me think.” He put a hand to his forehead.

“Rule number four…rule number four…”

Oh, blast it. He was pretty sure it was important. 

Obviously growing more bored by the minute, Arthur started scuffing his boot on the floor. He probably wanted to go outside and swing his sword around at trees instead of listening to Merlin-

Sword.

“Rule number four.” Merlin ignored Arthur’s sigh. “No attempts to maim, dismember, disembowel, decapitate, or permanently disable anyone or anything are allowed.”

Blankly, Arthur tilted his head to the side.

“No stabbing anything,” Merlin clarified, jerking his chin towards Arthur’s sword, which had been propped up against the wall.

“Oh. All right.”

Of course, if that did happen to Merlin, it meant nothing to him, but the experience was rather painful. If at all possible, he tried to avoid it. He’d thought about confiscating the sword completely and hiding it under the floorboards with some of his other things, but he guessed Arthur had some training already if he ever needed to defend himself.

So long as it wasn’t Merlin on the opposite end of the hilt.

To himself, he frowned. It felt like he was forgetting something, and he wasn’t sure he was going about this the right way.

“Are you finished now?” Arthur started wiping his sticky, apple dribble-covered fingers on top of Merlin’s table.

“ For now.”

“Good. I’m going outside.” Painfully scraping the chair’s legs against the floor, Arthur stood.

Well, that was fine. They needed more firewood, anyway, and he was usually outside this time of the morning, too. 

Merlin narrowed his eyes. It felt like the prince was up to something, though. 

He hoped he wouldn’t have to spend the rest of his life feeling like he needed to look back over his shoulder.

But it was a little too late to change his mind, wasn’t it?

…

Questions.

Arthur was full of questions.

Never mind that Merlin was one of the most powerful magic users around (although Arthur didn’t know that yet) and that his father had been killed yesterday. The prince wanted to know everything about nothing important and had been harrassing Merlin for the last hour.

“What kind of a name is Mer lin, anyway?”

“Mine.”

“It’s not even a good one.”

“My mother thought it was,” Merlin grit out through his teeth as he scooped up another branch from the ground and shook it to dislodge a few dried leaves stuck on it.

Normally, he would have used his magic to make this go more quickly, but he didn’t feel comfortable using it around Arthur. This was something to keep both of them busy, anyway, until he figured out how to deal with a prince.

Merlin didn’t know what they were going to do when they’d collected enough wood and returned home.

“It sounds odd.”

“It’s unique.”

“Merlin. Mer lin. Mer lin.” 

As it was, Arthur was doing a lot more talking than picking up branches, and Merlin was doing most of the work.

Why wasn’t he surprised?

“Better than what the druids call me,” he muttered under his breath as he bent over again to pick up another piece.

Up ahead, Arthur crunched through the leaves more noisily than a pack of deer before stopping at the base of a tree and staring upwards into his branches.

Merlin’s arms were full.

Arthur’s were not.

“Here. Get over here and take some of these.” If Athur wasn’t going to collect anything, he could at least carry some of the load.

Of course, using magic to do it would have been nice.

To himself, he sighed.

This was going to be a long hundred years. 

“This is boring,” Arthur complained as he tramped back over to Merlin. “I’m going exploring.”

“Firewood first.” He dropped his whole pile into Arthur’s arms and started looking for more.

If Arthur was bored after this long, he would grow tired of Merlin and want to leave soon.

Now there was an idea to toy with.

Maybe it wouldn’t be a hundred years.

The type of “excitement” Merlin usually involved himself in was labeled magical harassment by the local magic-hating authorities. King Uther included.

Lord Agravaine would probably carry on the same viewpoint.

“This is getting dirt all over my clothes.”

“There was dirty already all over your clothes.”

“Now there’s more dirt. I look like a peasant.”

“There’ll be even more dirt.”

Even though Merlin was leading the way through the underbrush, he could feel Arthur’s scowl through his back.

He was getting a headache.

“I want a bath when we return. And my clothes washed.”

“And how do you think you’re going to manage that?”

Behind him, Arthur’s footsteps faltered as he thought that through. “Don’t you…”

There were a few experimental sniffs and then a cough.

Welcome to living in the forest, Prince Arthur. Want to go home? 

“Wash days are once every two weeks.” And that was when he wasn’t on the road. If he was busy, it was even longer because there were more important things that needed his attention than smelling like the petals of a rose. 

Brilliant. He was going to have to figure out how to keep an eye on Arthur and make his usual rounds.

“I don’t suppose you’d be willing to make an exception?” Arthur groused.

Merlin sighed. “It isn’t time-”

The words died in his mouth.

“-to take a bath, Merlin.”

“But I don’t want a bath, mum. Didn’t I just have one of those?”

“A month ago!”

“Really? But-”

“No more buts, Merlin. It’s a bath for you, so hurry up about it. Give me your shirt. I’ll fix the hole in-”

“-my elbow already!”

The real world slammed back into focus, and Merlin gasped.

What kind of magic was this?

“Can you fix-”

“Shut up,” he snapped, stopping and whirling around. “For one second, can you be quiet?”

The chatter ceased.

Arthur’s face went blank. 

Instantly, guilt filled Merlin.

Fantastic. A few more days at it, and he would sound just like Uther, wouldn’t he?

“I’m sorry,” he apologized to Arthur, who was finding his stack of firewood quite interesting. 

“I…”

I started hearing and seeing the voice of my dead mother because you wouldn’t stop asking questions like I used to. 

“I…have a headache.”

“Oh.”

Merlin gritted his teeth. He really felt like banging his head into a tree, but his hands were full, and he would probably only end up impaling himself by accident. “I’m sorry,” he repeated instead. “I still shouldn’t have yelled at you.”

“Oh.” Arthur’s eyebrows knit together.

Merlin bailed. “Let’s get back.” Without waiting for an affirmation from the prince, he started walking in the direction of the cabin.

…

Food brought Arthur out of the sullen silence that took over him after the little incident. 

Or rather, criticizing Merlin’s cooking of the food did.

“What is this?” He poked at it with the fork Merlin had given him.

“Well, what’s it look like?”

Merlin was encountering a new problem: dishes. 

Since guests never ate at his cabin (because they didn’t know where it was in the first place), he only owned enough for himself. If Arthur was staying longer than a day, he would have to make a run to the nearest village and purchase another bowl and fork. 

Then again, if this afternoon was anything to go by, Arthur would be scared off pretty soon by Merlin’s rusty people skills.

“It looks like…it looks like mush,” Arthur gagged, poking it around some more.

“...That’s because it is mush.”

“Oh.”

Merlin supposed he was going to have to find better food, too, if he was feeding someone else. Were children still growing at Arthur’s age?

“I don’t like mush.”

I have a personal cook back at the castle. 

She can cook better than this while blindfolded.

On any other day, Merlin would have tried to scare him  into eating it, but he was too exhausted to deal with this now. Maybe tomorrow. Maybe the day after tomorrow. Maybe a week from tomorrow.

So he sighed, went to the barrel, and pulled out more apples.

…

Despite his weariness, Merlin couldn’t fall asleep, so he stared up at the ceiling as the hours of the night crawled by.

He felt like a disaster.

He couldn’t even remember what he’d done the entire day except for collecting the firewood, which was now burning merrily away in the hearth.

It was boring into his eyelids.

Irritated, he turned over and buried his head underneath his arm.

“No, please.”

He jerked up, almost knocking his blanket onto the floor. “Arthur?” he hissed.

The prince was lying down (on the floor, again, probably another thing he was going to have to deal with later), but he was wrestling with the blanket.

“Father!” he muttered.

Merlin didn’t know what to do. Was he supposed to wake him up? Leave him alone?

While he debated, Arthur jerked over once more until he was facing Merlin, his eyelids fluttering. A second later, they opened.

Acutely awake and aware, the two of them stared at each other for a minute. 

“Sorry for waking you up,” Arthur told him gruffly, untangling a hand to rub his eye.

Merlin floundered. What was he supposed to say?

“Now we’re even”?

“I was already awake, wallowing in my shortcomings”?

“Hope your nightmare wasn’t too bad”?

If only someone had written a tome titled How to Properly Care For and Deal With the More Than Likely Traumatized Child Who Showed Up, Demanded to Stay, and Now Occupies Your House. 

He would give the stash of gold coins under his floorboards to read it.

Arthur turned over again to face the fire, and Merlin stared at the ceiling once more.

His bones felt achy and ancient.

Day one of living with the prince, and he’d already messed up enough for three people.

He didn’t know what he was doing.

He wasn’t cut out for this - whatever this was.

Overall, he was a bit of a big failure, wasn’t he?

Chapter Text

Waking up to day two of living with the prince, Merlin felt an absolute sense of dread.

Perhaps he was wrong. Perhaps it had been two years and the entire mess had been taken care of. Sometimes, that happened if he wasn’t careful enough and got carried away with something - he woke up, and more time than he realized had passed.

He checked.

Arthur was still sleeping on the floor, and he looked the same age as he had the previous evening.

Wonderful. 

Without meaning to, Merlin groaned aloud.

He didn’t want to get out of bed. If he just stayed there, would Arthur realize that he didn’t actually want to be there with Merlin and just leave?

As if on cue, the prince sat up, rubbing his eyes. After stretching, he looked around the cabin for Merlin.

Unfortunately, freezing to avoid detection worked better for deer than Merlin.

“You’re still in bed?” Arthur asked.

“You’re one to talk.” 

“Where’s breakfast?”

Merlin was sorely tempted to tell him it was out in the woods and he could go find it himself, but since the prat’s life was his responsibility now (apparently), he would have to make sure he didn’t die, and Merlin didn’t feel like scavenging the woods.

“You’re nine years old. Surely you can find breakfast in a cabin this size.”

Arthur scrambled to his feet. “I’m twelve. And you told me not to touch anything.”

Right. Merlin had forgotten about that. 

He dragged himself out of bed. “Pick that up,” he told Arthur, jerking his chin at the blanket the prince had haphazardly discarded on the floor. 

Since he didn’t know what else to do, Merlin decided he would take Arthur to one of the nearest villages to stock up on food.

It would keep him entertained for a little while - although it did occur to Merlin that he wasn’t going to be able to do this every day for the rest of his life. 

He sighed.

“Apple?”

…

“I’m taking my sword with me.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Why not? It’s my sword.”

“What did I tell you about stabbing people?”

“I’m not going to stab anyone! I just want to be armed in case we’re attacked.”

“By what, an angry squirrel?”

“ Cenred-”

“Cenred can do about as much damage to me as his grandmother. No.”

“But Merlin-”

…

“Are we walking the whole way?” Arthur demanded, pushing up the sleeves over the overly big cloak Merlin had let him borrow in hopes of keeping his identity somewhat of a secret. “My feet are sore.”

“We are literally fewer than fifty feet from the cabin.”

“We walked all day yesterday.”

“You have a good pair of boots. You’ll get used to it.”

Could Merlin have used his magic to summon his horse from where it was roaming wild in the woods?

Yes.

Was he going to not do so because walking would take them twice as long and would occupy more of their time?

Also yes.

For a second, Merlin realized that this wasn’t going to work. Eventually, he was going to have to resume his normal activities thwarting…well, normally, it was thwarting Uther’s anti-magic measures, but he supposed he would have to figure out what was going on in that arena.

And he couldn’t exactly ferry Arthur around with him all the time. That was like taking a kitten into a bar fight. One just didn’t do that to kittens.

How did people manage children?

If Merlin thought hard enough, he could vaguely remember being that young. There was a lot of running around and causing havoc worthy of a natural disaster.

His poor mother.

Poor himself. 

What on earth was he thinking?

“How long until we get there?” Arthur asked, pulling him back before he spiraled into thoughts of his mother and the impossibility of everything.

At the light filtering in through the forest’s tree leaves, Merlin squinted. “Maybe a couple of hours. Not sure.”

Although Merlin was expecting Arthur to start complaining, the prince seemed to accept the answer. Since Merlin had refused to let him wear his sword since it would look too out-of-place where they were going, he entertained himself by pretending to stab trees and imaginary enemies.

With one arm above his head, he lunged forward. “Ha!”

From the foliage, a startled squirrel bolted. 

“Gah!” In surprise, Arthur fell to the ground as the panicked squirrel landed on him. “Get off me! Merlin, help! ”

Merlin knew better than to mess with furious squirrels.

…

By the time Merlin and Arthur neared the village, the two of them were tired and cranky. Arthur shuffled along, kicking loose stones along the path and glancing up at the sky every once in a while as though that would hurry the trip along.

“I’m tired.” 

It was literally in sight. What did he expect Merlin to do about it?

“Listen,” he said, “if anyone asks, you’re my cousin twice removed or something, got it?”

“All right,” Arthur agreed with surliness.

“Try not to be too much of a prat, either.”

“I’m not a prat.” 

“Hmm.”

“I’m not!”

“If you insist, sire.” 

Arthur scowled at him.

Merlin reached out, grabbed Arthur’s hood, and pulled it over his head. 

…

“This place smells, ” Arthur commented, seeming both disgusted and intrigued at the same time. 

Merlin had a feeling that this was the farthest that he’d even been from the palace and into the rural part of the land before.

He took a deep breath and eyed the cow that was staring at them as it chewed on its cud. 

Yeah, it did kind of smell.

“Remember, keep your hood up.”

Reaching up, Arthur tugged at it. “I look like a monk. Or a monk-in-training.”

“Oh, hello, Merlin! We haven’t seen you in a while,” a woman - Molly, one of the farmer’s wives, if he was remembering correctly - greeted him, and Merlin nodded at her. 

“Good morning,” he responded cheerfully.

Arthur’s shoulders rose like he was going to say something, and Merlin grabbed his shoulder to remind him to keep quiet.

Wriggling, Arthur dislodged himself from Merlin’s grip. 

“Who’s your friend?” Stopping for a moment, Molly heaved her basket higher onto her hip. 

“This is…George.”

“Hi.”

“Well, we’ve got to be off, lots of things to do, you know.” Merlin prodded Arthur in the general direction he wanted him to go. 

“Of course. Have a good afternoon, Merlin!”

“You as well!” he threw back over his shoulder.

“ George? ” Arthur asked.

“It was the first name I could think of.” Desperately, Merlin looked for somewhere to buy extra clothes for Arthur. The more he thought about it, the more the oversized cloak did make Arthur look like a monk, and that screamed druids. The druids were the last people he wanted to connect himself to.

“Come on, let’s go.” Although they’d only been walking through the village for a few minutes, Merlin’s skin crawled as though they’d been there for hours, baking under the open sun, instead of the safety of the forest.

Who knew who was watching them?

Throat dry, Merlin swallowed.

“I can’t go as fast as you,” Arthur said. “You’re taller, and my feet hurt .”

“Suck it up, buttercup.”

Arthur sputtered.

…

For the prince’s new clothes, Merlin paid an arm and a leg out of his stash.

Thankfully, the prat took them without complaining and carried them as he trailed behind Merlin.

After acquiring the clothes, Merlin went to purchase some flour for bread or something, and it was then that he realized the shortcomings of walking.

There wasn’t a horse to put everything on, which meant that they were forced to carry everything, and while Merlin’s magic may have been strong, his arm muscles were not. Not when it came to bags of flour, at least.

As the afternoon progressed, the two of them grew crankier.

While Merlin haggled with the local carpenter over a chest so Arthur could store his junk in it instead of scattering it across the floor, Arthur shifted from foot to foot and sighed.

Merlin wanted to go home.

As soon as it was paid for, Merlin dragged it out of the shop and realized that they were going to have to carry it with all of Arthur’s new possessions all the way home.

Stupid, he cursed himself. Just stupid. 

“I’m putting these inside,” Arthur told him grumpily, dumping the pile of clothes into the chest. “My arms hurt.”

Merlin checked his coin purse to see how much money was still inside.

For the love of the old religion, children were expensive. 

This, Merlin decided for the hundredth time, was a disaster.

…

The only thing that Merlin actually accomplished trapezing around and keeping Arthur somewhat out of trouble was hearing what was going on in the world outside the forest.

“And then Tilda’s daughter - you know her, the short, blonde one-”

“Does Tilda have more than one daughter?”

“No, I meant-”

“Merlin,” Arthur whined, “I’m tired. I think we should go.”

“Hold on.” Bending over, Merlin pretended to reorganize stuff in the truck as he eavesdropped on the two women.

So far, he’d heard nothing about Uther’s death, which both relieved and disappointed him. He wanted to know what Lord Agravaine was going to do if he, in fact, took over Camelot’s throne, and he didn’t like to think that he’d gone through all this trouble for nothing.

Although he supposed it wasn’t for nothing. 

He just would have liked to be able to formulate some kind of plan in response to Uther’s death instead of waiting for something to happen. 

Straightening up, Merlin caught Arthur eyeing a group of children playing with a ball down the street.

When Arthur saw that he was finished, he turned his back on them. “Are we leaving now?” 

“Yes, sire.” 

Arthur scowled.

His scowl deepened whenever Merlin indicated that he was supposed to pick up the other end of the trunk.

“Back at the castle, I have servants to carry things for me.”

“That’s nice.”

Arthur huffed and grabbed the other end of the trunk.

As they left the village with their purchases in tow, Merlin was fairly certain that they looked like a pair of idiots waddling down the road like ducks.

…

“ Mer lin, this is heavy.” 

“How astute of you to notice. I nearly missed it.”

“Are we almost there?”

Oh, if only he could use his magic-

…

Back at the cabin, Merlin pushed the truck against the wall while Arthur plopped down at the table and rested his head on his folded arms.

“You can put your things in here,” Merlin told him, not necessarily because he was stupid and couldn’t figure it out but because he couldn’t think of something to fill the awkward silence. “Not all over the floor.”

The blanket that Merlin had told him to pick up that morning was in a crumpled ball underneath Merlin’s bed as though Merlin wouldn’t notice, and the borrowed cloak was discarded on the floor next to the door.

“And your old clothes,” he added.

Forehead wrinkling, Arthur raised his head. “Old clothes?”

“The one’s you’re wearing now.”

“But…these are my clothes.” Frowning, Arthur looked down at them, rubbing his sleeve with his thumb.

Although they were torn and dirty from the last couple of days, they still screamed I’m a prince with their gold linings and whatnot. No one in the vicinity wore those kinds of things.

“I like them,” Arthur said, almost absent mindedly. 

“I didn’t say you had to burn them. Just put them in the trunk.”

“Oh. All right.” Arthur put his head back down.

If they hadn’t spent half the day walking and lugging a heavy trunk back, Merlin was sure that there would have been much more of a protest.  

He made a mental note of that.

As Arthur watched, he moved some of his vials into the trunk under his bed (careful not to break any of the bottles) and put the new vittles on the shelves in the cabin.

Once that was done, he took a step back and admired his work.

Now, it looked rather domestic.

“Merlin.”

“Yeah?”

“I’m hungry.”

Merlin sighed. 

Another thing he was starting to learn about children - they were always hungry.

…

Later in the night, when the crickets and spring peepers had emerged and the moon was shining through the one crack in the cabin ceiling that Merlin always forgot to repair even though it would take minimal effort, Merlin started drifting off to sleep.

“Merlin.” 

His eyes snapped open.

He sat up in bed.

“Arthur?”

The prince let out a deep snore.

Squinting into the darkness of the cabin, Merlin tried to see if he was faking it and this was some sort of a joke.

Nothing.

It must have been his imagination.

“Merlin.” 

No, he was definitely hearing something.

“What do you want?” he hissed.

Like many areas of his life, he did not receive an answer.

Chapter Text

With growing panic, Merlin watched as Arthur wolfed down breakfast and he realized that what would normally last him for weeks was only going to cover a couple of days.
He began to seriously consider that Arthur was half-troll.
…
As he drummed his fingers on the table, Merlin wondered what he was supposed to do with Arthur today. It was amazing how adding one person to the general vicinity made time slow down to almost a crawl. Even though Merlin would have normally been content with…whatever he normally did, his skin was itching.
Arthur solved the problem by clearing his throat and pushing his dish to the side as though he wanted to say something.
In response, Merlin raised his eyebrows.
“I want…I want to find the body of my father. To bury it.”
“I see.”
That was not what Merlin had been expecting.
Burying Uther’s body.
The first answer that rose to the tip of his tongue was no.
What right did Uther have? What right did Uther have at all after he left so many half-burned bodies scattered across the land for the birds to pick at, when he had mercilessly killed so many and left them without even the comfort of a grave?
Merlin gripped the edge of the table.
As far as he was concerned, the wolves could eat Uther’s body, and it would bring him a great deal of satisfaction.
In all of his long life, Uther was one of the people he hated most.
When he sucked in a breath, he caught the barest taste of ashes in the air. He blinked.
“Are you having a stroke?” Arthur demanded. “Are you-”
The prince’s words were nonsense in his ears, clogging his thoughts as he tried to sort out what he was going to do.
Knocking his chair backwards, Merlin stood. “Stay here.” Before Arthur could inform him of his next course of action, he left the cabin, slamming the door shut behind him, and made for the nearest patch of trees.
Uther didn’t deserve a proper burial.
Even though Merlin was momentarily housing his child, he hated the dead king, and he just wanted to say no and stick with it until both of them turned to bones (which would be quite a long time for Merlin).
But Arthur wouldn’t take that, he realized as he stared blankly into the forest. If Merlin denied his “request,” he would just run off the second Merlin turned his back.
And then Merlin would have to chase him down before he died, too.
Putting his hands on his hips, he breathed in through his nose.
Chances were that Uther’s body wouldn’t be in the same spot and that they would never find it.
He was being stupid and irrational.
After standing around for a minute longer to get himself under control, he turned around and returned to the cabin.
When he opened the door, he found that Arthur was no longer sitting and instead was standing in the middle of the room as though Merlin had almost caught him in the middle of something.
“What’s wrong with you?” Arthur asked, crossing his arms and turning so he faced Merlin.
As though he didn’t look just as disconcerted as Merlin felt.
“Nothing. Let’s go.”
…
Instead of plying Merlin with questions, Arthur remained silent as they tramped through the woods.
Since he had no idea where the original incident had taken place, Merlin let Arthur take the lead and kept an eye on the surrounding forest.
The foolish part of him hoped that the voice he’d heard would be connected to someone hanging around his cabin. Sometimes, people of the magical variety who needed help liked to play trivial games because they were skittish around him.
He couldn’t imagine why.
“It’s got to be here somewhere,” Arthur muttered under his breath as he paused for a moment to stare at the trees, as though any of them would look different to him.
Arthur wouldn’t know fauna if it slapped him on the face.
“The nearest path is to your left,” Merlin said.
Arthur headed to the right.
Fine, then.
As long as he stayed away from the cult, he could wander around as long as he wanted to.
So much for sore feet. If that was how he was going to be, Merlin wasn’t going to give him any more assistance.
(Although a teeny, tiny part of Merlin was glad he was being belligerent about this.)
…
Arthur’s endurance was way less than Merlin’s.
And by way less, that meant he grew frustrated within an hour.
“I know where we were!” he yelled. “But I can’t find the d-”
“Language,” Merlin cut in because he was fairly certain ten-year-old children weren’t supposed to swear.
Or was he eleven?
Shoot, Merlin had forgotten already.
Arthur whirled around. “Oh, shut up!”
Merlin raised his eyebrows at him.
Like a small, boiling thundercloud, Arthur stormed forward.
…
Every once in a while, under his breath, just at the right volume where Merlin couldn’t make out the words, Arthur muttered a choice word or two.
Or three.
In the ancient language, just out of Arthur’s hearing, Merlin swore back at him.
Two could play this game.
…
Somehow, even though his sense of direction was worse than a turtle’s, Arthur found one fork of the path that wound through the woods.
By then, the sun hung directly overhead, but Arthur did not show any signs of wanting to stop, so Merlin didn’t suggest it.
Arthur had now drawn his sword and was using it to hack through whatever branches he didn’t feel like pushing to the side himself. Few people traversed that way, and plants were slowly starting to reclaim it.
Although Merlin could have used his magic, he abstained since the butchering of plants was tiring the prince out. He also refrained from informing the prince that he was probably barking up the wrong tree because Uther would have stuck to a well-known road, not this path.
“I think we’re close,” Arthur thought aloud, continuing to march forward with determination.
Merlin was growing tired of this. It was pointless.
Uther wouldn’t be there even if they found the right spot.
At least, this was the reason Merlin was going with.
“I don’t think we are,” Merlin said, stopping for a minute to take a break in hopes Arthur would copy him. “I think we’ve been going in the opposite direction.” Using his shirt sleeve, he wiped his forehead and looked back from where they had come.
“It is!” Arthur insisted. “I would recognize it anywhere.”
Merlin could have pointed out that Arthur had been terrified that day.
That he had run blindly into a woods that he was unfamiliar with. That he had lost any sense of orientation.
If Merlin sent him off on his merry own, he probably wouldn’t be able to find the way out by himself.
“We just have to keep going,” Arthur said, jamming his sword back into its sheath and almost cutting his leg off in the process. “It’s not that much farther.”
Merlin braced his hand against the nearest tree and leaned against it. “Listen. Chances are, you’re not going to find the spot. It’s a large forest. Whoever was with your father probably took care of him after you ran off.”
“I didn’t run off.” Arthur turned up his nose.
Right. Because saving your own life was undignified and cowardly if you were a prince in this day and age.
This was a fool’s errand.
The longer they stayed out in the middle of the woods, the greater the chance there was of running into someone - dead or alive.
“I’m going back home,” Merlin said in a tone of voice that conveyed that it would be the two of them.
“No! You can’t.”
“I ruddy well can. You’re not the boss of me. Arthur, you’re not going to find your father. We’re not even in the right section of the forest.”
“If you’re so sure of that, why don’t you show me the right one? Or was that your plan all along, sorcerer?”
Merlin flinched.
He dug his fingernails into the bark of the tree.
“You don’t want him buried. You want him to lie and…and rot like some kind of animal! What kind of a monster are you?” Arthur accused.
At the word, Merlin laughed. “Monster? Me? Your father was an - an abysmal tyrant.”
“No, he wasn’t! He was a great king!”
A great king. A great king.
“Oh, yes, a great king,” Merlin mocked. “King Uther - all hear his name and tremble because your skin might be next.”
“My father never killed anyone who didn’t deserve it!”
“Your father couldn’t tell the difference between an innocent person and a guilty one.”
“You’re a liar.”
Bitterly, Merlin laughed again.
Arthur had no idea.
Arthur really had no idea.
Merlin could name dozens of people - and see even more when he closed his eyes at night. Too many to know, too many to care about, too many he couldn’t save no matter how hard he tried.
“My father was doing what’s right,” Arthur said. “He protected Camelot, and he deserves an - an honorable-”
“Protected Camelot, did he? Well, your highness, was he protecting Camelot when he slaughtered its citizens for trying to heal their mothers, fathers, sons, and daughters? Was he protecting Camelot when he turned friends on each other out of fear for their own necks? Was he protecting Camelot when he burned other children like you without giving them a chance? Was he protecting Camelot when he-”
“Stop! Stop it!”
Merlin sucked in a breath. When his vision cleared, he found Arthur trying not to cry in front of him.
“My father-” he heaved. “My father-”
Before Merlin could say anything else, he turned on his heels and ran into the forest.
…
Rage was a funny, fickle thing.
For days, Merlin thought he was fine - that everything was all right and the past didn’t matter that much anymore.
Then, something happened like this, and the only anger spilled over like lightning until he felt numb.
(Merlin was dead.)
…
“Arthur!”
Up ahead, Merlin could hear twigs cracking underfoot and an outraged screech as a disturbed animal fled from the underbrush.
The smaller of the two, Arthur deftly ducked through crevices created by the tree branches while Merlin floundered about.
Maybe it was best that he got away.
He found his way into the middle of the forest - he could find his way out.
No more arguing. No more figuring out what to do. No more time crawling by like a snail.
Just wipe his hands of the matter.
Like that.
(After all, Arthur wasn’t going to stay.)
For a second, Merlin’s steps slowed.
The sound of Arthur’s inelegant crashing began to die away.
High above the trees, something screeched.
Shoot.
Merlin’s plans for faking his untimely death and disappearing into the forest for another hundred years evaporated.
He shoved aside a tree branch and ducked underneath one.
“Merlin! Help!”
The first creature that crossed Merlin’s mind was a dragon, but that wasn’t possible since all the dragons were dead - not to mention that the forest wasn’t ablaze.
“Merlin!”
More screeching, branches cracking, the sound of bark splintering.
Merlin plowed through the remaining leaves.
It wasn’t a dragon.
Oh, thank goodness, it wasn’t a dragon.
It was a griffin.
And there was Arthur, standing in the middle of the small clearing instead of running away like he should have been doing.
“Get away from me!” he screamed, brandishing his sword at the beast, which was pawing the ground as it readied to pounce on him. “Foul beast-”
It was like threatening a bear with a toothpick - utterly useless.
“Hey!” Merlin yelled.
For a moment, the griffin was distracted, and Merlin used the time to cross over to Arthur.
“What are you-”
Eyes locked on him, the griffin screeched.
From Arthur’s hands, Merlin seized the child-sized sword, words of magic flying from his mouth without a second thought.
The griffin swooped up into the air.
Either the beast or Arthur was screaming, Merlin couldn’t tell.
Wisps of blue magic rose up from around the weapon.
The griffin descended.
With both hands Merlin thrust the sword upwards.
…
“Rule number five-” Merlin panted as he yanked it out of the animal’s skull. “If you see a griffin, run, for the love of-”
…
“You used magic,” Arthur whispered, his eyes glued on the body of the griffin.
Since there was no point in denying it and the worst the prince could do to him was kick his shins, Merlin said nothing as he wiped the griffin’s blood off Arthur’s sword.
It felt wrong.
“If you’re going to do it, get it over with.”
Merlin looked up. “Do what?”
“Kill me.”
“I’m not going to kill you.”
“Why not? You hate my father.”
Why don’t you kill me?
Because I hate your father.
Once he deemed the blade clean enough, he handed it back to Arthur, who accepted it mutely and stared at it as though it were a strange, eldritch object.
Half-facing each other, the two of them stood there.
Merlin was weary.
His left arm ached.
He didn’t know how to feel.
“You can do what you like,” he said at last, knowing Arthur would understand.
Maybe he should apologize, he thought, but the words felt bitter in his mouth.
Uther wasn’t a person he could cry over.
But he was to Arthur.
Leaving the griffin behind, Merlin made to head home.
He was surprised when Arthur followed him.
…
“You’re wrong,” the prince told him, “about all of it.”
Merlin wished he was.

Chapter Text

Instead of waking Arthur up, Merlin let the prince sleep in and left the cabin by himself.

His stockpile of wood was running low, so he decided to chop some wood and clear his mind in the process.

Since he’d gone to bed the previous evening, his stomach had been churning.

Despite the early hour, Merlin was sweating within ten minutes.

The wood pile grew at a snail’s pace. Even though there was no possibility of it being sentient (he’d checked - twice), Merlin could have sworn that the axe hated him. Each time he raised it above his head, it felt like its weight doubled on him.

“You’re chopping wood.”

With a swear, Merlin dropped the axe, dancing out of the way so it hit the ground instead of his foot.

The prat was awake.

Wonderful.

At least it was nice of him to let Merlin know.

“Yeah. It’s what we peasants have to do if we want to stay nice and toasty at night,” Merlin told him as he tugged the ax out of where it had been buried in the dirt. 

“Your cabin is cold, not nice and toasty,” Arthur complained. “I wake up every single night.”

From the snoring, Merlin wouldn’t have thought that was the case.

“Why do you think I’m chopping wood, then?” After heaving the axe over his head once more, he let it drop.

With a satisfying clunk, the piece of wood split in two.

“You’re chopping wood,” Arthur repeated as he stared at Merlin. “Why?”

“So princes don’t wake up in the middle of the night with their toes frozen and complain about it later.” The axe didn’t want to budge from the chopping block, which was fairly dented. Merlin was going to have to find a new one soon enough.

“Without magic,” Arthur clarified. “You used magic to start the fire before and to kill the griffin. Why not use it to chop the wood? Why not use it to cook the food? Why not use it to turn this hovel into a castle? Couldn’t you?”

Normally, Merlin might just have used his magic to do some of the things Arthur listed.

But it felt wrong, doing so in front of him, like exposing something private or breaking a rusted lock on a chest. 

Instead of trying to explain the feeling, Merlin simply shrugged, bracing his boot against the chopping block to give him leverage as he pulled the axe out. “I could.”

“Why don’t you?”

Of course the prince wasn’t going to leave it alone. “Because I just don’t.” With a jerk, the axe came free, and Merlin stumbled backwards a little.

“But you’re a sorcerer.”

After yesterday, Merlin didn’t want to have whatever conversation Arthur was trying to get at. He didn’t have to explain his magic use or lack thereof to Uther Pendragon’s son.

Did he?

“I’m technically a warlock,” Merlin grumbled.

“What?”

“Nothing.”

The last time Merlin had used magic “for fun,” major trouble had come of it, if he remembered correctly. He’d almost died.

It was not a fond memory of his.

“If you’re not going to use it, why do you practice it?” Arthur asked. “Why not give it up?”

Despite his mood, Merlin almost laughed. “You can’t give up magic.”

The notion was ridiculous. It was akin to asking him not to breathe or Arthur to not act like a dollophead.

“You could. You’re not getting anything out of it here in the middle of the woods.”

Arthur was assuming magic was for personal gain, and since Merlin wasn’t publicly using it for that, there was no point to it.

As he thought about it, he realized that Arthur was almost trying to reason him out of it because of his lack of understanding about it.

If Merlin did not use magic, Merlin did not have a reason to hate Arthur’s father.

If Merlin did not use magic, he wasn’t cruel.

If Merlin did not use magic, there was no reason for conflict between them.

If Merlin did not use magic, he wasn’t evil.

“You’re right,” Merlin said in between splitting another piece of wood. “There isn’t much to do with magic around here, is there?”

Out of the woods, of course, there was a whole lot more, but he wasn’t going to bring that up now.

Arthur seemed almost relieved that Merlin was agreeing with him. “Right,” he asserted. “So you should stop. Practicing magic.”

“You can’t stop something you never started to begin with.”

In confusion, the prince wrinkled his nose.

“I didn’t decide to start practicing magic,” Merlin explained. “It wasn’t a choice. I was born with it.”

Arthur’s mouth went slack. “That’s impossible. You’re lying.”

Merlin rolled his eyes. “How would you know?”

“People aren’t born with magic.”

“I was. You can believe me or not. It doesn’t change it.”

Merlin’s mother told him his eyes were golden from the second he opened them. Their color had faded over time, but the magic had not. Pots and pans had flown around when he threw tantrums, and flowers had sprouted from the rafters whenever laughed.

“How?” Arthur demanded, as though Merlin could explain his own birth.

If Merlin was technical, he would have pointed out that he was a warlock, not a sorcerer, but he had a feeling the magical education would go beyond the prince’s understanding or willingness to care.

“But…” Arthur started. “But…”

Uther Pendragon taught that magic was a choice - and that all who chose it were evil.

Either Merlin was inherently evil, depraved, and one second from slaughtering the entire earth because he had been born with it, or…

Well, magic wasn’t evil. 

Maybe it was too much for Merlin to hope that Arthur would make the connection.

After all, they’d only been interacting for three days, and Uther Pendragon had had nine years with him.

Or was it eleven?

“I want food,” Arthur said eventually. 

Fed up with the axe, Merlin discarded it to the side.

It really was easier to use magic.

…

Since Merlin didn’t want Arthur prying into his business, he sent Arthur outside to run around in circles or something while Merlin checked his stash of bottles.

Before, he’d told Arthur somewhat of a white lie. Most of his potions and things weren’t poison - they were actually healing tinctures although they could technically kill someone if ingested improperly. In addition to annoying the holey socks off royals who hated magic, Merlin liked to lend his assistance to the ill in surrounding villages. 

It made him feel like he was doing something more than spitefully refusing to die and hiding  in a shack in the woods.

Carefully, he counted the bottles to make sure none were missing since he didn’t trust Arthur to actually listen to anything. After finding they were all there, he worked at moving them from the chest underneath his bed and the shelves on the wall to his leather satchel. If they went on horseback, they could reach the nearest village before nightfall. Sometimes, it took farmers from the surrounding land a little bit of time to make it to town. He and Arthur could spend the evening in the tavern and leave the next morning.

Arthur.

Merlin didn’t feel comfortable leaving him alone in the cabin while he was gone. Although the area was fairly secluded, anyone could wander up to it and knock on the door, really.

Another more dramatic sorcerer would have put up some kind of ward or something, but Merlin wasn’t going to be around to keep that up.

No, he was going to have to take Arthur with him. Even though he would be somewhat running the risk that someone would connect Arthur to the prince of Camelot, he was banking on the fact that outside of royal clothing, no one would be able to recognize him.

At least, he hoped.

While Arthur might have been just fine boarding with a sorcerer, he wasn’t going to let Merlin give him anything to alter his appearance like Merlin had done to himself on several occasions.

Once the last bottle was packed, Merlin closed the chest and pushed it back under the bed.

Outside, meanwhile, Arthur was gouging dents into the nearest tree.

“Take that!” he yelled. “And that! And that, you foul beast!”

Merlin winced.

He was going to have to remember to heal the tree when they came back.

“Arthur,” he called. “We’re leaving.”

Halting his assault on the poor tree, Arthur ran over to him. “Where are we going?”

“To one of the nearby villages. I have some errands I need to do.” When Merlin slung his pack over his shoulder, the bottles clinked lightly together.

“Errands?”

From the way Arthur said it, it sounded more like People to poison?

“Yes.” 

Merlin did not elaborate.

“Are we going to walk again?” Arthur’s face soured. “I would rather not. My feet still hurt from yesterday.”

Although a comment along the lines of well, then, don’t go scouring the woods for a dead body, rose to the tip of Merlin’s tongue, he squashed it down. “That’s too bad. I’ve got to go today. It can’t wait.”

He’d already put it off long enough. Even though he never stuck to a schedule, he hadn’t been to this particular village in a while.

“I’m staying here, then,” Arthur decided, looking back over his shoulder at the mangled tree.

“Things to do?”

“Yes.”

“Too bad. You’re coming with me.”

“I’m old enough to take care of myself.”

Ha. Arthur didn’t even know how to prepare a meal.

And besides, that cult was still lurking around somewhere.

They would probably go bonkers if they found where Merlin lived.

Come to think of it, maybe a protective barrier wasn’t that bad of an idea. 

“It’d be best if you came with me,” Merlin said.

“I’m staying.”

“Let me rephrase that,” Merlin told him pleasantly. “You’re coming with me whether your royalness likes it or not.”

Arthur scowled. “You’re a tyrant.”

“And you’re one to talk.”

“I don’t want to go on foot,” Arthur complained as Merlin turned his back on him. “I never have to walk anywhere back home. And I’m tired. ”

“I have a horse.”

Putting two fingers in between his teeth, Merlin whistled harshly, startling two birds out of a nearby tree and making Arthur snort.

It wasn’t that bad of a whistle.

“I don’t think you have a horse at all,” Arthur asserted. “You’re a liar. My father told me that sorcerers-”

“Warlock.”

“-always lie.”

Because it was unreasonable to stretch the truth a bit if his life was on the line and everyone was always trying to kill him. “I have a horse. I just don’t keep it in the stables like you do.”

The horse in question, Frik, was a bit of a free spirit. He never seemed to run into any problems and found enough food on his own, so Merlin didn’t worry about him too much. He came when Merlin needed him.

Perks of being a warlock.

“Then where is it?” 

Merlin pointed.

At a leisurely pace, Frik ambled into the clearing, his head bobbing up and down.

Arthur was none too pleased to discover that he was wrong and to make Frik’s acquaintance.

Frik was less so. 

…

“Your horse doesn’t like me,” Arthur complained. “It keeps trying to knock me off.”

“I wonder why,” Merlin wheezed.

Because he was on the back end of the horse, Arthur was clinging to Merlin’s with a vice grip. Between him around the stomach and the bag of his satchel around his neck, Merlin felt like he was being choked.

Why? he bemoaned inwardly. Why had he thought this would be a good idea?

It had only been five minutes.

Only slightly faster than Arthur’s walking pace, Frik ambled along. 

“Merlin, I’m going to fall off!”

Merlin gritted his teeth. “You’re fine. You’re not going to fall off.” Not with the way he was strangling Merlin. The prince probably weighed half as much as he did. He couldn’t drag Merlin off the back of the horse if he tried.

“ Merlin, do something! Tell this animal to stop it!”

One would think the prince had never ridden a blasted horse before.

“Mer lin!”

This was going to be a long ride.

…

“Rule number one for this trip: No telling anyone who you are.”

“Fine.”

“Rule number two: Stick by me at all times. No wandering off. No threatening anybody. We stay together. Rule number three-”

“Seriously? How many rules are there going to be? I don’t have to obey these, you know. I’m the prince of Camelot.”

“You’re going to be the prince of that mud puddle if you don’t shut up and listen.”

“ You’re going to be - Merlin! Stop!”

…

Contrary to Arthur’s popular belief, he did not die on the way there.

…

As they entered the village, Arthur let out a deep sigh. “This dump is worse than the last place we went to.”

At the volume of his voice, Merlin cringed. “Say it louder, why don’t you?”

“ This dump-” 

“That’s not what I meant. These are nice people. They deserve some of your respect, so if you have an opinion, keep it to yourself, at least.”

“But-”

“Keep it, Arthur.”

Although Arthur muttered something under his breath that sounded suspiciously like you keep it, you smelly peasant, Merlin ignored him for the time being and nodded pleasantly at the next person who greeted him.

As more people noticed his presence, they started congregating in the streets. Even though Merlin expected there to be a little bit of queue, he realized that the more there were, the greater the chances of someone happening to recognize Arthur.

“We don’t want anyone recognizing you. Smear some mud on your face the next time you have a chance,” he said out of the corner of his mouth as he pulled Frik to a stop outside the local inn.

“Absolutely not.” Arthur finally released his constricting hold on Merlin and slid down from the horse. Once on the ground, he started rubbing his rear end.

“Just do it.” Removing his satchel from around his neck, Merlin checked to make sure all of the bottles were still intact.

For no particular reason, it had been a bumpier ride than usual.

“It’s bad enough that I had to sit on that smelly horse the whole way here. I don’t want to go around looking like a-”

Before Arthur could finish the thought, Frik flicked his tail in the prince’s face.

Arthur sputtered.

Satisfied that everything was in place, Merlin swung his satchel back over his shoulder. “Remember. Don’t go wandering off. Keep your head down at least.”

A small crowd was discreetly waiting to descend upon Merlin the second he gave them the signal, and they were probably curious about why Merlin, of all people, was chaperoning a child.

He sighed.

This was going to take a while to finish. Until then, he hoped Arthur stayed out of trouble.

…

While Merlin tended to broken hands, headaches, and the occasional heartbreak (just because Merlin could solve physical issues didn’t mean he could solve everyone’s emotional ones - goodness knows he had enough of his own), he kept an open ear for any news of King Uther’s demise.

He was not disappointed. 

Rumors of Uther’s death were flying around the inn, and the villagers took delight in rehashing the same stories over and over again as they stopped by.

“I heard he was beheaded,” one lady shared with relish as Merlin inspected a burn on her arm. “Right from the top of his horse.”

On a nearby table, Arthur had been playing with a pair of jacks, and when he heard them, he stilled.

“Really?”

Merlin didn’t bother pointing out that such a scenario was impossible. The story would continue to be repeated until someone of a more official nature stopped in that village and set the record straight. It would probably be a few days, even, before they learned who their new ruler was.

Carefully, Merlin removed the cork from a bottle of burn salve and began applying it.

“Really! Oh, Merlin, that’s cold,” she whined. “Couldn’t you figure out a way to warm it up a bit?” 

“Sorry - not without magic.”

She laughed. “You’re always such a silly goose.”

After bandaging her arm, Merlin released her, and she sailed out of the inn after sending a curious glance at Arthur.

But she didn’t seem to recognize him, at least.

In the lull that followed, Arthur abandoned whatever game he had made up and wandered over to Merlin’s table.

“I don’t feel well,” he grumbled quietly. 

“Stomach?”

Arthur nodded.

As Merlin started rummaging through his satchel for a tincture to give him, Arthur scuffed one boot against the floor. “He wasn’t beheaded,” he muttered. “It’s a stupid story.”

“Yes, it is,” Merlin agreed, pausing.

Seeming partly satisfied that at least Merlin knew, Arthur returned to his table and started listlessly rolling the jacks across it.

In the shadows, he looked sad. Less of a haughty prince. More of a lost, grieving child.

Before Merlin could wonder if he should do or say something, his next customer accosted him.

…

“A room with two beds,” Merlin requested, leaning against the counter.

Even though he’d been sitting in a chair all day, he was dead tired. It seemed like every time he returned to civilization, he forgot how exhausting being around it was in the first place.

“That’ll be five coppers,” the inn owner informed him.

Merlin stared. “Five?”

As though he were doing some great knightly deed, the other man beamed. “Special rate for you.”

“Really.”

Standing slightly off to the side, Arthur scoffed. “Five coppers? To stay in this pig-”

Merlin covered Arthur’s mouth with his hand. “I’ll take it.”

…

“It is a pigsty.”

“Shut up. I’m trying to sleep.”

“Well, it is!”

“ You’re going to be sleeping out in the pigsty if you don’t let me sleep.”

“Barbarian.”

“Prat.”

“Clod.”

“Dollophead.”

“That’s not a real word.”

“Yes, it is.”

“Then what does it mean?”

“In two words? Prince Arthur.” 

…

Despite claims of “not sleeping a wink in this smelly place,” Arthur was quite exuberant the next morning, practically bouncing off the walls.

“I’m going outside today,” he declared. “I’m tired of being stuck in this old, rotting building.”

Speaking of rotting, Merlin sneezed. He was fairly certain mold was growing on the walls because he smelled it the entire night. If his nose kept up, he was going to have to take one of his own tinctures.

But he supposed he wouldn’t be able to help people and keep an eye on Arthur at the same time. In fact, he was surprised that Arthur hadn’t run off and insulted half the town already.

“Fine,” he said. “But don’t tell anyone who you are. Try to stay out of sight of as many people as possible. If anyone asks, you’re my cousin.” In the future, he needed to remember to tell Arthur these things before they arrived.

“We look nothing alike.”

“Your mother had an affair.”

“My mother would never-” 

“Just tell them we’re related somehow and that you’ve come to live with me. Something.” The longer Arthur argued with him, the less Merlin felt like letting him do what he wanted.

Scowling, Arthur marched for the door of their room without acknowledging him.

“Hey.”

“Whatever. I’m getting food. I’m starving.”

“Don’t act like a prat.”

This was going to be a disaster.

Luckily, Merlin had plenty of experience doing damage control.

…

Carefully, the young woman placed her child into Merlin’s hands, and he sucked in a breath.

As evidenced by Arthur, he didn’t know how to interact with children. They always seemed so fragile, tiny.

Breakable.

He had a feeling that if this mother knew who he really was, she wouldn’t so willingly and trustingly give her baby to him.

“Could you do anything?” she pleaded. “I can’t get her to stop coughing.”

A simple tincture wasn’t going to do much good here, Merlin could tell through his magic. It would help, but not cure it completely.

If he used a little magic, however…

Over the wails of the baby, Merlin offered her his best smile. “Of course. Could you do me a quick favor, though?”

“Yes?”

“My cousin - his name is George - is out playing with other children in the streets. Could you go and fetch him for me? I need him to do something.”

“Of course.” Reluctantly, the mother lingered for a second longer before she turned for the door.

Merlin glanced around the inn.

Because it was the middle of the day but not quite a mealtime, fewer patrons were lingering at the tables, and they weren’t paying any attention to him anymore. 

Bowing his head, Merlin began whispering furiously, pulling on his magic.

Even though it shouldn’t have been possible, the baby started wailing even more loudly.

Interrupting the magic, he hissed, “ Shhh.”

When people started looking in his direction, he got to his feet and began pacing, trying to imitate what mothers did to calm their babies.

The magic was almost done. Just a few more words-

“What are you doing?” 

At the words, Merlin whirled around.

Glaring, Arthur stood behind him, his pants torn at the knees and his face covered in dirt from the street.

Her back turned to them, the mother of the baby was talking to someone else.

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.

“What do you want?” Arthur asked, annoyed at either Merlin or the racket the baby was making or both. “I was in the middle of a game.” 

“Nothing, sorry.”

“ Nothing?” 

Done with her conversation, the mother hurried over. “How is she?”

“She’s going to be fine. I gave her something for the cough.” Relieved that his part was done, Merlin surrendered the bundle over.

The woman started cooing and rocking the infant.

A nasty look on his face, Arthur was still standing there.

“You can go,” Merlin told him. “Sorry about that.”

“I bet you are.” Rolling his eyes, Arthur turned on his heel and stormed towards the door.

…

“I saw you,” Arthur informed him later, on their ride home from the village later that afternoon. “You’re rather stupid when it comes to hiding your magic.”

“Obviously not, since you’re the only one who apparently noticed it.”

“Only because those peasants are thick-headed numbskulls.”

Merlin sighed. “Well, thanks for the tip. I’ll be sure to keep it in mind next time.”

“Not that I think you should be practicing magic,” Arthur rushed to say, squeezing a little harder as Frik danced a little to the side when a rabbit rushed out of the grass on the side of the road. “It’s still evil. And wrong.” 

“Of course.” If magic users were sinners, Merlin was the worst of them all, he supposed, patting Frik on the neck to calm him down.

“And nasty. And wrong.”

“Right.”

“And nasty. And terrible.”

“Arthur?”

“What?”

“Shut up.”

Chapter Text

Thanks to the little expedition, Merlin realized that he needed to restock his potions. 

Normally, this was fine. He didn’t like spending five hours bent over a bubbling pot and sweating like a pig on Michaelmas Eve, but it was something he had to do.

Normally, however, he wasn’t in charge of watching Arthur and making sure he didn’t stick his nose where it didn’t belong.

The last thing Merlin wanted was for Arthur to put his finger in the wrong bucket or bit of ingredients and go screaming his head off because it burned him.

As he considered his options, he bit the inside of his cheek.

“What are you doing?” Arthur asked. “You’ve been standing there for ten minutes.” 

“I’m thinking.”

Arthur gave him a weird look as though he announced he was considered asking a unicorn for a hand in marriage. 

“It’s a strange phenomenon that occurs whenever people use their minds,” Merlin said. “I hear only a few people are capable of doing it these days.”

Although he didn’t like the idea of Arthur watching him doing a little magic, Merlin decided that he would move his operations outside.

It was bad enough being cooped up in the cabin with Arthur. He didn’t need to be cooped up with Arthur and a stench.

“What are you doing?” Arthur repeated as Merlin started pulling bottles and jars off the shelves. “Are you going to poison someone? Uncle Agravaine?”

Merlin paused. “You really don’t like this uncle of yours, do you?”

“You wouldn’t, either, if you met him. He’s evil.” 

“What makes him so evil?” Especially that Arthur was here instead of back at the castle with him.

Suddenly, Arthur became taciturn. He crossed his arms. “He just is.” 

That wasn’t very much information.

“Why?”

“That’s none of your business.” Arthur sniffed haughtily. “If I say he is, he is.”

Merlin would pry it out of him later when he wasn’t so busy.

“Here,” Merlin said as he located the second-to-last root that he needed. “Make yourself useful and take the table outside.”

“The table? Why? What’s wrong with it inside?” 

“I want it outside.”

“Why? Are you spring cleaning?”

“Is it spring?” Merlin glanced outside the door.

“Are you really that much of a dolt?”

“Are you going to stand there, or are you going to take the table out?” Merlin stood on his tiptoes and reached for the highest shelf. He couldn’t find the blasted comfrey root.

“It’s heavy,” Arthur whined. “Can’t you do it?”

“I asked you to. Hurry up.”

Arthur spent another thirty seconds whining about how unfair it was that Merlin expected him, of all people, to do manual labor before he actually started moving the table.

While he was busy figuring out how he was going to fit it through the door, Merlin grabbed one of the chairs and pushed it over to the wall so he could stand on it.

Aha. There. He knew the comfrey was on the top one. He would have to remember to reorganize the shelves one of these days, when he wasn’t too busy playing babysitter.

After inspecting the comfrey bottle, he turned to hop down off the chair and misjudged how much space he had on the small ledge.

He flailed, tried to grab onto the shelf on the wall and missed by a mile.

Dropping the glass bottle, he fell.

At the same time he hit the floorboards of the cabin, the bottle shattered.

“Merlin?”

All of the air was knocked out of him.

For a moment, he wasn’t sure what breathing was. Then, Arthur’s face appeared about him, and he wheezed.

“What did you do?” 

“It’s what I didn’t do,” Merlin groaned, rolling over so he could push himself back to his feet.

Fantastic. The floor was a mess - perfectly good comfrey was scattered about and mixed with the dirt that Merlin was always meaning to sweep out but never got around to, and glass shards were embedded in the wooden boards.

It was going to take him forever to find all of them and pull them out.

“Get a broom,” Merlin ordered since Arthur was just standing around.

“You don’t have a broom,” Arthur pointed out.

Oh. That was right. Merlin normally just - you know what, Merlin didn’t normally sweep in here.

“Well, find one.”

“We’re in the middle of the woods.”

Merlin stood and dusted his palms off.

Bad idea. They were covered in tiny flecks of glass already and were stinging. 

Wonderful.

He sighed.

At least, he supposed, Arthur had gotten the table outside without much trouble - from the way he had acted, one would have thought that Merlin had asked him to transport the grinding stone of a wheat mill.

Wait a minute. Was it missing a leg?

…

Creepily, Arthur watched as Merlin used a pair of tweezers to pull the tiny glass pieces out of his hand on the table outside where he could see what he was doing.

“Why don’t you just use magic?” he quizzed.

“Believe it or not, this is easier.” If Merlin tried magic, he probably would have ripped the bones and the veins out of his hand along with glass, too.

“You made a huge mess back in there,” Arthur informed him.

“Thanks.”

And now half the day was gone with less than half of what he wanted to get done actually done.

“I’m hungry.”

Arthur was always hungry. Why didn’t he just inform Merlin when he was full since that seemed to be the rarer occurrence?

“There’s some bread inside.”

“When did you make bread?”

“While you were sleeping. Didn’t you notice the smell?” Squinting, Merlin held his hand up to his face to see if all the pieces were indeed out like he thought they were. While he did that, Arthur got up and wandered back into the house to find the bread.

“Watch out for the glass!” Merlin yelled after him even though it probably couldn’t get through Arthur’s boots.

A few seconds later, Arthur came wandering out of the cabin again, a substantial piece of bread in his hand. “This tastes like sand.”

Merlin gritted his teeth. He didn’t normally - ever, really - make bread because he either forgot he’d baked it or wasn’t around enough to finish it off.

Or plain wasn’t hungry.

So his bread-making skills may have been a little rusty.

“Did you put dirt in this or something?” Arthur asked through a mouth full of the bread he didn’t apparently like. 

Merlin was going to kidnap the royal manners tutor one of these days.

“Speaking of dirt-” Merlin stood. “I’ve got things I need to do. How about you find a fir branch or something and sweep out the cabin while I’m busy?”

While he chewed, Arthur thought about it for a minute. “No.”

“Oh, I’m sorry. You thought that was a question. Your Highness, find a branch and sweep out the cabin.”

“You’re bossier than Morgana,” Arthur grumbled as he inspected what was left of his piece of bread.

“Morgana?”

“My sister.” Arthur scrunched up his nose. “Well, not really my sister. She comes to visit sometimes. She’s only six, but she’s bossier than a…than a donkey.”

Ah. He was relieved to hear that Uther didn’t actually have a second child because he didn’t know what he would do with that kind of information.

Merlin went back to the cabin to retrieve what ingredients he hadn’t destroyed and ferried them back out to the table. Despite the mess, he was still going to get as much done as possible without the comfrey root and while Arthur was busy sweeping out the cabin like he asked.

At least, hypothetically.

He was still standing off to the side, yet another piece of bread in hand, watching Merlin work as though this were some kind of circus.

Merlin was going to assume that he was just finishing his food before getting to work.

But if he wasn’t sweeping the cabin out within the next ten minutes, so help him magic-

Once all the ingredients were haphazardly aligned on the table, Merlin fetched his mortar and pestle (carefully hidden away in his trunk) and brought it out along with a stack of bowls that Arthur hadn’t dirtied with all the eating he had been doing.

Another disadvantage of living with a child - it seemed like dirty dishes were always piling up left and right. He was going to have to take a haul to the creek to clean them out soon.

Just another thing to look forward to.

Merlin grabbed a jar of root, uncorked it, and dumped some into the mortar.

Arthur said something, but the words were intelligible.

“What?”

After chewing for a few seconds, he swallowed. “What’s that for? Poison?”

Merlin looked down at it. If he wanted to, he could add a different set of ingredients and make some poison. But Merlin already had a bottle or two of that stashed where Arthur (hopefully) couldn’t find it. 

Not that Arthur needed to know that.

“A salve.”

“Oh.” Arthur sounded disappointed. His second piece of bread demolished, he started back for the cabin.

“You’d better be going in there to sweep,” Merlin warned him as he started grinding up the root.

“I don’t want to sweep.”

“We’ve all got to do things we don’t want to do.”

“You sound like an old lady.”

“I am an old lady,” Merlin snipped back at him. “Now sweep out the cabin.”

It felt a little hypocritical to ask Arthur to do something he didn’t want to do himself, but Arthur was practically eating him out of house and home.

And Merlin never claimed to not be a hypocrite.

Arthur reversed direction and started heading around to the back. “Going to go find a branch,” he informed Merlin loudly and sourly on the way. “Want to follow me and make sure I don’t run off?”

“Har har.” Now the prince was just being pedantic.

For ten seconds, Arthur made loud, exaggerated noises, but he quit whenever Merlin didn’t pay him any attention.

As soon as he was out of sight behind the cabin, Merlin breathed out a sigh of relief.

Maybe he could get some work done, now. He was hoping to at least have a few of his salves and things restored by the time the sun went down. It was going to be a pain to lug everything back into the cabin and back out again in the morning.

For the next couple of hours, Merlin was absorbed by the work. He barely noticed when a deer stopped at the edge of the cabin’s clearing to see who it belonged to and whether or not there was anything worth eating.

A few minutes later, it left.

At some point, a branch cracked, and Arthur looked up.

Now that he thought about it, he hadn’t heard dirt, comfrey bits, and glass shards flying out the door like he should have.

“Arthur?” he called, exchanging the bowl he was holding for some of his finished work. “Are you in there?”

He took the bottles with him to the cabin. 

The mess was still on the floor, and Arthur was nowhere to be soon.

Alarm shot through him.

Somehow, he hadn’t been thinking about Arthur the entire time he was working.

When was the last time he had seen him?

Where had he gone?

Still holding the glass bottles, he went outside and yelled, “ Arthur!” 

Aside from the angry chattering of a squirrel, the excited titter of birds, and what sounded like a moose, he received no answer.

Oh, shoot.

Shoot. 

That reprobate rascal had run off.

In the middle of a foreign forest.

With cults and monsters and things.

Swearing, Merlin dumped the bottles on the tables and ran to the back of the cabin.

It would be just like the prince to have been hiding back there the whole time with the sole purpose of giving Merlin a heart attack.

But he wasn’t there, either.

Shoot. 

If that cult had gotten their hands on Arthur…

If anybody else had gotten their hands on him…

If nobody had gotten their hands on him, Merlin was going to kill him.

“Arthur!” he yelled, cupping his hands around his mouth.

Which way has he gone? Merlin’s magic wasn’t the tracking sort, and Merlin didn’t know how long he had been gone. He could have been anywhere at that point. For all Merlin knew, he was halfway back to Camelot and his goose-feather bed.

“ Arthur!” 

Since standing around and shouting wasn’t going to bring him back, Merlin headed off in one direction, hoping it was the one that Arthur had picked.

For crying out loud, he fumed as he scanned the woods for any sign of a mop of blonde hair. All he’d done was ask Arthur to sweep out a cabin. It wasn’t as though he’d asked Arthur for a jar of his blood or to muck out a horse stable or something.

Just sweep out the cabin. 

Was this really worth running away over?

Was this even running away in the first place since Arthur didn’t technically have to say?

A small part in the back of his mind reminded him that he had been as mischievous and disobedient once and caused his mother a great deal of grief even though he wanted to deny it. 

But that didn’t make it any less infuriating. 

“Arthur!”

If he were Arthur, where would he go?

Since he couldn’t come up with a good reason for that, Merlin kept on plowing for the woods, yelling out Arthur’s name and startling all the wildlife in a ten-mile circumference.

Merlin was so worried about finding Arthur before the cult did that he was probably putting a target sign on his back.

Blast it. 

Why did Arthur have to do this to him?

If he found him again, he was never going to take his eyes off the prat for a single minute. 

See how he liked that. 

“Arthur! Answer me, blast it!”

For a moment, Merlin stopped to regain a sense of where he was. Even though the woods was his “realm,” so to speak, he didn’t often venture out into some areas, and this was one of those spots.

Of course Arthur had to go in that direction.

If he was there. He was clever and sneaky enough to start out one way, double back, and go the other.

Why were children like this? 

All right, he thought. He could do this. He was a warlock. It was perfectly within his capabilities to find one twelve-year-old child in the middle of the woods.

As he breathed in to let out a sigh, a flash of color caught his eye through the foliage.

It looked too bright to be Arthur’s hair or even his clothes, but Arthur had been wearing his sword the last time Merlin had seen him.

Grimly, Merlin smiled to himself and started marching in that direction.

Once he found the prat, Merlin was going to give him a piece of his mind.

As he pushed through the leaves, however, he saw that it wasn’t moving around like a child’s sword being swung back and forth and that it was much larger than Arthur’s blade. Pushing past the last tree, he emerged from a line of trees into a small clearing. 

Oh.

It wasn’t Arthur. It was a unicorn.

Merlin’s breath caught in his throat.

It was the most beautiful creature that Merlin had ever seen - so much so that it did not look as though it belonged in the middle of that woods, as though it could have been caught through Merlin as he crashed through the underbrush in search of Arthur.

It was grazing, but when Merlin took a step forward, careful to not crack any twigs underfoot, it raised its head to stare at him.

Its eyes were deep and ancient, and Merlin found something familiar in them.

“Hullo,” he whispered, placing another foot forward. “Where did you come from?”

Unicorns did not usually show up at his doorstep for a bit of grass.

Nickering, it took a hesitant step towards him and pawed the ground.

It was stunning. In the sunlight that fell through the cracks in the leaves of the trees overhead, its coat and horn shimmered. 

It shook its mane and nickered again.

“Hullo,” Merlin repeated.

He may have been a warlock, but he found himself quite wordless in the presence of this ethereal piece of magic.

Holding out a hand, Merlin closed the gap between them.

It was warm - almost like a dragon, but a kinder sort of heat. It tossed its head, but it did not dislodge Merlin’s hand.

In awe, Merlin breathed out.

Since it didn’t seem in a hurry to be going anywhere, he started petting it.

“Ha!” 

In surprise, Merlin jerked around.

Arthur, whom he had entirely forgotten about once he laid eyes on the unicorn, was running towards them.

Well, it was about time his royal highness showed up, Merlin thought sourly.

“Do you know-” he started to give Arthur a piece of his mind.

As he approached, Arthur did not slow down. If anything, he was picking up speed, and Merlin saw that he was wielding his sword.

The unicorn screamed in fear.

Instinctively, Merlin reacted.

His hand shot out, and the sword went flying from Arthur’s hand in the opposite direction.

The prince stumbled.

Before he could crash to the ground, Merlin caught him by the arms.

Behind him, the unicorn made a thudding noise - it must have reared - and by the time Merlin turned around to check on it, it was disappearing into the trees. The last Merlin saw of it was the silver streak of its tail and a sparkle of the bottom of a hoof.

“That was a close-” Arthur was saying.

Merlin rounded on him. “Do you know what you almost did?” he yelled. “Do you know what you could have done?”

Arthur frowned. “I stopped it from-”

“That was a unicorn!” 

“Exactly! I don’t understand what you’re blubbering about. I kept it from mauling you. You ought to thank me.”

Blubbering? When Merlin released Arthur and wiped his face, he found that tears were running down his cheeks.

“There’s no reason to cry,” Arthur groused in a mocking tone, and a venerated fury ran through Merlin.

How dare Arthur ridicule that with which he was unfamiliar.

“Go back to the cabin,” he ordered. 

“Why? I don’t see-”

“ Arthur. Go back.”

With a nasty glare, Arthur turned around and started off in the right direction, and a second later, Merlin followed him after sending one last wistful glance over his shoulder at the spot the unicorn had disappeared.

He had kept it from happening, hadn’t he? And that was a good thing. 

But Merlin found that he could not stop his hands from shaking.

Chapter Text

“I don’t see what your problem is.”

Arms crossed, Arthur slouched back in the chair, which Merlin had dragged outside so he could sit in it.

“Do you know what almost happened?” Merlin asked, trying to keep his voice calm.

He was not going to explode, he was not going to explode, he was not going to explode-

“Yes.” Confidently, Arthur raised his chin. 

“Tell me.”

“I tried to save your life.”

“Be more specific.”

“I tried to save your life by protecting you from the unicorn.”

“By almost killing it.” 

“I wasn’t even that close. You stopped me before I could reach it!” Angrily, Arthur kicked one boot into the mud. “And you call me ungrateful.”

Ungrateful?

Ungrateful? 

“Do you remember what I said when I allowed you to stay here?”

“You called me a prat.”

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose. He was really going to have to drag this conversation out, wasn’t he? “The rules.”

Continuing to kick at the dirt with his boot, Arthur scrunched up his nose and grabbed the seat of the chair. “The rules? I don’t remember.”

“Try.” Merlin wasn’t going to spell everything out for him. 

“Don’t touch your stuff.”

“Good. What else?”

“Uh…” Arthur looked at anywhere else but Merlin.

“Rule number four.”

Arthur sighed. “I don’t remember.” 

The way he said it, Merlin was the stupid one.

“No attempts to maim, dismember, disembowel, decapitate, or permanently disable anyone or anything.”

“Right. That .” Squirming in his seat, Arthur looked around the edge of the clearing.

Inwardly, Merlin was screaming. He needed Arthur to pay attention and understand the scene with the unicorn, but he was treating this like Merlin was some sort of bother making a big fuss out of nothing.

To him, the life of that unicorn meant nothing.

“Do you know what happens when you kill a unicorn?” Merlin asked, running a hand through his hair.

“There’s less magic in the world.”

Should Merlin have been touched that Arthur would rather have killed the unicorn than him?

He breathed in to calm himself. 

“There’s a curse,” he explained. “If you kill a unicorn, you bring a curse on the land.”

That got Arthur’s attention.

“That’s a nanny’s tale,” Arthur scoffed accusingly. “I’m not a baby.”

Well, he was sure acting like one. 

“The crops start dying. The grain starts rotting. The water everywhere turns into sand.”

“You’re making things up.”

“Oh, would you like me to go find the unicorn again so you can kill it and test the theory?” Merlin snapped. “The point is, you can’t go around killing innocent animals just because they’re related to magic. I made a rule for a reason, and I expect you to follow it.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “You’re one to talk. You break the rules all of the time.”

He was not going to explode. 

If he had been alive and in the same situation, Uther would have yelled at Arthur, but Merlin was not he.

Merlin was going to be calm even if it killed him. 

“That’s different.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Yes, it is. Magic is…” Merlin searched around for the right word.

“Illegal. My father would have you beheaded and burned at the pyre for treason.”

Of all things, Merlin did not need that reminder when he could see fire when he closed his eyes at night.

The hilarious (if it could be called that) thing was that Merlin was technically not breaking the law. Since he was born in Ealdor, he held no loyalty to Uther or the throne of Camelot. 

But he tried another point. 

“Why am I breaking the rules?”

“Because you’re Merlin.”

Merlin barked a laugh. “If I didn’t break the rules, I would be dead. If you break the rules, you end up dead. I didn’t tell you to use your sword just to be mean. There are things in the woods that have consequences if you mess with them.”

On top of that, Uther had been a bloodthirsty, unreasonable tyrant who killed innocent men, women, and children, and Merlin’s illegal acts were only trying to stop him.

“I thought you told me I couldn’t use my sword because you were afraid I was going to stab you in the back,” Arthur accused.

So he did remember it.

“That too. The point is…” Merlin paused.

He didn’t know where he was going with this or if any of it was making sense. 

“What if I decide that I need to break the rules, then?” Arthur challenged, leaning back in the chair. 

Merlin was too old for this sort of thing. “Arthur, I have magic. If the unicorn was going to kill me, I would be able to stop it by myself.”

Arthur blinked. “Oh. I forgot.”

He forgot -

He’d forgotten Merlin had magic? 

If Merlin had not been as tired as he was, he would have started laughing.

“As long as you’re staying here, it’s my job to protect you, not the other way around. You don’t have to do anything.”

Frowning, Arthur leaned forward in his chair. “I’m going to be a knight of Camelot. If I don’t-”

“Key phrase: going to be. You’re ten years old.”

“Twelve,” Arthur corrected.

“Right. Twelve.” He needed to remember that. “You’re twelve. You’re not a knight yet. You’re a kid. Do you know what I did when I was twelve years old?”

“Brewed potions and chanted spells?” Arthur guessed.

“I caught frogs and hid them in my mother’s bed.”

Arthur’s jaw dropped. “No way.” 

“And stole carrot’s from the neighbor’s garden.”

His mother had tanned his hide for that one. Even though she’d made him return them and apologize, the neighbor had never quite forgiven Merlin.

Not that his opinions of Merlin were high to begin with.

“You should be out doing things like that.” Realizing his mistake, he backtracked. “I mean that you should be having fun. Not that you don’t have any responsibilities or things you have to do. Or that you should be hiding frogs in my bed. But you don’t have to worry about keeping me alive.”

Or killing magic.

But that was a problem he was still working on that probably wouldn’t be fixed soon. 

“Don’t worry about me,” Merlin repeated (for good measure, since sometimes children like Arthur needed things more than once, he was beginning to find). “And no killing things without asking me if they’re dangerous first. Understand?”

“But what if you’re not around?”

Merlin blew out a sigh. “If it’s attacking you, you kill it. If it’s not, you leave it alone and just leave. Got it?”

“Yes.”

Arthur didn’t sound too happy with this conclusion, but Merlin was satisfied that he was going to pay attention and not try to kill any more unicorns for at least another week.

And then he would have to start worrying about it again.

If he had known how stressful a child was going to be, he would have thought twice before jumping into it.

But at least the unicorn was safe for now - he didn’t think it would show up again near the cabin, though, not after the scare it had been given.

“Come on. Let’s get this furniture back into the house before nightfall.”

Grumbling, Arthur hopped off his chair and picked it up. Like some kind of graveyard creature, he began shuffling towards the house in a manner that would have made Merlin laugh if not for the seriousness of the afternoon.

With a tinge of regret, Merlin started collecting his bottles from the top of the table.

…

Once he’d gotten both the cabin swept out (courtesy of His Highness) and his potions restocked, Merlin made a trip to another village, Arthur in tow.

He was getting a little nervous. Although the first excursion had gone off without a hitch, the rumors around Uther’s death were starting to spread further from Camelot, and Merlin was worried that someone was going to recognize him.

He couldn’t tell the prince to keep his hood up forever, but he also couldn’t let Arthur be recognized.

If Agravaine were worried about the fate of his nephew, he would start searching to bring the prince home.

If Agravaine were also worried about the fate of his nephew, he could also start searching to kill Arthur.

Either way, trouble for Merlin.

Although he couldn’t keep risking someone connecting the blond following Merlin around to the blond prince, he couldn’t stop doing what he was doing, either.

After listening to a round of gossip in the tavern, Merlin cut the trip short.

“Why?” Arthur pestered him as they walked down the road, giving the horse a break. “We could have stayed. There were more people to heal.”

“I’ve got a bad feeling in my gut. I think we should head elsewhere for the fall and winter.”

“You’ve got to be kidding. Isn’t the cabin your home?”

“Yes.”

“But if you already live in a shack, where on earth are we going to go?” Arthur demanded. “It can’t get any worse.”

“Bold of you to assume I don’t have two shacks.”

A distance down the road, Merlin thought he saw a shape moving towards them. Although it could have been anyone, Merlin preferred not to run into anyone. If Agravaine were anything like Uther, it was best to stay under the radar.

“Come on,” he said, tugging on Frik’s lead. “Let’s go off into the woods a bit.”

“Why?”

“Because I said so.”

“Then you go off into the woods a bit.”

Merlin dragged Frik and Arthur by the back of his collar into the woods. Cursing, the prince swatted at him, but Merlin ignored his flailing arms.

The figure drew nearer, and Merlin peered out from behind the leaves.

A knight on a horse. Camelot’s rich red fluttered behind him. A cape.

How delightful.

“Let go of-”

To keep him from yelling, Merlin put his hand over Arthur’s mouth. 

The horse was almost past them.

Arthur licked Merlin’s hand.

Merlin swore.

“Get your filthy hand out of my mouth you peasant-”

The horse stopped.

“Oh, now look what you’ve done,” Merlin muttered, dropping Frik’s reins. “Duck!”

“What? What does waterfowl- ”

Peering into the woods, the knight started to dismount from his horse. After turning back for a brief second to mutter something at the beast, he marched forward and then stopped five feet from the edge of the woods.

“Come out,” he ordered. “I heard you. There is no reason to hide.”

In other words, he was going to get in Merlin’s business if he continued to hide. Honestly, couldn’t a peasant skulk around in the woods without being bothered these days?

But before Arthur could do something stupid, he pushed through the branches and stepped out of the trees.

The knight looked him up and down.

“What’s your business?” he demanded.

“Skulking around in the woods.”

The knight narrowed his eyes, and Merlin resisted the urge to scowl. “Hunting for berries,” he added. “Is that a crime?”

He was probably going to be cursing himself for his loose tongue later. This was the sort of thing that had gotten him into worse trouble in the past, and if there was anyone Merlin should have been polite to, it was one of Uther’s -although he supposed it was Agravaine’s, now - men.

“Perhaps. Perhaps not.”

No wonder this person was a knight. He was a pompous idiot like the royal family.

“Have you seen a boy?” the knight asked, still looking at Merlin with his nose upturned as though he were a skunk.

“What boy?”

Faintly, Merlin heard a squeak from the woods.

If Arthur decided to play hero or get rescue, Merlin was going to trip him on his way to glory, so help him-

“Blonde. Short. Around twelve years old and dressed in fine clothes.”

Merlin shook his head. “No, sorry.”

As though Merlin were some sort of liar, the knight stared at Merlin for a few more seconds before shrugging. “If you happen to come across such a child that fits the description, a handsome reward is being offered by Lord Agravaine.”

“Oh?” Merlin raised an eyebrow.

“Yes. A hundred gold coins.”

Another squeaking noise. 

To cover it up, Merlin coughed dramatically into his shirt sleeve.

The knight took a step back. “Are you ill?” he demanded.

“No, no - I’ve just got a bit of a cold, and-”

Obviously done with him, the knight gave him a last look and turned back to his horse.

As he swung up onto the saddle, Merlin called after him, “I’ll let you know if I see a child with that description!”

Kicking his heels into his horse’s stomach, the knight rode off.

Behind Merlin, the leaves rustled, and Arthur’s head poked out of the forest.

“Your horse bit me!” he hissed. “On the hand!”

“You shouldn’t have been touching him.”

“I wasn’t!”

Was he really complaining about Frik? “Did you hear what that man said?”

“Of course I did. I’m not a deaf idiot like you are. A hundred gold coins,” Arthur scoffed, scowling. “I’m worth far more than a hundred gold coins.” 

“That’s what you’re concerned about?”

“I am the prince. I would make it at least two hundred. Maybe even three-”

Unbelievable.

This was a problem. This was a major problem. They were looking for Arthur after all, and Merlin couldn’t keep toting him around with the hope that no one was going to notice him.

Normally, he would have just turned to magic to change up Arthur’s appearance a little, but he had a feeling that the prat wasn’t going to want anything to do with it.

Of course, there weren’t any mirrors around, so it wasn’t like he would notice if Merlin slipped something in his mush…

It was harmless - Merlin had done it to himself before with no lasting side effects, so it wouldn’t hurt Arthur a bit.

If his hair were black instead of blonde, he would almost look like Merlin, too.

“Are you even listening to me?” Arthur demanded. “Or have you really gone deaf as well as daft?”

“With the racket you’re making, how could I not listen to you?”

Burrowing back into the woods to make sure Frik was still waiting for them, Merlin concocted a plan.

Chapter Text

“You’re messing with those smelly bottles again?” Arthur asked in dismay when Merlin requested his help ferrying the furniture out of the cabin once more.

“Yes. You can either help me or stop complaining about it.”

As soon as the words were out of his mouth, Merlin regretted them because the last thing he needed was Arthur watching over his shoulder while he used a little magic. And Arthur looked as though he were seriously considering it.

“What exactly are you making?” Arthur peered at Merlin’s stuff.

“I’m making…potions.”

“What kind of potions?”

“ ... Good ones.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “For what, exactly?”

The second to last thing Merlin was going to do was tell Arthur it would permanently change the color of his hair until Merlin used his magic to reverse it. He’d considered dye, but since getting Arthur to do anything like that was akin to pulling teeth from a cat (impossible), he’d decided against that course of action. Arthur was probably too prideful of being a Pendragon to alter his looks, anyway. This was simple and durable.

“For hair.”

“Hair?” Arthur chortled.

Well, it was the truth. 

At least the concept of creating a hair tonic was enough to cause Arthur to lose interest in the project, leaving Merlin to mess around by himself.

“Run off again, and you’re staying inside for a week!” Merlin yelled after him just in case he tried to pull something else again.

Arthur did not acknowledge it.

After eyeing him one last time, Merlin turned to the table and began working.

Although it had been many years since Merlin had created something for himself to alter his appearance, he remembered what ingredients to use and what words to say. When the potion was done, he breathed a sigh of relief.

Now. How to get the prat to ingest it.

He could still ask him, but he was sure that Arthur would say no after the off-hand comments Merlin had made about poisoning princes. No, that wouldn’t do - even if Arthur was eating everything Merlin cooked already.

At the duality, Merlin snorted. He could always trust a Pendragon to not make sense.

Wait a minute.

Food. 

Arthur gobbled it up without a second thought. All Merlin had to do was throw the potion into a pot of beans or something, and he wouldn’t know the difference.

It was perfect.

Arthur wouldn’t know, and Merlin wouldn’t have to worry about a random soldier from Camelot picking him out.

He was going to find his cooking pot and a jar of beans.

…

“What is this?” Arthur gagged. “Tar?”

“You haven’t even eaten it,” Merlin pointed out. “You have to eat it before you pass judgment.”

Arthur pushed the bowl away. “I’m not eating that.”

“Well, then, you can go to bed.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “Bed? At this hour?”

“Or you could eat the soup. There are beans in it.”

“So? I don’t like beans.” But Arthur pulled the bowl back towards himself.

It was taking quite a bit of Merlin’s willpower not to hurry the process up by shoving it down his throat. He wanted it over and done with.

And, so help him, he wasn’t going to sink as low as trying to bribe a twelve year old in his own house.

Peering down into the bowl, Arthur moved his spoon around.

Merlin was not going to say a thing. 

Finally, Arthur raised the spoon to his mouth. When it was under his nose, he started to gag again dramatically.

“If you throw up all over the table, you’re cleaning it up,” Merlin warned him.

After sending him a scowl, Arthur closed his mouth around the spoon.

Expectantly, Merlin watched for any sign that the potion was working.

Arthur swallowed. “What did you put in this?”

Merlin froze.

“It tastes weird. Grass?”

“Beans.”

“What kind of beans?”

“They were green ones”

“They’re black now.”

“That’s because they’re cooked.”

“Were they magic beans like Jack and the beanstalk?” While he asked the questions, he took another spoonful of the soup, and Merlin breathed a little more easily.

“I thought you didn’t believe in old wives’ tales.”

“That isn’t an old wives’ tale.”

“Yes, it is.”

“No, it isn’t.”

“Eat your soup.”

“It tastes weird,” Arthur protested, but he took another bite.

Thank goodness. It was going off without a hitch.

…

While Arthur snored and snorted away, Merlin watched as his hair changed from blonde to black in the light of the dying embers in the hearth.

Satisfied that nothing had gone amiss, he rolled over to face the other wall.

“Merlin,” the voice from nights ago echoed in his mind.

“Shut up.”

He buried his head under the pillow.

…

Upon waking the next morning, Merlin discovered that Arthur’s hair was as black as his, and he didn’t know whether to be relieved that it had worked or horrified that it had worked.

It was weird.

Really weird.

It made Arthur look more like a relative of Merlin’s than some random child he’d kidnapped. Which was the point in the first place.

It was just weird to actually see in the morning light.

Arthur sat up, stretched, adn yawned. Then, he caught sight of Merlin staring at him. “What’s wrong with you?” 

“Nothing. Nothing, just tired. Didn’t sleep well.” He’d heard that blasted voice once, and then his mind had turned it over a thousand times.

“Probably because you were snoring louder than a bear.”

Merlin ignored him in favor of finding something to eat. As he poked around, he discovered that he was short on bread, but he knew for certain that he’d just made some.

Wonderful. He hated rolling out the dough. It always ended up sticking to his fingers, and he could never get it off without scraping his skin off with it, too. When he’d watched Hunith do it, she’d managed to keep it under control, but Merlin hadn’t figured out her secret or inherited her talent in recreating it.

At the memory of his mother’s bread, Merlin felt a pang of homesickness.

Even though there wasn’t a home there anymore.

“My head itches,” Arthur complained.

Merlin whirled around. “What?”

“My head itches.” Arthur was scratching with both hands.

“It must be lice or something.”

“ Lice? Lice?” Arthur shrieked.

Merlin had a feeling that he was going to regret saying that.

“I don’t have lice like some sort of backwater peasant!” My hair and my head are just fine!” 

“Are you sure about that?” Merlin muttered.

“What was that?”

“I said I’m not sure about it. It’s probably fine. Nothing to worry about. If you’re that concerned, you can take a bath.”

“A bath?” Arthur echoed faintly. “With soap?”

“No, I was thinking mud.”

“Really?”

“No.”

“Oh…”

Because of their nice little conversation, Merlin had entirely forgotten what he was doing. He stared at his stove.

“Where’s your wash tub?”

“What?”

“Your wash tub. So I can take a bath,”

“Oh. I don’t have a wash tub.” Food, right, that was what he had been doing. After breakfast, he would have to get a head start on a bath of dough for bread so he could just get it over with, and then-

“You don’t have a tub? What on earth do you bathe in, then? You do bathe, right?”

With every question, Arthur’s voice grew more anxious, and Merlin didn’t know whether to laugh or pity him when he delivered the news.

“There’s a river nearby.”

“What’s that got to do with-” Arthur’s eyes widened. “You’re lying.”

“‘Fraid not. It’s either the river or remaining as you are, lice and all. Have your pick.”

Merlin was not at all surprised when Arthur asked, “Where is it?”

(He supposed it had been a while since he’d given his own hair a thorough rinse. It wouldn’t hurt.)

…

“You do know how to swim, right?”

The river was deep enough that Merlin wasn’t too concerned about the prince drowning - as long as he could do at least that.

“Of course I do.”

“Good. Right, then. I’ll be upstream behind those trees. Don’t get killed or kill anything yourself.”

“ Up stream?” Arthur took the bar of soap from Merlin.

“Yes, upstream. The water’s rougher up there.” And far be it from Arthur to crack his head open while Merlin wasn't there.

“Oh. All right. I suppose it’s good enough.”

Merlin rolled his eyes and headed in that direction. It was going to be nice to have a solid ten minutes to himself where he knew what Arthur was doing and didn’t have to worry about him dying or hacking up a unicorn.

A beautiful, blissful ten minutes. 

He looked back. The copse of trees blocked where he had been standing before.

The water was cold enough to make Merlin hesitate but not deter him completely. For ten minutes, he swam around, and then he scrubbed as much dirt off himself as he could.

Somewhere on the bank, a bird twittered.

It was actually a fairly nice day, Merlin realized. He couldn’t remember the last time that he’d actually stopped to notice.

But he wasn’t going to stop for too long.

After deciding that he was clean enough, he hauled himself out of the river and put his clothes back on.

Now. That had been at least fifteen minutes, and he couldn’t imagine that a boy Arthur’s age was going to spend that long on a bath. 

A bad feeling stole over Merlin.

Something was wrong.

No, he was just being paranoid like an aged grandmother. If something were wrong, Arthur would have made a ruckus loud enough to raise the dead.

Merlin winced. Bad description.

And his gut was rarely wrong about these things.

For a second, he hesitated, but then he gave into the nagging feeling.

Just in case Arthur was trying to play a prank on him, Merlin snuck through the trees in a wide circle, but Arthur wasn’t among them in ambush. Merlin emerged from the branches.

Arthur was still in the river.

As Merlin was about to turn around and go enjoy the rest of his “free time,” he noticed that Arthur wasn’t the only person in the water. There was a girl, and she was drowning him.

There was a girl, and she was drowning him.

Shoot.

Merlin sprinted forwards.

(He didn’t know who she was, what she was-)

He plunged into the water.

(He didn’t know how long Arthur had been under, how much longer he had left, if he was even still alive-)

Magic coursed up in, and words flew out of his mouth.

High and shrill, the girl screamed.

Arthur.

Merlin would not let her kill him.

The girl tried to fight back with her own, but Merlin was who he was, and she didn’t stand a chance, really. 

Once she was gone, he hauled Arthur, who was still wearing his now-soaking and heavy clothes, up and dragged him towards the shore. 

Please be alive, he begged. Please don’t be dead. 

He couldn’t bury someone else, not again.

As soon as Merlin dropped Arthur to the ground, the boy rolled over, sputtering, gagging, and cursing.

Thank goodness. 

Water dripping off his hair, Merlin leaned forward, panting hard.

Although Merlin would have taken at least a few minutes to recuperate himself, Arthur rolled over and sat up, spitting out more water. “What-” he tried to start.

“Get all the water out first,” Merlin advised, awkwardly patting him on the back.

Arthur shook his arms, but it didn’t do much good at drying off his shirt. Once he could breathe properly, he started again. “What was that?”

“I don't know. Could have been nixie. Or a sidhe. What happened?”

A dazed glaze to his eyes, Arthur frowned. “I-I don’t know. There was singing.” He looked down at his clothes. “Lots of singing.” He raised his head again. “You killed her.”

“Yes.” Merlin bit his tongue to keep himself from making a comment.

Arthur looked kind of bewildered, and he was starting to shiver already.

“Let’s get you home so you can warm up,” Merlin said because he was not going to let Arthur die of cold after saving him from a watery grave.

“All right,” Arthur agreed. He let Merlin help him to his feet.

So much for not getting killed, Merlin thought. That was what he got for taking his eyes off Arthur for fifteen minutes - he was never going to trust silence again - and on top of that-

“Did you ever get around to taking that bath?”

For a minute, Arthur thought about it. “No.”

Merlin supposed he shouldn’t look a gift horse in the mouth.

…

While Merlin tried to beat some vegetables and water into submission with a spoon over the stove, Arthur sat in front of the fire on Merlin’s chair, wrapped in one of Merlin’s blankets.

Even though Merlin was still flustered, Arthur was coming out of the stupor that he had been in. He started chattering about how great he had been, how he was this close to giving that whatever-it-was what she deserved.

Merlin breathed at least a few sighs of relief.

…

Thunder rolled, and a steady rain thrummed against the roof of the cabin.

When Merlin cracked an eye open to glare at it, he discovered that not a single leak was in sight.

Hm, he thought. Perhaps it would be a good day.

…

“I’m so bored I would almost read a book.”

“I’m sure your tutor would be delighted to hear that,” Merlin remarked dryly as he mended a hole in one of Arthur’s shirts by the fire.

One of his new shirts. That Merlin had paid for.

“I want something to do.” Arthur plopped down on Merlin’s bed and tried to bounce up and down. “Your bed isn’t very comfortable.”

“Hm. Noted.” It had been there when Merlin first stumbled across and decided to occupy the cabin. He hadn’t given it much thought since.

“The floor isn’t very comfortable, either.”

“Fine some pine branches or something, then.”

“It’s raining.”

“Sharpen your sword.”

“That’s what servants are for.”

“How unfortunate that none seem to be around right now.” The hole was almost finished, and the stitches weren’t half-bad for once. Since he was on a roll, he was going to start on his socks while he was at it. He could never keep up with those.

“ Merlin,” Arthur sang in what had to be one of the most prattish, annoying tones Merlin had ever heard.

“Can’t you entertain yourself?” he asked as he used his vegetable knife to cut the thread.

Not too bad if he did say so himself.

“No.”

Merlin sighed.

Hunith had been good at coming up with games on days like this, when it was too wet, muddy, and rainy to head outside to play and invent things by himself.

But he couldn’t remember any of them now because he was too busy thinking about her. 

“Fine,” Arthur huffed. “I’ll come up with something myself since you’re too simple.”

Was he supposed to be relieved or offended?

While Arthur finally busied himself, Merlin bent down, pulled off his sock, and turned it inside out. As he threaded the needle anew, he glanced up.

By the hilt, Arthur was holding his sword blade tip towards the ceiling and the flat of it in front of his nose.

Was he posing dramatically or something for a reason?

Without warning, Arthur dropped the sword to the floor.

Needle, thread, and sock went flying as Merlin leaped to his feet. “Watch it! You could have cut off your-”

“ What did you do?” 

What? Merlin hadn’t done anything. He couldn’t understand the sudden change in attitude or why Arthur was glaring at him.

“What did I do?” he echoed.

“My hair!” Arthur yelled. “I saw my reflection in my sword. My hair was black. My hair is blonde.” 

“A trick of the light,” Merlin tried.

“You’re a liar,” Arthur spat. “You used magic on me. Didn’t you?” 

“To keep people from recognizing you. It’s harmless. I can change it back-”

“You used magic on me without asking!”

“Only a little.”

“You still used it on me!”

“It was for your own good to keep you alive. Unless you want to end up dead like-”

“I don’t care! You still didn’t ask!” Arthur stomped his foot. “You’re a liar and a monster, and you’re just like the rest of them. You deserve to burn.” 

He turned and ran.

The flash of the door opening revealed that the rain had ceased and the sun was coming out.

Then, it slammed shut behind the prince.

Merlin was alone.

Chapter Text

Drip, drip, drip. Drip. 

Somewhere above the cabin, a tree dropped water from its branches onto the roof.

Drip. Drip. 

In the same spot, Merlin stood, Arthur’s words ricocheting around in his head.

Was he a monster? Did he deserve to burn?

He’d only meant to help Arthur, to keep him from being recognized, but now it seemed like it’d all gone wrong.

Horribly wrong.

Like everything else he tried to do. One way or another, everything eventually broke down. Nothing good ever lasted.

(If being stuck with the prince of Camelot, Uther’s son, could be called good. Because there were a lot of things Merlin could have been doing that were significantly less stressful.)

Drip, drip, drip. 

Merlin pulled a chair out from the table and sunk into it.

He didn’t know what to do.

He didn’t know if he should go after Arthur since the woods were a dangerous place and he was unarmed or if he should just…not.

Let Arthur find his own way. Whatever cords had yanked them together in the first place had been cut, it seemed, and Arthur didn’t want to be around Merlin anymore.

That stung more than it should have.

He did not care whether or not the twelve-year-old progeny of Uther Pendragon wanted to be friends with him or not.

He buried his head in his hands.

He was too old for this sort of thing.

Too old and too rusty. 

Wonderful. Now he was starting to sound like Gaius.

What was he supposed to do? The older physician would have had some idea or counsel for Merlin, but now he was on his own.

(And the other kind of advice he could seek came at a price, and it was usually more confusing than helpful.)

He was starting to regret not asking about the hair first, but it was too late to change that.

For crying out loud.

If Arthur didn’t want to be there because of what Merlin had done, so be it. Clearly, magic and majesties did not mix, no matter what Merlin’s intentions about the dyeing had been, and Arthur would be better off finding his way to someone else’s doorstep.

Even though he was unarmed. And a child. And not really that smart despite what he thought.

Groaning, Merlin buried his head in his arms.

If he started out now, he could possibly locate Arthur before nightfall to make sure he found his way out of the forest without sticking his nose where it didn’t belong. But Merlin wasn’t going to try to approach him or explain himself or attempt to convince him to come back.

Arthur was definitely returning to Camelot.

Within the last few minutes, Merlin had entirely made up his mind on that point.

He stood.

Someone rapped on the cabin door.

Heart jumping, he froze.

The only person who knew where the cabin was located (hypothetically and hopefully) was Arthur.

The knock on his door, however, was not that of a pratty prince. It was too patient, too respectful.

Cautiously, Merlin moved to the door and put his eye up to one of the cracks that he had been meaning to fix for a few months or years.

Blast it. He couldn’t see anything clearly. 

For a second, he hesitated before opening the door a smidge.

A group of hooded figures encircled his cabin. The one in the lead was taller than the rest and thin, and his eyes were deep. Oddly, he stared at Merlin for a few minutes without speaking.

“Uh…can I help you?” Merlin asked pleasantly even though his mind was screaming at him that this was some sort of ambush and to barricade himself in while he still could.

“My lord Emrys.” The leader bowed, sweeping a spidery hand in front of himself. “It is an honor to behold your presence after all this time. I come bearing good news - we have your offspring!”

Offspring? He didn’t have any offspring-

His eyes widened.

Shoot. Oh, shoot. 

Before the leader of the group could say anything else, he slammed the cabin door.

The cult had found him.

There went all of the work that he had put into hiding. There came stupid feasts and craberry necklaces and Arthur -

Arthur.

That prat had pointed them right in his direction.

He’d specifically ratted out Merlin’s hideaway.

Oh, Merlin was going to give it to him. He was going to make that weasel wish he’d never laid eyes on the entire forest-

Another knock on the door.

“My lord?” 

Opening it, Merlin found the group still there. “You have Arthur?” he asked to confirm. “Short kid, yea tall, blonde - black hair, bit of an attitude and no manners?”

“Yes, my lord, just as you describe.” The man grimaced. “Just.”

“I’ll come and take him off your hands, then. But he isn’t my offspring. I’ve merely been keeping an eye on him while his parents are otherwise…indisposed.” If he didn’t set the record straight there and then, it was going to be crooked forevermore.

The leader bowed again. “This way, my lord.” He gestured to a hole in the circle around the cabin.

Inwardly, Merlin screamed.

Outwardly, he smiled pleasantly at all of them as he passed.

“My name is Isildur,” the druid said as he took the lead, the rest of his cult members falling in behind Merlin.

It felt like a procession to a hanging or a purse.

“That’s…” Merlin started, unsure of how to respond, “...nice to…meet you.”

Maybe if he spent ten minutes around them, this cult would realize how much of a pathetic loser he was and leave him alone.

Then again, Arthur had stuck around for much longer than he thought he would.

Although Merlin had no idea what he was saying, the druids acted as though he had given them some great compliment.

“That is most gracious of you, my lord.”

That’s it. Now Merlin knew they were off their rockers. On the way back to Camelot, he was going to give Arthur a piece of his mind, and the prince was going to shut up and listen. 

The rest of the way to wherever it was they were going, Isildur kept making vague statements that sounded like respectful threats to Merlin.

“It is an honor to finally meet you, Emrys. You have hidden yourself away from the world for too many years.”

“Those back at our camp have been preparing for your arrival.”

“Perhaps you and your not-offspring would partake in a meal with us.”

When he saw where they lived, Merlin wondered why on earth they hadn’t crossed paths in the woods before. As their little procession made its way into the broad clearing speckled with trees, ornate tents, and cooking fires, the people stopped and stared at Merlin.

When he passed, they bowed.

Wonderful.

Brilliant.

Now where in the blue blazes was Arthur so he could get out of there?

Isildur led the way through the camp to a communal gathering area with a fire larger than the others and flat stones and stumps upon which more of the cult members were sitting.

Atop an especially large stump was Arthur.

When he laid eyes on Merlin, his already sour expression darkened.

“This way, my lord,” Isildur said even though Merlin hadn’t stopped following him.

When he breathed in in order to sight, Merlin smelled cranberries.

How lovely.

Their little ridiculous procession stopped in front of Arthur, who refused to look Merlin in the eye.

“The not-offspring, my lord.” Isildur turned to face him and bowed again.

If one more person bowed in front of him, he was going to tear his hair out.

“‘My lord’?” Arthur demanded, crossing his arms. “Is this some sort of a joke? Did you send these cretins to scare me on purpose?”

“Oh, yeah,” Merlin scoffed, “because I would need such elaborate plans to scare you.”

“You did when you dyed my hair, you overgrown, fat rat of a sorcerer.”

Merlin turned to Isildur. “Excuse him. He was dropped on his head as a child.”

“Excuse me?”

Isildur did not look like he knew how to handle it. “I…see…” he said in the tone of a man who clearly did not see.

And Merlin took that as his cue to collect Arthur and scram. “Right, well. Thanks for keeping an eye on him before he could get killed and all that. We’d best be off now.”

“I’m not going anywhere with you, you lying toad.” 

Isildur could no longer contain himself. “Show Emrys respect, child. You obviously do not understand in whose presence you are.”

“He’s Merlin, not Emrys.” With the back of his heel, Arthur kicked the tree stump while rolling his eyes.

“He is Emrys.”

“Mer lin.”

“He is Emrys,” Isildur insisted.

Merlin would rather walk into a nest of wasps than get into those semantics. “Can we drop the subject of the name for a moment?” he asked. “Arthur and I really have to be going.” If they wanted to make it back to Camelot in a reasonable time.

Looks of alarm passed through the cult members watching the little scene.

“Emrys, we have prepared a feast,” Isildur reminded him, “and we would consider it an honor if you remained. We have desired to speak with you, and it would be grievous for such an occasion to pass by.”

In other words, if Merlin didn’t stay, they were going to keep harassing him until he regretted it because they now knew where he lived.

Blast it.

It was such a shame that he was going to have to let the cabin in the woods go to waste after this, thanks to Arthur. He’d rather liked it - it was one of his favorites. Right in the middle of things but hidden away where he could live for decades without a second thought.

He glowered down at Arthur.

Arthur sent him a savage smile back. “I want to stay. Is there any food?”

Isildur took the prat’s word as law. Pleased, he bowed yet again before turning to the other druids. “Prepare the feast for Emrys!”

Around the camp, a buzz arose.

It appeared they would be staying for dinner.

No thanks to Arthur. 

…

While the tables were set up, Merlin stared at Arthur balefully. 

Arthur ignored him.

Merlin wasn’t sure which one of them was supposed to break the silence first, but it wasn’t going to be him.

…

Although Merlin would have gladly taken a spot on the other side of the forest, he was placed next to his not-offspring and on a stump that was moved over to one head of the table for Emrys. 

Everything that was done around the cult camp was done for Emrys. 

The only bright side to the entire affair was the magic.

The people used it everywhere for every little thing. The tree stumps? Moved with magic. The cooking fires? Started with magic. Lights to brighten their meal? Created with magic. 

Arthur, the poor thing, looked as though he were going to explode. “My father-” he started.

Before he could finish his sentence, Merlin picked up the nearest goblet of water and dumped it over his head.

Even though Merlin wanted nothing to do with this group, he wasn’t trying to become enemies with them, either.

“You - you - you-” Arthur sputtered as water dripped off his hair into his eyes.

“Whoops,” Merlin deadpanned as he set the empty goblet back down on the table to be refilled. “It slipped.”

“I’ll have you thrown in the stocks one of these days,” Arthur spat, “and potatoes thrown at you for this.”

“Yeah, good luck with that.”

A break in their little argument was forced when two wooden platters of food were placed in front of them.

Completely forgetting that it came from those who were technically Merlin’s kind, Arthur dug into his with gusto, and practically ripped meat off a bird leg bone with his teeth.

The way he ate was one thing Merlin was not going to miss.

Royal, indeed. Merlin rolled his eyes.

“Why do they call you Emrys?” Arthur asked as he wolfed the food down. “Is that your real name? Did you lie about that, too?”

“I didn’t lie about my name. It’s just what they call me.”

“Why?”

“Because they’re nuts,” Merlin muttered under his breath. 

“Are you enjoying the feat, my lord?” the woman sitting on the right side of the table asked.

He nodded.

On the other side of Merlin, Arthur made a grab for Merlin’s goblet of what smelled suspiciously like blackberry gin. He swatted his hand away and took a sip from it himself.

As it went down, he coughed.

This was the most awkward feast in his entire life, and that counted the one at Uther’s court with the troll and the marriage proposal.

While they ate, all of the druids stared at him out of the corner of their eyes as though they expected him to jump up and do something brilliant. Despite their “desire to speak with him,” they avoided conversation with him and instead chattered among themselves, looking at him out of the corner of their eyes as though he couldn’t see it. 

He just wanted to go home, wrap himself in a blanket, and crawl into bed. How long did he have to stay before he could leave?

Fifteen minutes?

…

It was late into the evening. Somewhere in the woods, a chorus of crickets were giving it their best, and if Merlin looked up, he could see stars dotting the empty spaces between clouds. 

Next to him, Arthur started to nod off on Merlin’s shoulder before he realized who it was and sat up, scowling.

At least half of the cult had gotten up from their seats, passed by Merlin to pay awkward respects, and drifted off to their tents.

Merlin would have left, too, if he hadn’t the feeling he was supposed to do something for them after all this trouble.

Isildur stood and approached.

“Lord Emrys,” he said. “I have a request I must make of you.”

And there it was.

Merlin sighed. He nudged Arthur, who’d succumbed to sleep, off his arm and gently settled the prince’s head on the table. He’d be fine while they talked.

“What is it?” Although Merlin felt awkward sitting there while Isildur was still standing, the latter made no move to take a seat.

“Earlier today, I received news from other members of…our community that Lord Agravaine is making a tour through Camelot.” Isildur clasped his hands in front of himself as he waited for Merlin to draw a conclusion. 

Merlin hadn’t thought that this group would bring their head out of the clouds long enough to pay attention to the likes of Lord Agravaine. 

“It’s not uncommon,” he pointed out, “especially if he was crowned regent or king or whatever.”

“He is looking for someone.” Isildur’s eyes slid over to Arthur, who was lightly snoring. “And he is hunting sorcerers like us in the meanwhile.”

Oh.

Merlin needed to take care of that.

He wondered how many were already dead.

“I see,” he said. “Where is Agravaine, exactly?”

“Sorry-in-the-Vale. A small village ten miles east of this woods.”

A decent ride. At least a few days there.

He looked at Arthur. He couldn’t deliver him to the custody of Camelot when Agravine was on a witch hunt, and he wasn’t taking a child with him anyway.

The only place he could think of was here.

As if reading his mind, Isildur nodded. “We will take care of him, my lord. We have heard the prophecies.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes. He hadn’t. “What?”

“You and he will unite Albion.”

Merlin laughed. They must have run into a bad patch of mushrooms and read old poetry to themselves. Or something. “That’s a load of rubbish. There’s no way that brat and I are uniting anything together. He’s going back to Camelot as soon as I deal with Agravaine.” 

And the sooner, the better.

“Of course, my lord.”

From the tone of his voice, Isildur thought he was being stupid about the matter.

The feeling was mutual.

“I’ll take care of it,” Merlin repeated.

Isildur bowed. “Thank you, Emrys. We are most thankful.”

He left, but Merlin sat there for a bit, thinking.

Eventually, Arthur stirred. “What’s going on?” he slurred.

The camp was preparing for bed. The feast was being cleared away, and the magical lights were starting to die one by one. Somewhere, a tent would be waiting for Arthur, but not for Merlin. That night, he would head east.

He felt sort of strange and empty. 

Even though Arthur had been rude and mean, Merlin didn’t want to leave while the incident was still hanging between them like an ugly bat.

“Arthur?”

“What?” Arthur asked, crankily, setting his head back down on the table.

“I’m sorry for not asking your permission about your hair. I’m…I’m not used to it. I’m used to getting things done on my own. But I…just…should have asked, I guess,” he finished lamely.

Like an owl, Arthur blinked up at him lazily. A second later, his eyes started drifting closed again.

Whatever.

Merlin snorting.

Knowing Arthur, he probably hadn’t even heard Merlin.

Before it was taken away, Merlin downed the rest of his blackberry gin.

…

After extracting an oath that not a hair on Arthur’s head would be harmed (and Merlin believed them because they knew who he was and could have hurt him before), Merlin summoned Fink and left while the moon was still visible through the gaps in the trees.

He stopped by the cabin to pick up his cloak and his bag, and then, he was gone again.

…

The not-offspring of Emrys snored like a hibernating bear, his new tentmate discovered fairly quickly. The young druid was surprised that the tent hadn’t collapsed with the shaking of the tent poles.  Turning over, he buried his head under his pillow.

It did not help.

Chapter Text

Merlin caught a few hours of sleep underneath a pine tree before remounting Frik and resuming his journey.

He’d been to Sorry-in-the-Vale once or twice before, and as Frik galloped along, he tried to call to the front of his mind what he could about it.

It was small. But large enough for a king to grace it every once in a while. And there was a tavern in the center of it where Agravaine would no doubt be staying. Perhaps Merlin could flood the building with rats or something to scare him off?

Except he didn’t have that many rats on hand, and he couldn’t damage the property of an innocent person in the process.

Slipping Agravaine a potion was also unlikely because Merlin wouldn’t be able to get that close to him without being seen, he didn’t think, no matter how briefly.

Sorry-in-the-Vale was drawing closer, and his mind was blank.

Blast it.

He couldn’t go galloping straight into town and yell, “Get out of here!”

They’d take one look at him and laugh their heads off. Or throw him in the stocks if they had any.

Lord Emrys, indeed.

No, he needed to come up with a better plan with stealth because fewer people got hurt that way. A swift in and out. As little interaction with Lord Agravaine as possible.

Then again, maybe it wasn’t such a bad idea to scout out Arthur’s future guardian.

He pulled Frik down from a gallop to a light trot. 

As far as any of the villagers knew, he was simply a foreign traveler who just happened to be in town at the same time as the newly appointed king-slash-regent.

Nothing fishy about him whatsoever.

A swift in and out.

He could do this. He could scare Agravaine off, go home, take Arthur back, go home again, and live out the very longness of his life with no more hiccups. No more complicated things, feelings, permissions to ask. None of it.

A swift in and out.

…

In the center of town were the smoking remains of a pyre. 

Merlin breathed in once and gagged at the smell of death and the echo of screams his mind conjured up.

As he dismounted Frik and tied him securely, his hands, arms, and legs shook.

A swift in and out.

Nothing was burning now. 

…

It appeared that half the countryside had also heard of Lord Agravaine’s arrival and were there to pay their respects (or disrespects) as well. The inn was packed. Merlin couldn’t turn in a full circle without elbowing someone in the ribs. Which he did and almost started a bar fight if not for the owner of the establishment yelling at everyone that they were going to get their taxes doubled or the heads chopped off, whichever came first).

He made a survey of the room. 

He was glad he didn’t have to keep an eye on Arthur in the middle of all of this.

Although His Creepiness was nowhere to be found, he spotted patches of red here and there among the throng.

Knights of Camelot.

After sliding up to the bar, Merlin paid for a drink, one of few unless he wanted to try gambling later that evening, and listened for any information that could be useful to him.

Most of it was, of course, around Agravaine and the execution that had happened last night. A woman and her husband. Their crops were growing well that year - too well, it seemed - and they had paid the price of jealous neighbors who wanted to keep the heat off their own backs.

Merlin was disgusted at all of them and at himself for being too late to save them somehow.

He could kill Agravaine that evening if he had the opportunity.

But he couldn’t even though he wanted to. If he did, another person would take his place, and the whole mess would continue even longer. Even worse - Agravaine would be made into a saint for the cause, and Camelot would be turned against magic even more. It had happened before.

In frustration, Merlin clenched his jaw.

Although he hadn’t been in the innards of Camelot for a while, he was sure that there wasn’t a decent person to take over the throne. They were either corrupt or corpses.

Merlin would even take Arthur over the alternatives (and that was saying something).

But Arthur wasn’t old enough or even ready to be king, so that was that.

There was no good solution but to let Agravaine live like Uther and keep being the bee that buzzed around his ears.

At the thought, Merlin slumped forward over his drink.

If ever there were a time he was tempted to get inebriated, this was most definitely it.

The only thing he could think of was short-sheeting Agravaine’s bed, and that wasn’t going to chase him out of town.

As Merlin raised his mug to his lips, an idea struck him.

Bed sheets. 

What better way to get rid of Agravaine than for him to think the town was infested with bed bugs or possibly an illness even worse? A few other people would have to suffer for it, but the end result would be well worth their sacrifice.

Although Merlin didn’t have a potion that could cause both an itch and bite-like rashes, he could come up with something without too much hassle.

If what people were saying was true, Lord Agravaine was leaving the next morning to head off to the next village blessed to be on his route, so Merlin would have to make the powder and get it into Agravaine’s things before he retired early for the evening.

Even though he’d overpaid for it, Merlin abandoned his drink. He needed to find ingredients quickly. 

…

Onto his list of crimes against the country of Camelot, Merlin added breaking and entering into the inn room of the regent.

Carefully, he closed the door behind him and breathed out in relief.

The first thing he noticed in the room was all of the baggage. In order to cross over to the bed, Merlin was forced to step over lumps and bags on the floor.

From the inside of his cloak, he pulled out the vial of itching powder and uncorked it. Then, he lightly sprinkled its contents over Agravaine’s pillow and the rest of his sheets - enough to be effective but not noticeable.

No sounds of the lord’s return.

Since he’d already powdered other patrons’ rooms and the vial still contained some powder left over, Merlin eyed the large trunk that Agravaine had brought with him. Clothes, perhaps?

Like the door to the room, it was child’s play to unlock. Instead of clothes, however, it contained various odds and ends. Paper, writing implements, a sigil.

Over the sigil, Merlin paused.

He recognized it. Many years had passed since he had last seen it himself, but he did recognize it.

It had once been Ygraine’s. 

Arthur’s mother. And Agravaine’s sister. 

Almost reverently, he picked it up and turned it in his hands.

Loud, assertive voices came through the floor.

And that was Merlin’s time to leave. No time for clothes.

He recorked the bottle, closed the trunk, and stood. He slipped from the room.

Ten minutes later, Lord Agravaine retired to it while Merlin left town as fast as Frik would carry him.

…

Unfortunately, due to an outbreak of bed bugs, a terrible rash, and hives, Lord Agravaine’s stay in Sorry-in-the-Vale and his entire tour were cut short as he sought the services of his own court physician instead of a peasant healer.

Everyone was quite sorry to see him leave.

…

Arthur woke up.

He sat up, stretched, and yawned. “I didn’t sleep a wink,” he announced.

“Oh, really?” his tentmate shot back seethingly.

Arthur didn’t know what his problem was.

…

Arthur was three fourths of the way through a piece of blackberry pie (for breakfast!) when he realized something.

“Where’s Merlin?” 

The woman who had given him the piece of pie and was now watching him like a creepy crow or something looked nervous. “Lord Emrys is not here. He left last night.” 

Left? 

Last night? 

“That two-faced lying sorcerer.” The pie was forgotten. “He left me behind!”

Not only that, but he’d left Arthur behind in a camp of other sorcerers. 

They were going to kill him. 

…

They assured him that Merlin would return, but he didn’t believe it. Sorcerers were liars, he thought sourly, and Merlin had gone and abandoned him.

They couldn’t convince him otherwise.

Especially since they weren’t even telling him where Merlin was.

Liars.

Peasants.

Arthur kicked a tree stump and uttered a few words that would have had his tutor washing his mouth out for.

It did not help in the slightest.

…

When the woman told Arthur he could play with the other children in the camp, he flat out refused. Crossing his arms, he sat on the stump and vowed to not move until either someone told him where Merlin was or Merlin came to get him.

“Lord Emrys will return,” the woman repeated over and over. “We have utter faith in him.”

“Why do you keep calling him Lord Emrys? His name is Mer lin. And he isn’t a lord! I would know.”

“He is…” the woman started. “He was…” 

“He’s what?” Arthur demanded.

Merlin never told him anything. He didn’t expect her to be any better.

“Lord Emrys - Merlin - was once a member of…of King Uther’s court. So he is a lord in that sense, I suppose,” she mused.

At the mention of his father’s name, Arthur stilled.

“But he is also…” she went on. “He is also magic.”

Utter rot.

“Merlin was at my - in Camelot?”

“Oh, yes, before King Uther started the Purge. Do you not know any of your history, boy?”

“Of course I do. I don’t need a lecture from you. ” He scowled. He knew more than her about anything. 

She gave him a shrewd look. “Then you should know all about the monsters Lord Emrys fought while he was there.”

Arthur’s eyes widened. “What?”

“And there’s no need for me to tell you about the battles-

“But I want to know! Tell me now.” 

As though she’d won some battle of her own, the woman smiled. “Once,” she began, “there was a demon creature living in the sewers-”

Arthur leaned forward.

…

As he listened to myths of magic, Arthur wondered what had caused Merlin to leave Camelot forever in the first place.

What if he left Arthur for the same reason?

(Not that Arthur cared. Even if Merlin had apologized to him, he was still…something.

He did not care at all.) 

…

Tired, Merlin found a thick field of grass to lie down in.

“Don't wander off too far,” he told Frik as he rolled up his cloak for a pillow. “I’m just going to take a quick nap, and then I’ll hit the road again, all right?”

The horse snorted.

Once he lay down, Merlin was out like a light.

…

The day ticked on long and awful.

Arthur’s head was brimming with so many stories and questions that Merlin wasn’t around to answer.

And the druids weren’t any help. They could go on for hours without actually saying anything that he actually wanted to know.

Much like his tutors.

After a while, they gave up trying to deal with him and instead shoved more pie in his hands.

Arthur was semi-placated by this. Had he been there, Merlin would have put a swift end to all of the dessert he was getting, he was sure of it. Never mind that he was the prince. 

At least these druids weren’t making him do anything he didn’t want to.

Unlike some people he knew.

While Arthur sat, licking his fingers, he looked around the druid camp.

Compared to what he was used to, it was a hovel. Messy and muddy. He even thought he saw a squirrel perched upon someone’s shoulder. 

Once the pie was cleaned off his fingers, he looked around for someone to ask questions, but the woman druid had abandoned him to help with the “cleansing of the forest” or something. Whatever that was. It sounded like magic, so he didn’t want to be involved.

Since nobody was immediately around him, he got to his feet and started wandering in search of someone.

He was eerily surprised at how… normal all of them were. It was as though magic was a part of their lives, but it wasn’t their lives completely. They were just regular human beings. When they weren’t busy preparing this or practicing magic, they stood around talking to each other like the castle servants did when they thought they could get away with it.

They were all excited about Lord Emrys. 

Even if they were telling the truth about Merlin, Arthur couldn’t see him with any other name.

As he lurked around the rear of a tent, he caught the middle of the conversation between two of them.

“-will deal with Lord Agravaine for once and for all, perhaps?”

“Lord Emrys would not do such a thing. He knows-”

Arthur started to panic.

Was his uncle while Merlin had ridden off without him?

Was Merlin going to kill his uncle?

Was his uncle going to kill Merlin? 

Merlin claimed to be able to protect himself with magic, but his uncle was creepy enough to find a way to kill Merlin.

And Merlin had been gone all day already.

What if he was dead?

Even though Merlin was sneaky, Arthur didn’t want him to be dead. 

Only he knew how truly creepy his uncle was.

He had to save Merlin.

After returning to the now-empty tent that he had slept in the previous evening, Arthur rummaged through his tent mate’s belongings and found a rather overkill knife, which he tucked into his belt.

He was the prince - he would pay for it later.

Then, before the druids found out what he was doing and stopped him, he ducked out of the tent and headed into the woods surrounding the camp.

He was going to find Merlin and save him from Uncle Agravaine

Chapter Text

The field mouse did not notice the other creature until it was atop it.

It was rather large and smelled of herbs. Every time it inhaled, its gigantic chest rose and then fell.

After several seconds in which the creature did nothing, the field mouse decided that nothing was going to happen and continued on its merry way.

…

With a start, Merlin shot up. A mouse squealled. He looked around to find out where he was.

Ten yards off, Frik was grazing, his reins dragging.

Agravaine. Irritating powder. The druids.

Oh, shoot. 

He was late.

How long had he been sleeping? Although the sun was in a different spot, he didn’t have the time to stop and figure it out. He needed to collect Arthur before the druids had him converted to their religion or whatever they called it. He scooped up his cloak.

“Frik!” 

Munching on grass, Frik raised his head as Merlin ran over to him, nearly tripping on the grass and face planting.

In two minutes, Merlin had stored his cloak away, and the horse and rider were thundering down the dusty path.

…

It took Arthur three hours to realize that he had no clue where Merlin or his uncle was.

It took him another three hours to realize that he was irrevocably lost.

This did not, in fact, deter him.

…

When Merlin arrived back at the druid camp, Isildur was there to greet him. “My lord-”

“Lord Agravaine has been momentarily taken care of,” Merlin reported as he slid off Frik. “He won’t be back in these parts himself for a while.”

“My lord, your charge is missing.”

Merlin froze. ‘What?”

“Prince Arthur went missing in the afternoon. I have sent out search parties, but they have yet to return.”

“Weren’t you keeping an eye on him? How long has been missing?”

Isildur hesitated.

Merlin didn’t have the time to wait to weasel it out of him. If the druids hadn’t found him right under their noses for years, they weren’t going to find Arthur, either.

He swung his leg back over Frik and pulled himself up.

“Lord Emrys-” Isildur started, but Merlin didn’t catch the rest of his words as he wheeled Frik around and headed in the direction from which he had come.

…

Merlin cupped a hand around his mouth and yelled, “Arthur!”

He only succeeded in scaring another mouse.

…

As Arthur hacked through the reed-like plants with his loaned knife, he also realized that he probably should have borrowed a horse, too, because he wasn’t getting as far as he wanted very quickly.

…

How far could a twelve-year-old child get in as many hours?

From Merlin’s past experience, he should have been in one spot complaining about his empty stomach.

He couldn’t fathom what had caused the prince to take off like that. Yes, the druids were a little dotty, but they were harmless.

Relatively.

Merlin could think of at least five monsters worse than them.

Arthur should have stayed put.

“Arthur!” he yelled again even though he had given up hope twenty Arthurs ago that he was ever going to get a response.

He still didn’t.

For crying out loud.

Although Arthur wasn’t exactly short, he shouldn’t have been able to get this far away from the camp on his own.

It was ridiculous.

If only in his one hundred or so years of living he’d devoted a small wedge of that to learning how to track people.

“Arthur!”

Yet again, nothing. 

Merlin swore under his breath. Sometimes, his luck was really the worst imaginable.

Why did it always have to be him? 

…

As Merlin passed by the edge of the trees, he caught sight of a barn owl staring down at him with two cool eyes. It was judging him.

He sighed.

He didn’t know whether to call it a night or to keep searching for Arthur until he found him.

For a few minutes, he continued glaring at the owl until he realized that he couldn’t win a staring match with a bird and that he was going to have to keep going. 

To give Frik and his backside a break, Merlin dismounted and started leading the horse forward through the thick, obnoxious grass.

Was it just his imagination, or had he already been through this area three times before?

How many times was Arthur going to run off on him, anyway?

He scowled. He was probably painting a target on his back for humans and monsters alike with the ruckus he was creating.

“Arthur!”

Either that or the crickets were getting their entertainment for the evening.

“Arthur!”

“Merlin!”

Merlin halted.

After looking everywhere for so long, he was going out of his mind. He thought he heard Arthur calling his name.

“Maybe I should take another nap,” he muttered to Frik, preparing to turn around and head the other way.

“Merlin!” 

No, he wasn’t imagining that. It really was Arthur yelling his name.

“Over here!” he hollered, staying in the same spot as he waited so Arthur wouldn’t miss him by a mile by mistake.

“Merlin!”

Startling Frik, a dark shape barreled into him and nearly tackled him to the ground.

Merlin managed one pat on the back before Arthur released him as quickly as he had grabbed him.

“I heard that you’d left to go do something, and I was scared that Uncle Agravaine had gotten you and that you were going to kill him or he was going to kill you so I stole a knife and came to rescue-” 

“Wait a minute,” Merlin broke in. “You stole a knife?”

“I borrowed one - I’m the prince you know, so I can borrow things-”

“That’s not how it works.”

Arthur scowled at him. “You left without saying goodbye!” 

“I had to-”

He was going to say I had to stop your uncle from killing people, but that didn’t seem like an appropriate thing to say at that moment.

“Everyone’s fine,” he said instead. “No one died…after I arrived, I mean.”

Somehow, Arthur looked a cross between annoyed and relieved. “Oh…oh…”

“Why did you run off? Did something happen with the cu - with the druids?” If they’d done something to him, Merlin was going to show them exactly who “Lord Emrys” was.

“No. I overheard them mention my uncle.” Arthur wrinkled his nose. “He’s creepy.”

Merlin was relieved. “Yeah. Yeah, he is.”

“I had to rescue you.”

And here Merlin thought that Arthur would be fine if he died.

After wiping his nose on his sleeve, Arthur yawned, reminding Merlin that he was probably bone-dead tired and hungry.

“Come on. Let’s go back. You can ride Frik. He’ll be nice.”

As if to disagree, Frik snorted.

“But I have questions,” Arthur whined.

“I thought you’d be hungry.”

“They gave me lots of pie.”

“Oh. I see. Well, you can ask stuff on the way home. Half of the druid camp is probably out looking for you.”

Arthur’s eyes went wide. “Really?”

Merlin nodded.

A bit sleepily, Arthur stumbled forward towards Frik. As he did so, a medium-sized black object dropped from his belt.

Curious, Merlin stooped and picked it up.

It was the said knife.

Since Arthur would not be needing that, Merlin tucked it inside his own cloak for safekeeping before helping Arthur up onto the back of the horse. Instead of reading, Merlin walked in front of Frik, pulling him along with the reins like before.

Although Merlin thought Arthur would have fallen asleep almost immediately, the transition from the ground to Frik’s back seemed to make him more alert.

“The druids talk a lot.”

“And you don’t?”

“They actually say interesting stuff.”

Oh, Merlin could imagine what kind of horrid things they’d told him that Merlin was either going to have to correct or outright deny. “Like what?”

“They told me you knew my father. That you were at Camelot.”

The way Arthur said it, he was accusing Merlin of murdering his pet frog.

That cult was going to get it. He felt like swearing.

“I was,” he answered instead because despite what Arthur said, he wasn’t that much of a liar.

“Well?” Arthur demanded. “What were you doing, then?”

For a moment, Merlin looked back over his shoulder drily. “You may find this hard to believe, but I was kicked out.”

“What for?”

What for…

It was a simple question, but for the first time in a while, Merlin let his mind run back to all the things he usually tried to ignore.

Magic had not always been forbidden in Camelot, but it had not always been loved, either. Uther had been in between, both loving and hating, using magic when it suited him and casting it away when he was burned.

Over the years, Merlin had been in and out of Camelot’s courts, trying to do good when he could to keep the negative opinion at bay.

But then Uther had demanded of Merlin one thing he, as strong as his magic was, could not and would not provide: A male heir.

The price was too high.

But Uther had not listened. When Merlin refused, he went to another sorceress named Nimueh who fed him all the promises he wanted to hear.

And they came true. Ygraine became pregnant and gave birth to a son.

Then, she died.

Uther had blamed Merlin. He’d blamed all the magic users. For as long as he could, Merlin had clung to Camelot, the home he’d grown attached to after losing his first one, saving as many as he could.

But Uther had eventually found out.

And now Merlin lived in a shack in the woods with the prince as a slobby house guest.

“Merlin? Merlin. Are you having one of those strokes?”

“Sorry. I was thinking.”

“ Lying is a sin.” 

Merlin turned to scowl at him.

“So why did my father kick you out?” Arthur persisted in pestering.

“I wouldn’t do something for him.” Although that was a bit of an oversimplification, Merlin did not feel like getting into the whole thing all over again.

“What?”

But, of course, that wasn’t going to be enough for Arthur.

“He wanted me to do something bad with my magic, and I said no.”

Merlin didn’t need to turn around to know what incredulous and indignant look he was getting.

“You’re joking. Or - or making up a story. Right?”

Merlin sighed. “Believe it or don’t.”

There was a moment of silence as Arthur absorbed it. “My father never told me about it,” he eventually said in a quiet tone.

Because Uther Pendragon had been definitely one to go around spreading stories about all of the underhand and hypocritical things he’d done.

“What else did the druids gossip about?” Merlin asked with a tad bit of crankiness.

His feet were starting to kill him.

“Oh, they told me about-” Arthur started rattling off a list of things half of which Merlin had forgotten about over the years.

The more he heard, the more embarrassed he felt.

What had they been doing, stalking him all those years? He’d thought he’d flown pretty much under the radar until Uther decided to chase after him with fire and pitchforks.

Midway through a sentence about something or another, Arthur started slurring his words. Merlin looked back in time to see him wrap his arms around Frik’s neck and close his eyes.

“Arthur?”

He was already asleep.

Merlin wished he were, too. Despite his impromptu nap, he was exhausted. 

…

For their second night at the cult’s camp, Merlin and Arthur got their own tent, and despite the latter’s snoring, Merlin dropped off immediately.

The next morning, he let Arthur sleep in. By the time the prince woke up and emerged, Merlin had his boots propped up on a nearby stump and was on his second tin mug of coffee.

“Hurry up and eat breakfast,” Merlin told him, blowing over the top of the tin mug. “We’ve got another ride ahead of us.”

“Where are we going?” Arthur asked as a druid woman delivered a piece of pie.

“Camelot.”

“Camelot! Why-”

“To your uncle.”

All of Arthur’s sleepiness vanished. “You can’t do that! I won’t go back - you can’t make me!”

“But-”

“My lord?” The druid woman was still standing just behind Arthur. “Surely you do not mean to send him back to - to Lord Agravaine?”

“Magic and Pendragons-” Merlin started to explain.

Arthur was turning red in the face. “You’re trying to have me killed!”

“Seriously? Do you know how many times I’ve saved your life? And after the whole thing with your hair, I thought you would have wanted to go somewhere ‘safe’ without magic!”

For crying out loud, his hair was still black.

By this point, half of the druid camp had started to gather to watch the shouting magic.

“I’m not leaving!” Arthur declared. “I didn’t mean what I said before. About burning. I take it back.”

Well, it sure sounded like he’d meant it to Merlin, but he was just a simple, uneducated peasant, wasn’t he?

The druid woman was frowning. “My lord, you cannot possibly send this child away. Look at him.”

A chorus of agreement circled the assembly.

“But-”

Arthur sniffed once, dramatically.

He was Lord Emrys. He was not going to be pressured into this again. Before the whole fiasco with Agravaine, he’d already decided.

Arthur was going home.

Arthur sniffed again.

Merlin felt the pressing weight of a hundred glares upon him. Suddenly, he felt very awkward remaining in his relaxed position, so he sat up and put his boots on the ground.

“No,” he said. “And that’s final.”

…

“You smell like a pig sty.”

“One more word out of you, and I’m turning this horse around and heading back to Camelot.”

“At least my castle doesn’t have mold growing on its walls and creak like a dying horse.”

“Shut up, Arthur.”

“ Tyrant .”

“ Prat .”

Chapter Text

FOUR YEARS LATER

The door to the tavern opened with a bang.

Half of the patrons looked up or turned around to see who it was.

Normally, Merlin would have shied away from such dramatics and attention, but on this occasion, he considered it appropriate. 

There his target was, sitting at the bar.

“Just what in the blue blazes do you think you’re doing?”

As Merlin marched across the room, Arthur raised his head. “Hi, Merlin,” he slurred. “What are you doing here?”

Seeing that the two of them knew each other, the rest of the tavern patrons went back to talking, gambling, and drinking.

As though Merlin weren’t standing there, Arthur tried to do the same.

“I don’t think so.” Merlin made a grab for the drink. 

“Merlin…what are you doing here?” Arthur tried to keep his mug, but he was about as coordinated as a newborn foal.

Merlin set it down on the other end of the counter. “I could ask you the same ruddy question,” he snapped. “Come on, we’re going home.”

“But Mer lin-” Arthur whined, reaching for the drink and failing because it was too far away.

Merlin wondered what, exactly, he’d done to deserve this kind of behavior. It was one thing to find out his sixteen-year-old ward had gone off ( snuck off) on his own. It was another to find him smashed and racking up a tavern bill in a town a four-hours’ ride away. 

And maybe Merlin wouldn’t have minded that much if Arthur hadn’t been a “lost prince” and didn’t have so loose of a tongue when he got drunk.

“You’re no fun, Mer lin,” Arthur declared.

What a shame. 

“Come on, let’s go.”

“Hey. Is he with you?” the tavern owner asked. “He owes me five gold.”

“What.”

“He paid for drinks for everyone. Twice.”

Innocently, Arthur looked at Merlin.

Well, it was nice to know that Arthur thought Merlin’s pockets were as deep as the royal treasury. Setting, Merlin dug out the five gold coins and slapped them on the counter.

As the tavern owner counted them, he tried to sling Arthur’s arm over his shoulder.

“He drank quite a lot,” the tavern owner said, as though Merlin couldn’t tell. “He’s going to have one monster of a headache in the morning.”

No, he wasn’t.

Because Merlin was going to kill him. 

On the way out the door, Merlin paused long enough to down the rest of Arthur’s drink.

…

On the way to the horse, Merlin wondered just when Arthur had gotten taller than him.

And heavier.

…

“I’m drunk,” Arthur informed him. “I’m really, really drunk.”

“You don’t say,” Merlin grunted, pushing Arthur along.

“But you can’t tell Merlin.”

“Oh, I give you my word of honor-” 

…

“You want to tell me what in the blue blazes you were doing?”

Arthur groaned and draped an arm over his eyes.

“You were drunk-”

“Oh, come on, Mer lin, don’t be such a prude. Everybody gets drunk. Last Michaelmas you-” 

“We’re not talking about me. And that’s different.”

“I don’t see why.”

Merlin slammed a pan down on the iron stove, and Arthur groaned.

Served him right.

Besides, Merlin didn’t get drunk drunk. Just a little.

Enough to be held against him, apparently.

“Do you have to bang those so loudly?” Arthur complained. “I’m trying to sleep. And my head hurts.”

Maybe he should have thought about that before sneaking off like that.

“So what’s wrong?” Merlin asked as he worked at cracking eggs open over the pan.

“My head-” 

“You know what I mean. Other than that.”

“Nothing’s wrong,” Arthur insisted, sitting up a little. “Don’t be such a mother hen.”

He’d been perfectly fine with Merlin’s mothering last night while he threw up into the bushes behind the cabin.

Ungrateful prat.

The eggs sizzled.

Merlin checked the coffee pot.

“It’s just that-” Arthur started. “Well-”

Merlin didn’t say anything.

“Gwen and her family moved to Camelot.”

What?

“Who’s Gwen?” Merlin asked as he poked the eggs to see how done they were. 

And why hadn’t he heard about her before?

“She’s - she’s -a friend. Named Guinevere.”

“Oh, really?” Didn’t sound like it the way he was acting.

“See, I knew you’d be like this.”

“I’m just asking questions.” Deeming that the eggs were cooked and probably not going to cause food poisoning, Merlin dumped them onto plates. “You never mentioned her before.”

“Because we’re friends. There’s no reason to make a big deal out of it. Besides, it doesn’t matter now. Her father relocated the whole family to Camelot. For more work. He’s a blacksmith.”

Merlin set the plates down on the table.

Why hadn’t Arthur mentioned this Gwen before? They’d gone to that town before, but Merlin didn’t remember her.

Then again, Arthur usually took care of errands at the blacksmith while Merlin took care of his healing business.

But he could have mentioned her.

“The eggs are getting cold,” Merlin pointedly said since he didn’t know what else to do.

Arthur groaned and dragged himself over to the table to plop himself down in his chair. He propped his cheek on his hand and glared down at the eggs as though they’d personally offended him.

Since Merlin was still not sure what he was supposed to do, he started eating.

A minute later, Arthur sighed and prodded his eggs.

Once his plate was empty, Merlin stood and dropped it in the nearby bucket of water on the floor for the next time either of them felt like doing the dishes. “I’m going to check Frik’s hoof. It looked like he might have been favoring his leg last night.”

“Wonderful,” Arthur grumbled. “I’m going back to bed.”

“No, you’re not.”

“If I want to go-”

“You owe me five gold coins.”

“Five gold coins? Don’t be ridiculous.” 

“That’s what I paid at the tavern for your little night out on the town, and you’re going to pay me back.”

Coin didn’t just grow on trees. That was half of Merlin’s emergency stash, and he’d taken it with him because he thought it might have been one.

Some emergency.

Arthur’s first “heartbreak,” and of course it cost Merlin five gold coins.

Although maybe Merlin was being a little heart less.

But paying Merlin back those five gold coins would keep Arthur’s mind off it and save Merlin more money at the tavern in the future. Maybe he should even charge interest. (But that was going a bit far.)

“Where am I going to get five gold coins? Do you expect me to take my plate down to the river and start panning for it?”

Merlin shrugged. “If you want to.”

“Merlin!”

A thundercloud would have looked less threatening as Arthur did as he leaned over his half-eaten eggs, his fists on the table.

“Five,” Merlin reminded him - and then ducked out the door before the plate could hit him.

…

“Is something bothering you, my lord?” Isildur inquired politely.

As Isildur looked at Frik’s hoof, Merlin crossed his arms. “No. No, of course not.”

Isildur kept inspecting Frik’s hoof and leg. A little too long.

Merlin sighed. “Arthur has been acting a little weird this week, that’s all. I’m sure he’ll get over it.”

At least, Merlin hoped he would because he was going to run out of plates if it kept up.

“If you say so, my lord.” Isildur straightened. “Your steed is fine, my lord.”

“Oh. Well, thank you for looking.”

That was one less thing to worry about.

He took Frik’s lead and started heading out of the camp, nodding to the druids who weren’t out gallivanting across the forest. Among a group of druids squatting on the ground, Merlin spotted somebody familiar. 

“Arthur?”

As he approached, he saw a handkerchief had been laid out with a handful of dice.

“I’m busy,” Arthur informed him, his eyes not leaving the makeshift table as another player scooped up the dice to go.

Was that so? 

“Gambling doesn’t count for your five coins.”

“You do it. And you use your magic to cheat.”

Frik snorted.

“That’s different. That’s so you don’t have to eat beans every night for dinner.”

“We do eat beans every night for dinner.”

“Arthur, shut up.”

“Hold on.”

“If you don’t get up now, it’s going to be ten gold coins. And beans for breakfast, lunch, and dinner.”

“He can’t leave now,” one of the players protested, daring to break in. “He owes me seven copper.”

Merlin shot Arthur a baleful glare.

The prince had the decency to look the slightest bit guilty as Merlin dug in his pockets with his hand that wasn’t holding Frik’s lead to pay off the gambling debt.

After handing the seven coins over to the druid boy, Merlin practically dragged Arthur home by the ear. 

…

“I can’t pan for gold. You won’t let me gamble. What else do you expect me to do? Sell my bones to the nearest witch for her to make potions out of?”

“Have you ever considered work?” 

“Work?”

From Arthur’s tone, one would have thought that Merlin suggested they dress up as bards and go trapezing across the country. 

…

The next morning, Arthur stared at his breakfast plate. “What’s this?” 

“What’s it look like?”

“Beans.” 

“There you go.”

Within thirty minutes, Arthur was atop a nonplussed Frik. “I’m going to find…I’m going to find a job,” he said as he jammed his feet into the stirrups. 

“No tavern tabs,” Merlin warned. “And you’re to be back by nightfall.”

“Yes, Mother.” Arthur rolled his eyes. “You wouldn’t think I’m a prince, no, not with the way-”

Merlin gave Frik a solid slap on the rump. 

As the horse cantered off, Arthur didn’t even look back.

For a minute, Merlin stood there idly before he realized what an opportunity had been placed in his lap. Except for magic missions, when Merlin dropped him off with the druids, they practically spent all day together - for the past four years. Now was Merlin’s chance to be alone, to relax a little. Unwind. Do nothing since he was normally so busy.

He was going to brew a second pot of coffee and enjoy it on the front porch of the cabin while listening to the birds. And then he was going to read one of Arthur’s books that he kept stashed under his bed where he thought Merlin didn’t know because he wouldn’t be caught dead doing something somewhat educational. 

He was still standing there.

Right.

He’d lived in the woods alone for years before Arthur showed up. Today was just like old times.

Him, himself, and a mug of fresh coffee.

Funnily enough, he didn’t remember drinking this much before.

…

Sitting on the edge of the porch, Merlin let the steam of the coffee waft up into his face and sighed.

The forest was peaceful. A red-winged black bird was trilling somewhere out of vision, which was unusual. Despite the light noise, however, it was almost quiet.

Merlin took a sip of the coffee and nearly scalded his tongue. After spitting the liquid out onto the dirt in front of his boots, he went back to blowing.

The calmness, of course, could change in an instant. There were different magical (and sometimes malevolent) spirits and beasts in the woods. Occasionally, Merlin had to deal with them.

And he wasn’t with Arthur today.

No, Arthur would be fine. Not only was he carrying his sword, but the druids were also probably stalking him until he was out of the woods. They did that.

And Merlin was not going to start turning into one of them. 

After testing his coffee again, he found out that it had cooled off somewhat and took another sip.

Which he couldn’t taste because his mouth was still burned.

He sighed and placed the mug down on the porch next to him. He would have to find something else to do.

Like clean out the entire cabin. It’d maybe been ten years since the last time he’d done it. It was about time.

Abandoning his coffee, he headed back inside to survey the room.

In one corner, a pile of clothes that either needed mended or washed was shoved. Underneath Arthur’s bed was crammed with odds and ends, and Merlin’s shelves had gotten into a haphazard order.

It would take him a while to sort it all out. Probably a couple of hours.

And he wasn’t going to think about how much trouble Arthur could be in at all. 

…

Arthur’s stash underneath his bed included (but was not limited to) three fishing hooks that Arthur never used because he didn’t have the patience with it like hunting, five socks without mates, an old model of a horse Isildur had given him, and seven of those “novels.”

Curious, Merlin flipped through the coverless, loosely bound pages to see what they were about.

-embraced passionately, breathing heavily his heavenly scent that was like a field plowed-

Merlin dropped the pages.

Oh, Arthur was in so much trouble.

Where had he even gotten these?

Before somebody (he didn’t know who would even know where he was) could walk in and catch him, Merlin went to shove the papers back under the bed but thought twice.

They were going to go mysteriously missing, he decided.

…

After the floor was mopped, the pile of mending and dirties went back into the corner.

Merlin wasn’t feeling that productive.

…

After twenty seconds of staring at the wall, Merlin decided that he was feeling that productive.

…

Most of the cabin was spotless, and Arthur still had not returned.

He hadn’t taken any food with him, and he turned into worse of a prat when he was hungry.

After pacing for ten more minutes, Merlin went outside. No sign of Arthur on the forest path.

He could make another pot of coffee.

Or if he started now, he could get Arthur’s location out of the druids and check in on him.

But he wasn’t going to because that would be mother henning.

Unless Arthur never found out about it.

Which he wouldn’t because Merlin wasn’t going to do it.

Where he could tell.

At all.

He wasn’t even kidding himself.

Just as he took a step in the direction of the path, however, he saw a shadow coming his way that turned into the shape of a horse and Arthur.

“Merlin!” he shouted. “I found work!” Before reaching the cabin, he slid off Frik’s back. “And you’ll be happy to know it pays.” 

Merlin breathed a sigh of relief.

“I’m starving,” Arthur went on without waiting for a comment. “I’m so hungry, I could eat a horse.”

For the remark, Frik chomped down on his fingers. 

“Ow, you stupid horse!” Arthur swatted at him, but Frik side-stepped out of the way.

Merlin’s relief vanished.

Despite all his cleaning, he’d forgotten to make supper. 

Chapter Text

After opening the door to the cabin, Arthur stopped dead in his tracks on the threshold. “Something’s wrong,” he said. “I can sense it.”

“I cleaned up a bit.”

“What for?” Stepping inside, Arthur peered around.

“I thought the rats under your bed were getting a little too comfortable.”

“Under my bed?” Arthur’s voice went up a few notches in pitch. “You went under there?”

“To dust. Why? You have something to hide?”

“Oh, no. Not at all. Nothing to hide.” Trying to act nonchalant (and failing), Arthur moseyed over to the table and grabbed one of the apples that Merlin had left out.

“What’s for dinner?”

“Apples.”

Taking a bite out of the fruit, Arthur gave him a sour look.

“What job did you find?” Merlin asked as he started poking around to see what food was leftover and still good to eat.

“Oh, right. There’s this farmer. McPherson.” Arthur took a moment from his simultaneous chewing and talking to snort.

Merlin found three quarters of a pie on the shelf, courtesy of the druids. That would work. He set it on the table.

“He grows potatoes,” Arthur went on as he turned the apple in his hand to find a spot. “And he’s hiring extra harvesters for the season.”

“Potatoes are good.”

“He told me I could bring home a few. For my mother.” 

“Very funny.”

“I told him my parents are dead and that I live with a decrepit, senile old man in the woods.” Finding the apple finished, Arthur tossed it across the room at the waste bucket. It missed and rolled across the floor.

“Might as well have told him you live with a manservant,” Merlin grumbled under his breath as he bent over to pick it up, “because all I do is clean up after you.” He straightened and turned around.

Half the pie was gone already.

Merlin was half-convinced sorcery was involved.

“I’ve got to be there early tomorrow morning,” Arthur said as he polished off the piece in his hand, dropping crumbs of crust over the freshly cleaned table. “Wake me up.”

Merlin raised his eyebrows. “Early? Are you sure you can manage that?” He’d practically woken Arthur up every day for the past four years.

“Of course.” Insulted, Arthur sniffed. “I’ll have you know I am a morning person. I adore sunrises.”

“Right, of course. How could I forget.”

Merlin wanted to see this.

But he was glad that Arthur was being optimistic about the whole job thing. He’d thought he would dig his heels in more like he did about everything, so maybe this wasn’t going to be as bad as he had been imagining all afternoon.

Then, he realized that Arthur would be gone again tomorrow and the day after that and the day after that.

Arthur might have had a job, but what on earth was Merlin going to do?

…

“Rise and shine!” Merlin sang, yanking the whole blanket off Arthur.

The prince groaned. “Noo. Leave me alone, Merlin.” Without opening his eyes, he groped around for something to pull back over himself but found nothing, so he settled for curling up and burying his head under his arm.

To get some fresh morning air circulating through the cabin, Merlin opened the door and then set about breakfast, whistling as he went.

As the cold air hit him, Arthur groaned again. “Do you have to do that?” he whined.

Merlin paused for a moment. “No.” He started up again.

Arthur spent the five minutes it took Merlin to get breakfast ready cursing Merlin and then the next five minutes it took him to eat and get dressed cursing taverns, the sun, McPherson himself, and even Agravaine. 

“I’m going,” he announced sullenly when he was finished.

His boots were on the wrong feet, and his tunic was backwards.

But he would figure it out.

Scowling, Arthur left.

“Goodbye to you, too,” Merlin said after the door slammed shut behind him, crossing his arms.

A few seconds later, the door reopened, and Arthur stuck his head through the crack. “And, I, uh, forgot. Bye, Merlin.”

Before Merlin could respond, he was out the door again.

Well, then. 

…

Since Arthur had messed up the previous day’s work, Merlin tossed the clothes he’d left on the floor on top of Arthur’s bed and tidied up the rest of the cabin by sweeping crumbs into the corner.

And then he was back at square one with nothing to occupy himself.

This was ridiculous.

He let his eyes roam the cabin, taking stock of everything.

He supposed he could take up quilting or embroidery. 

Or…his herb stock could use a replenish. Although he wasn’t within immediate danger of running out, it never hurt to be prepared. Especially with Arthur around.

Relieved, he grabbed his herb basket and headed out into the woods.

“There’s no need to follow me,” Merlin said as he picked his way. “I know where I’m going.”

The druids who thought they were surreptitiously trailing him took the hint.

As though they didn’t go through this every time he set foot out the door. He couldn’t do anything without them mooning over his bootprints.

If he were lucky, he would go home and find another pie sitting on the table so he wouldn’t have to cook dinner.

After twenty minutes, Merlin located one of his favorite clearings that was usually pretty well stocked. Kneeling in the grass, he started picking herbs.

Since Arthur refused to drink the coffee Merlin brewed (his loss, Merlin’s gain), maybe he should force the prince to try dandelion root tea.

The worst he could do was spit it out.

When that patch was empty, he stood and moved to another one closer to the woods. As he scanned the ground, he noticed that his bootlaces were untied, but he was a second too late to stop himself from stepping on them and tripping.

The basket and all his herbs went flying.

For a moment, Merlin thought that he had screeched.

Then, he realized that his mouth was full of grass and dandelion and that the high-pitched noise was continuing.

He raised his head.

A half-beast, half-bird - no, a griffin was bearing down on him from out of nowhere.

Shoot. 

He spat the plants out of his mouth and started to say a spell, but-

“Over here!”

The griffin halted in its charge and half-turned, and Merlin scrambled to his feet.

From the trees on Merlin’s left, a figure emerged, running, a sword in hand, and the griffin must have seen the newcomer as much more of a threat than merlin because it leaped towards him, stretching out its wings.

“Hey!” Merlin yelled, but it was no longer paying attention to him.

That brave fool was about to be slaughtered.

And Merlin couldn’t let that happen no matter who it was.

As the griffin swooped down towards the stranger, he raised his sword, and Merlin shouted a spell.

The griffin crashed.

Its wings crumpled.

After he saw that it was truly not going to get up again and no more covert magic was needed, Merlin ran over. “Are you all right?

From underneath the body came a groan.

Since he couldn’t haul the griffin off him without looking suspicious, Merlin went around and dragged the man out from under it by his armpits. “Are you all right?” he asked again, setting him down. 

With a wince, the man sat up, clutching a hand to his side. He looked sort of familiar, but Merlin couldn’t place the face, exactly. 

Probably a villager from somewhere, taking a shortcut through the woods.

“I’m fine,” he said. “How did you fare?” 

“I wasn’t the one who was almost eaten by a griffin.” Merlin grinned. “Thanks for that, by the way. I’m Merlin.”

“Lancelot.” Although Merlin would have liked to shove a couple of potions down his throat before he moved, Lancelot stood. “And it’s you who should be thanked.”

“Anyone could have pulled you out from under-”

“For killing the griffin, I mean.”

For a second, Merlin froze. “I think you hit your head, friend, because-”

Lancelot frowned. “I heard you. No ordinary sword would have killed such a beast so easily. You used magic.”

Well, this little excursion had been nice while it lasted, but it was time for Merlin to get the blue blazes out of there. 

Gauging whether or not Lancelot was injured enough to give chase, Merlin took a step backwards.

“No, please,” Lancelot said, raising a hand and stepping forward. “I meant my thanks.”

Right. Merlin wasn’t a fool. It was politeness and gratitude in the front and a knife in the back. Although Lancelot appeared to be familiar and the nicest sort of person Merlin had ever met, Merlin couldn’t trust him.

After all, if Merlin died, Arthur couldn’t figure out how to peel a turnip by himself.

Preparing to bolt, Merlin took a step backwards. And another.

“Watch-” Lancelot started, concern flashing across his face.

Before he could finish, Merlin turned to run.

And promptly tripped over the askew wing of the griffin.

His chin hit the ground before the rest of him. He tasted blood.

So much for making an escape, he thought miserably as he pushed himself up.

He was going to have to mend the knees of his trousers.

“Here.”

Even though he was still clutching his ribs, Lancelot approached and offered a hand to Merlin.

After a moment of hesitation, Merlin took it. 

Once Merlin was on his feet, Lancelot retrieved his sword from the ground and wiped the blood from it. “I left my horse in the woods,” he explained as he sheathed the blade. “Thank you again for saving my life. If there is some way I can repay you-”

“No! I mean….no.”

Merlin wanted out of there.

A slight frown on his face, Merlin turned to leave.

So it appeared he wasn’t going to try to kill Merlin, after all. That was a first.

Although Merlin didn’t know why, he felt the tiniest bit guilty now.

As Lancelot walked away, Merlin saw he was limping slightly. 

Merlin pinched the bridge of his nose.

He was going to regret this.

“Wait!”

Lancelot halted, and Merlin caught up with him so he wouldn’t have to shout. “I have pot - poultices. Back at my cabin. For your ribs. I won’t even have to use…well, you know.”

“Magic makes no difference to me,” he said, “but I would be grateful.”

Yeah, right.

Magic made a difference to everyone as soon as they couldn’t get what they wanted from it.

Lancelot just hadn’t been around long enough. 

(And Merlin was beginning to think he’d been living under a rock somewhere not to be disgusted by or afraid of magic.)

But Merlin wasn’t going to let him walk off injured. 

On top of that, Arthur was away for the day, and Merlin could take care of himself if the need arose. And for some reason, Merlin wanted this random person to not try to kill him.

What more could go wrong than usual?

…

“If you will forgive me for being direct, I could swear I’ve seen your face before somewhere,” Lancelot said as Merlin led the way through the forest. “Have we met before?”

Merlin laughed.

And walked faster.

…

Merlin opened the door of the cabin just in time to see Arthur sink his teeth into a piece of pie.

Arthur, who wasn’t supposed to be there.

He stared at Merlin.

Merlin stared at him.

Lancelot cleared his throat. “Hello.”

Nearly choking, Arthur hurried to swallow his bite and wiped his mouth with the back of his hand.

“What are you doing here?”

“What are you doing here?”

“You’re right, how dare I show up at my own house,” Merlin drawled. 

“I live here, too!”

“I asked you first.”

“ I asked you first.”

“I’m older.”

“I’m smarter.”

“Says who?”

“Says me.” 

“I can go,” Lancelot said, “if now is a bad time.”

“No.”

“Yes.” 

“Arthur!” Merlin scolded. “He saved my life. And I thought you were supposed to be working.”

“McPherson gave me the day off,” Arthur said.

There was something behind that, but Merlin didn’t want to harass it out of Arthur in front of their guest, so he settled for rescuing the rest of the pie from Arthur’s grubby hands because he hadn’t bothered washing up.

Lancelot looked between the two of them with an amused expression on his face.

“Who are you?” Arthur demanded as Merlin set the pie back down on the table and worked at dividing it up so they could all eat before it disappeared into the void.

“Lancelot.”

“Lance-a-lot.” As he butchered the name (probably on purpose), Arthur screwed his face up.

Lancelot didn’t seem bothered, though. “That’s right.”

Merlin slid the plates out to spots at the table. “I’ll get the stuff for your ribs,” he said.

“Where are you from, Lance-a-lot?” Arthur prodded suspiciously, crossing his arms as Merlin started to search the shelves for what he needed.

“Camelot, originally, but I have traveled a great deal.”

“ Camelot?” 

“Here we go!” As loudly as possible, Merlin dropped the bottles onto the table. “Drink this and rub this one on, and your ribs should be as good as new.”

“Thank you.”

Forgetting about his interrogation, Arthur started going for the pie, and it was then that Merlin realized that he only had two chairs.

…

“Why do I have to give him my chair?” Arthur whined. “Why can’t he sit on the floor?”

“I can sit on the floor,” Lancelot offered. 

“No, you can’t.”

Merlin wasn’t going to have their guest sit on the floor. 

“You not your chair?” Arthur tried. 

“I’m decrepit and old, remember?”

…

They ate on the porch outside.

…

Halfway through his portion of the pie, Lancelot pointed his spoon at Merlin. “Camelot. I’ve seen you in Camelot before. At King Uther’s court.”

“I-” Merlin started.

“It was years ago. I was a lot younger. You helped me.”

“Merlin helped you? It wasn’t the other way around?”

Thank you, Arthur.

“Yes.” Lancelot’s voice gained certainty. “Yes, he did. I wanted to become a knight, so he helped me commit identity fraud. Of sorts.”

“ Identity fraud?” 

Identity fraud?

The penny dropped.

That was where Merlin had seen Lancelot before. 

How on earth had Merlin forgotten that incident?

Uther had thrown him in the dungeon for a week. 

Inwardly, he cringed as he thought about it. That was one story Arthur did not need to hear.

Just as Merlin was crafting a way to change the subject, however, Lancelot turned to Arthur. “Speaking of Camelot…your name wouldn’t happen to be Pendragon, would it?”

Merlin and Arthur looked at each other and swore. 

Chapter Text

“How did you figure it out?” Arthur demanded.

“It was a hard guess,” Lancelot responded dryly, “but my suspicions were aroused when he called you Arthur.”

Whoops.

Mentally, Merlin kicked himself.

“On top of that, I saw your portrait once, Prince Arthur. You haven’t changed much.”

Merlin winced. That was his fault.

He and Arthur hadn’t put much effort into disguising what he looked like. Over the years, it had dropped down in priority.

Merlin had just forgotten.

And now Arthur had gone and gotten himself a job where plenty of people could see him on a daily basis and remember what he looked like.

Brilliant.

“Don’t worry.” Lancelot half-smiled. “That secret is safe with me as well.”

“ That secret?” Arthur glared at Merlin. “Did you tell him-”

“It was an accident. There was a griffin. What else was I supposed to do?”

“And you get onto me! Don’t talk like a prince, Arthur, slouch a little more, Arthur-” 

First of all, Merlin didn’t sound like that.

Second of all, it wasn’t his fault that Lancelot’s hearing was on par.

Not that Arthur was going to listen - he was going to remind Merlin about this until he went to the grave.

“- more careful, Arthur-” 

You know what? The dishes needed to be washed.

What a perfect time to do them.

…

While Lancelot checked on his horse for the evening, Merlin scrubbed furiously at a pot that he’d been meaning to get to and that had escaped his previous cleanout of the cabin. He was probably going to have to take it down to the river to scour, he thought gloomily.

Softly, Arthur opened the door to the cabin, slipped in, and shut it.

“Come to help?” Merlin asked with sarcasm.

“He knows everything,” Arthur hissed, glancing around furtively as though Lancelot were hiding under the table.

“I know.”

“So what are you going to do about it?”

“I don’t know.” Merlin was torn between wanting to trust Lancelot and knowing he couldn’t take anyone for what he said he would do.

He shouldn’t have brought Lancelot back to the cabin in the first place.

Looking down at the pot, Merlin admitted defeat.

“How do you know he isn’t going to tell my uncle where I am?” Arthur challenged. “He’d pay a lot of money.”

“He would?” 

“Very funny, Mer lin.”

“Lancelot wouldn’t do that.”

“How would you know?”

When he got in trouble with Uther, he could have thrown Merlin under the ox cart. Instead, he had taken all of the blame for the deception until Merlin confessed even though he hadn’t known about Merlin’s magic back then.

Then again, he’d also not known about Merlin’s magic. 

Merlin wanted to scream.

This was why he stayed holed up in a cabin in the woods.

“Can’t you just erase his memory?” Arthur suggested with a bit too much gusto.

“No.”

“Why not?”

“Doesn’t work like that.”

“You could try.” 

“And I could try turning you into a goose, too, but we aren’t going to do that.”

Not that he wasn’t tempted .

“ Fine,” Arthur grumbled. “Let Uncle Agravaine come after me. I’ll just die because you were lazy. See if you care then.”

Dropping the pot back on the floor, Merlin rolled his eyes. “Quit being dramatic. I’ll think of something.”

“You’d better.” 

Before Merlin could retort, the door to the cabin opened again, and Lancelot rejoined them.

…

While Merlin figured out whatever he was supposed to do, he offered Lancelot a spot on the floor for the night before he went on his way to Camelot. 

For safety, of course. The woods weren’t always safe. (Definitely not because Merlin wanted to keep an eye on him.)

He felt kind of guilty.

He didn’t like treating Lancelot with suspicion, but he couldn’t think of another way to make sure everything turned out okay.

He wanted Arthur to be safe, and there was only one thing he could do, he concluded.

He had to follow Lancelot.

…

Before the sun was truly up, Merlin dragged Arthur out of bed to the front porch of the cabin.

“What is wrong with you?” Arthur grumbled.

“Listen, I’m going to be gone for a bit.”

Half of Arthur’s sleepiness vanished. “Why? Did something happen?”

“No. I’m just going to…follow Lancelot to make sure he gets where he’s going. And make normal stops.” Merlin had enough potions to swing it. “I need to use Frik, so go to Isildur and ask him if you can borrow one of their horses. And while you’re at it,” he added, “stay there until I come back.”

He might have been sixteen, but he would give himself food poisoning or something if left to his own devices.

Although Arthur didn’t look happy about it, he nodded. “Are you going all the way to Camelot?” he asked.

“Maybe. Why?”

“Hold on.” Covering a yawn, Arthur went back inside the cabin for a few minutes. When he returned, he held a folded piece of paper out to Merlin.

Merlin took it and started to open it. “What’s this?” 

“Don’t do that!” Arthur barked. “It’s…it’s private.”

“Private.” It was a question.

“Yes. Just don’t open it.” 

Fine, then. “What am I supposed to do with it if I can’t read it?”

“I thought you were going to Camelot…”

“Yes?”

“And if you happened to go by a blacksmith…” 

Merlin should have known a girl was behind this. Or rather, the girl.

“Guinevere?”

Arthur turned red. “Just give it to her.”

“Maybe I should read this. If this is anything like those books I found under your bed-”

“What? You went through my things?” Arthur clenched a fist. “You had no right! Those were mine. ”

“Those were disgusting. I did you a favor.”

“It’s just literature. You’re always telling me to do more…education… stuff.”

“So you don't mind if I casually mention your reading habits to Gwen.”

“Merlin!” Arthur’s face went an even darker shade of red. “You’re a - a - a lice-infested shrew!” Turning on his heel, he yanked the door to the cabin open to reveal Lancelot standing there.

“Eggs are ready,” he said.

“ Blast you,” Arthur snarled.

Well, Merlin thought as Arthur pushed past Lancelot, this was a fine start to a fine morning.

He looked down at the note in his hand and then back up. Arthur was inside.

The tiniest bit, he cracked it open. 

My darling, dearest Guinevere, your eyes are like-

Hastily, he closed it and shoved it into his pocket.

Chances were he wasn’t going to even see her.

…

Arthur showed up at the druid camp.

“I need a horse,” he said to Isildur, who was there to greet him.

“Of course,” Isildur agreed. “This way.” Bowing, he gestured to the part of the camp where they kept their livestock.

It was about time somebody showed him respect - because Merlin sure didn’t, he thought as he headed in that direction.

…

“Just you and me today,” Merlin told Frik, leaning forward and scratching him behind the ear. “Hope you don’t mind.”

For a horse, Frik was overjoyed. As they followed Lancelot, he set a brisk pace, his ears flicking back and forth at the sounds of the woods. 

Although Merlin made no effort to actually hide himself, Lancelot did not look back, so Merlin let himself get closer and closer until he could almost hear the hoofbeats of Lancelot’s horse.

The farther back he was, the less like stalking it felt, though.

…

Arthur gaped. “This…this is a mule.”

“Correct, my lord.”

It was a blasted mule.

“You don’t have any other beast?” he tried even though he was going to be late if he did not leave soon.

McPherson did not appreciate dawdlers, he was beginning to discover.

“Essie is all we have available at the moment. If you do not think you can manage her, perhaps in a few hours-”

“No, I’ll take her.” Arthur straightened. “I can manage a mule.” 

He wasn’t some pansy like Merlin. 

It wouldn’t be that difficult.

…

Lancelot wound through the forest until the road popped out into the countryside, which was bespeckled with wild grass, fields, and a farm here and there.

Although he did not seem too concerned with checking behind him, Merlin let himself fall back until the other horse was no more than a dot ahead of him.

Lancelot seemed to be headed in the direction of Camelot as he had stated, but that wasn’t necessarily a good thing yet. It was what he was going to do once he was in Camelot that worried Merlin.

If he ratted them out to Agravaine, Merlin was going to have a mess to clean up.

As usual.

For the entire day, Merlin followed him, regretting that he hadn’t packed more food in his haste to get out the door. Although he could have pushed hard and made it close to Camelot, Lancelot rode at a steady pace and stopped in a small village for the evening.

After he’d gotten a room at the tavern, Merlin waited half an hour before temporarily saying goodbye to Frik and heading in after him.

The tavern was full and rowdy, but he managed to obtain a room. Wearily, he sat down on the bed, which creaked threateningly, and massaged his lower back with one hand.

Goodness, he was only a couple hundred years old. Arthur must have been making him feel older than that.

And he was still hungry. But he was going to go out to the main room and buy a bowl of stew.

Just as soon as he actually got going.

(He was not old.)

…

The mule wasn’t going to budge.

“Come on.” 

It was also not impressed.

Although Arthur tried every trick in the book, the blasted animal stood as still as a stone troll, staring straight ahead as though Arthur didn’t exist.

He dismounted.

Two minutes later, he discovered that tugging didn’t work, either.

“Merlin!” he yelled even though he knew Merlin was probably miles away.

Merlin could always fix these sorts of things.

Honestly, he would take Frik over this beast at this point. If he didn’t get on the road soon, he was going to have to turn back and lose his job. And then Merlin would get grumpy, and Arthur hated it when Merlin was grumpy even though he was clearly not in the wrong. 

Under his breath, he muttered a few choice words, and since he didn’t see any more use standing around, he remounted the stupid mule.

As though it had been waiting the entire time, it started plodding forward.

…

The tavern was buzzing. 

After Merlin paid for his bowl of stew, he turned and surveyed the tables. At the nearest one, a fierce game of cards was raging, so he took his meal to the only totally empty one next to it.

His stomach growled.

“Hey, mate, want to join us?”

At the voice, Merlin looked up. Yes, someone was, in fact, talking to him. A stranger at the card table was hanging over the back of his chair like a cat and staring at him expectantly.

“I’m - I’m good, thanks.”

The stranger shrugged and turned back around to the game with three others, who were dressed similarly to each other, leaving Merlin feeling unsettled.

He returned to his dinner, but he also kept an eye on the group. Another companion of the three sat at a nearby table, and as he drank from a tankard, he shook his head every once in a while.

As the game progressed, one thing became readily apparent.

The friendly one who had spoken to Merlin wasn’t that great at cards.

He was losing money.

Quite a bit of money.

While he didn’t seem to care one iota, the people with whom he was playing did. Very much.

“Gentlemen, gentlemen, you’ll get your money. No reason to get bees in your britches.”

“ I don’t think you have any money - I think you’ve been putting us on this whole time.”

Merlin slurped his soup faster.

At any moment, Lancelot would appear to take his own meal.

“A few more rounds, and we’ll be even. Come on, deal the cards.”

Merlin could tell they weren’t going to leave him alone, and nobody else in the tavern seemed to want to get involved as they advanced towards the loser.

“Give him a chance,” the one who hadn’t been playing cards tried to break in. “You’ve hardly-”

“Stay out of this, Leon. You don’t have to get your hands dirty.”

Merlin was going to regret this. 

He stood.

“They’ve been cheating the whole time,” he said. “I saw them. You don’t owe them a copper.”

It took one to know one, and Merlin definitely was and definitely knew.

Maybe it was a little hypocritical of him to butt in like this, but it was hardly a fair fight. 

An eyebrow raised, the friendly stranger turned back to the card players. “ Were they now? In that case-”

For a moment, he acted as though he were going to walk away from the whole situation. At the last second, however, he turned on his heel and socked the nearest one in the jaw.

Dazed, the man stumbled back into the card table. “You insolent swine,” he spat, pushing himself up and going at the stranger. “I’m a knight of Camelot. How dare you-”

And it was then that Merlin realized that all of his plans to lay low were ruined.

Chapter Text

To his credit, the stranger was better at dodging punches than playing cards.

But it was three against one, and Merlin couldn’t just leave him at the mercy of the knights of Camelot. 

They didn’t have any.

So when they had his arms pinned back and were about to mess up his nose (which he quite indignantly protested to even though it was already slightly crooked), Merlin grabbed the nearest pitcher of ale from a serving maid who had stopped to gawk at the scene. Stepping up, he cracked it over the head of one of the knights as hard as he could.

A silence fell.

For a moment, the knight stood there.

Then, he crumpled to the ground.

Politely, Merlin stepped out of the way. “Well,” he said as the remaining knights forgot about their first opponent and started towards him. “I’ll just be on my way, then.”

(Arthur would have been delighted to know that he didn’t even make it to the door of the tavern.)

…

“My name’s Gwaine,” Merlin’s new friend said as they were dragged towards the tavern’s wine cellar. “My friends call me Gwaine.”

“Merlin.”

“A pleasure to meet you, Merlin. Under better circumstances, I would-”

Before Gwaine could finish, they were unceremoniously thrown down the ladder into the cellar, and the hatch door slammed shut behind them.

…

The wine cellar was dank and reminded Merlin of worse times, so he set to pacing to warm himself up while holding a hand under his nose to staunch the little bleeding. 

In the dark, Gwaine crashed into something and let out a curse.

“What are you doing?” Merlin hissed.

“Looking for an open keg.” Gwaine continued to fumble around.

While he worked at that, Merlin made a plan for escape.

Getting the lock open wouldn’t be much of a problem, but he didn’t want Gwaine to see him while he did it, so he would have to wait until everyone fell asleep and left the main room of the tavern above them.

Something popped, and Gwaine cursed again.

For a moment, Merlin heard liquid rushing, and then it was cut off.

“Cheers, mate.”

Gwaine had found his way back to Merlin and was now nudging his arm with an object.

Merlin took it. It was a tankard. Where Gwaine had found a tankard in that pit was beyond him, but he clanked the rim with Gwaine’s.

“To being incarcerated.”

“To being incarcerated.”

Merlin drank.

If he was going to be stuck down there for long, he was going to need it.

…

The tavern above them was asleep.

Gwaine was not.

“I’m sorry I broke your heart, mother,” he sang, his notes warbled and the words slurred. His arm was slung around Merlin’s shoulder, and Merlin didn’t have the heart to shrug him off onto the ground.

“ I’m sorry-” Gwaine began again, but then, he seemed to forget where he had been going. “Merlin?” he called. “ Mer - lin.”

“I’m right here.”

“Merlin.” Gwaine tried to wrap his other arm around Merlin, too, but couldn’t figure out how to do that with the tankard still in his hand. “Merlin, you’re my best friend,” he said earnestly instead. “I drink to your - your-”

From above, footsteps sounded on the floorboards.

Merlin sat up as much as he could with Gwaine on him.

“We’re going to go places, Merlin.”

“Yeah, the dungeons of Camelot.”

Above the door, the footsteps stopped. Merlin listened intently as whoever it was fiddled with the lock. A second later, the hatch opened, and the light of the candle appeared.

“ Merlin? Are you down there?” 

Lancelot?

How on earth had he found out Merlin was at the tavern as well?

Merlin tried to scramble up out of Gwaine’s vice grip, but it only strengthened.

“I’m sorry, mother, I broke your-” 

“Shh!” Merlin and Lancelot hissed at the same time, but it was too late. More footsteps sounded above.

Hurriedly, Lancelot came down the ladder, shutting the door behind him.

“Lancelot,” Merlin hissed. “How did you-”

Lancelot held a finger to his lips as the second set of footsteps stopped above them.

Merlin bit the inside of his cheek.

The latch opened.

“ Hello? Is anyone down there?” 

It was the other knight - Sir Leon - and someone else.

Although it could have been worse, Merlin did not feel better.

After waiting for a reply for a minute and getting none, Sir Leon left the other person and started down the ladder to join their little party in the cellar.

“What are you in here for?” Gwaine slurred.

“I came to let the two of you out,” Sir Leon said, glancing from Merlin and Gwaine to Lancelot, “but I see that I’m a little late.”

He had? 

“Really?”

“My…companions have abused their power throughout Camelot in the name of Lord Agravaine,” Sir Leon explained. “I help where I can. There’s plenty of time for the three of you to gain a head started if you leave now. They might not even come after you.”

“You’re committing treason,” Merlin pointed out, “over a tavern brawl.”

Sir Leon grimaced.

“S’not treason,” Gwaine broke in, still hugging Merlin. “Lord Aggy isn’t king. Prince Arthur is.”

Merlin broke into a coughing fit. 

“You all right?” Lancelot asked.

“Fine,” Merlin wheezed.

“There are some who do hope the prince is still alive and will reappear to reclaim the throne,” Sir Leon ceded uncomfortably.

“Do you?”

For some reason, Merlin needed to know for Arthur’s sake.

After a moment’s hesitation, Sir Leon settled with, “You should leave. Before they catch me helping you. Percival is keeping watch.”

He was right. It was a miracle they hadn’t already awoken someone with all of the noise that Gwaine had been making. 

With great effort, Lancelot and Merlin helped Gwaine to his feet and pushed him along up the ladder.

…

It wasn’t Merlin’s first time getting a drunk man onto the back of a horse, but he hoped it would be his last.

In the end, he tethered Gwaine’s horse to his with Sir Percival’s help. Once he was atop Frik, he looked down at him and Leon as Lancelot went back into the tavern’s small stable for something.

“Thank you,” he said. “Really.”

Leon looked uncomfortable. “I haven’t done anything I shouldn’t have done.”

“It’s more than others would have. You know,” Merlin dared, “that prince you were talking about might come back some day. Lord Agravaine and his merry men won’t be around forever.”

“Mmm.” 

“Not that I have any personal experience with that.”

Percival took a few steps to look into the stable to see what Lancelot was doing. 

Leon frowned. “Speaking of Lord Agravaine and the prince…excuse me, but I could swear I’ve seen you somewhere before. In Camelot, perhaps, at the castle. Do I know you?”

This was starting to become a bad habit.

Thankfully, Lancelot emerged from the stable at that moment, leading his horse and saving Merlin’s hide.

Wait a minute.

Leading his horse. 

“What are you doing?”

“Coming with you.” Lancelot sounded bewildered, as though there wasn’t another option.

“No, you really-” 

“Another friend!” Gwaine declared, shooting upright from his slumped over position.

“ Shh!” everyone hissed.

“This was just a coincidence that we ran into each other,” Merlin tried. “We’ll head on our way now-”

“You’ve got to go,” Percival broke in quietly but urgently. “Before someone wakes up or figures out you’re gone.”

Although Merlin wanted to protest his innocence (as much of a facade as it was) further, Percival was right. Even Gwaine looked ready to get out of there. 

After he nodded his thanks to the knights, the three of them set off.

…

“So, Merlin,” Lancelot said. “Fancy meeting you again back there.”

Merlin laughed.

And rode faster.

…

As crickets chirped, their campfire crackled merrily away. 

Listening to them and Gwaine’s snoring, Merlin started drifting off a little.

Across the fire, Lancelot tossed a twig into the flames and cleared his throat. “I meant what I said.”

Merlin sat up and rubbed his eyes with his hand. “I know…it’s just…” Guiltily, he trailed off.

It sounded kind of pathetic to say he wasn’t used to it. And he hadn’t meant to slight Lancelot. 

It just sort of happened.

To himself, he frowned.

“I’m sorry it’s like that,” Lancelot said, and Merlin slouched even more guiltily, but Lancelot went on. “I’m sorry you have to hide yourself and be alone.”

“I’m not alone. I’ve got Arthur. And Frik.”

Even as the words came out of his mouth, Merlin winced.

He knew it was pathetic.

Lancelot knew it was pathetic.

Even the horses knew it was pathetic. 

“I’m sorry you have to fear for your life so much that you can’t trust anyone.”

“It isn’t your fault.”

And sometimes, Merlin thought he rather deserved it. Everyone thought that magic - that he was an abomination, so maybe being an outcast was punishment for it.

“Still,” Lancelot persisted. “I hope it changes someday.”

Merlin did, too.

At least, he wanted it to.

But that meant a lot of things would have to change, starting with Lord Agravaine and ending with Arthur.

And Merlin didn’t want to throw Arthur to the wolves yet. He was still writing love notes to girls.

Then again, he could still be writing love notes to girls ten years from then.

Absorbed in his thoughts, Merlin completely missed the climax of Gwaine’s symphony of snores.

…

The next morning - or what passed for morning because the sun still wasn’t up - Merlin woke to his usual breakfast: a conundrum.

He didn’t know whether to go home to Arthur before he did something stupid or to continue on with Lancelot and Gwaine to save face. And deliver Arthur’s note, he supposed.

“Where are you headed, Gwaine?” Merlin asked as he tried to bundle up his lumpy bedroll.

Gwaine, who was still lying spread eagle and shirtless on his own roll, lifted his head and squinted at him. “Haven’t decided yet.”

Well, wonderful. That helped Merlin out plenty.

To keep his bedroll from unfurling, he sat on it so he could tie the knots.

Although Lancelot was mostly packed, Gwaine showed no signs of getting up and doing so himself anytime soon.

Once he was satisfied that his horse’s girth was tight enough and he wasn’t going to go sideways instead of forwards, Lancelot approached Merlin. “Where are you headed?” he asked.

Wasn’t that the question of the hour.

Merlin looked off to the horizon, where half of the sun was peeking through a line of silhouetted trees.

No sign of any pursuit.

He sighed.

There was just one question.

Which had the greater risk - Lancelot spilling the beans to Agravaine or Arthur accidentally burning down half the druid camp while Merlin delayed?

…

“If you need anything, Merlin, Gwaine and I will be in Camelot for a while.”

“There is one thing.”

“Oh?”

Merlin dug around in his pocket. “There’s a young woman, Gwen - she’s the daughter of a blacksmith - and this note is for her. From Arthur. Could you give it to her if you happen to run into her by any chance?”

“Of course.” With a slight grin, Lancelot took the piece of paper Merlin held out. “Anything for his highness.”

Merlin snorted.

“Take care,” Lancelot said. “Until we meet again.”

Although Merlin nodded, he highly doubted they would see each other again.

One never met the same nice people twice.

…

When Gwaine and Lancelot were a few miles down the road, Gwaine spoke up.

“Not that I was eavesdropping, but the name Arthur wouldn’t be connected to any long-lost princes, would it?”

“That’s jumping to conclusions-”

“And Merlin’s a sorcerer, isn’t he?”

Lancelot winced.

“I knew it. I can see them a mile away,” Gwaine confided. “It’s the sparkle. You know what I mean?”

…

“Did you deliver my note?” Arthur demanded, easing down into a chair at the table as though his muscles were sore.

Good. A little work wouldn’t do him any harm.

“Hello, Merlin. It’s nice to see you, Merlin. I missed you, too, Merlin.”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “The druids cook better than you. Did you deliver my note?”

It was Merlin’s turn to roll his eyes. “Sort of.”

“Sort of?”

“I gave it to Lancelot.”

“Lancelot?” Arthur practically screeched. “ Lancelot? How could you be such a buffoon?” 

“He said he would deliver it, and I trust him.”

“You’re stupid!” 

“He isn’t going to read it. Not that it contained much worth reading,” Merlin added under his breath.

At the table, Arthur fumed.

“Want some beans?” Merlin asked, dragging the pot off the stove. “Nice and hot.”

Arthur harrumphed but otherwise made no reply.

He also didn’t say a single word to Merlin throughout dinner or when he went to bed.

Fine, then, Merlin thought.

He would get over it and start talking his head off again.

And then two could play this game.

…

Heart thudding, Arthur lay in bed, eyes closed but his mind going a mile a minute.

He hadn’t expected Merlin back so soon, but he could still carry out his plan.

When he was sure that Merlin was absolutely asleep, he counted to a thousand and then threw his blanket off. From underneath the bed, he grabbed his boots, and with them in hand, he tiptoed across the room.

Without waking Merlin, he slipped out of the cabin.

…

The second the door shut, the snoring stopped, and Merlin sat up.

Oh, Arthur was in so much trouble.

Chapter Text

To Merlin, it seemed as though Arthur had no specific destination in mind at first. For a short while he wandered through the forest before stopping altogether underneath a tree. 

“Frik,” the prince hissed, peering around into the undergrowth but entirely missing Merlin behind that same tree. “ Frik!” 

So now he was trying to make Merlin’s horse complicit in his crimes.

“Frik!” he yelled a little louder, already losing his patience. 

“He isn’t coming.” 

With a swear, Arthur jumped as Merlin stepped out from behind the tree. 

“Frik is sleeping,” Merlin went on as he leaned against it and crossed his arms, “like you should be doing. Care to explain what this is about?”

Nervously, Arthur laughed and took a step backwards. “I don’t suppose you’d believe I wanted to go for a nice evening stroll?”

Merlin leveled a look at him.

“Shoot.”

“Tell me the truth.”

“I don’t have to explain anything to you.” With a frown, Arthur crossed his own arms and raised his chin.

All right, then. That was fine.

Merlin felt like throttling him.

“Come on,” he said. “Let’s go home.” If he wasn’t going to talk, at least Merlin could go back to bed.

And lock the door with magic so he could get that sleep without Arthur traipsing off, accidentally waking up some ancient curse, and getting eaten by something.

“I can’t go back. I’m busy.”

“Too bad. I was busy sleeping.”

“You can’t be serious.”

“Try me.”

“But I promised Hannah-” The second the name came out of his mouth, Arthur realized his mistake, and his eyes widened. “I mean-”

“ Hannah? Who in the blue blazes is Hannah?” 

“A - a mule.” Arthur nodded half-confidently. “That’s right. Yes, a mule.”

What did Arthur think he was, stupid? “Do you really expect me to believe that?” 

“It was worth a shot,” Arthur grumbled, furiously rubbing his arms. “I think we should go home now. I’m getting cold.”

Too bad. He should have thought of that before he tried to sneak out his pajamas.

“Who’s Hannah?” Merlin started grilling, pushing himself off the tree so Arthur knew he was serious.

“None of your beeswax.”

“It is very much my beeswax whenever you could get killed sneaking out to meet her. Do you know what kind of creatures-”

Wait a minute.

Merlin could have kicked himself.

“I can take care of myself!”

That was the answer. Arthur was sneaking out to see a girl. 

Well, it could have been worse.

Then again, Arthur was sneaking out to see a girl. 

“What happened to Gwen?” he wanted to know. “You just gave me that note to deliver to her.”

“Oh, that’s different,” Arthur assured him, uncrossing his arms. At the look Merlin gave him, he huffed. “Well, obviously, Gwen isn’t around. What else do you expect me to do?”

Oh, Merlin really was going to throttle him. “You don’t see a problem with this?” He tried to act as nicely as possible even though he could feel a vein in his forehead starting to throb. “A teeny, tiny problem?”

“They’re just peasant girls,” Arthur said.

As though Merlin were the simpleton here.

Ha.

Merlin had not raised him like this.

Was it too late to take a vacation in Camelot’s dungeons?

“Arthur, you seriously think that’s okay? Because it’s not,” Merlin said before Arthur could actually open his mouth and say something even worse than he had already. “Just because Gwen and Hannah are ‘peasant girls,’ as you so tactfully put it, doesn’t give you a right to treat them like that. One day, you’re going to be king, and one of them is going to try to blackmail or kill-”

“When I’m king?” Arthur interrupted Merlin’s rant. “Says who?” 

“ You every time you try to get out of chores.”

“I’m not going to be king.”

“And, pray tell, why not?” 

“Because I’m here and Uncle Agravaine is on the throne.” Arthur’s confusion turned into annoyance. “No one thinks I exist anymore, so why does it matter what I do? I’m stuck here! I’ve been picking potatoes for the last three weeks! Does that sound like a king to you?”

That stung the tiniest bit, but Merlin hadn’t wanted to stay home when he was sixteen years old, either. The world was a much more tantalizing place than a one-room farm cabin with a rickety loft. (Although his ambition to “see the world” had gotten him into the whole mess his life was now, but that was a different story.)

Arthur was a teenage boy.

Even though it was safe, Merlin’s cabin wasn’t the most thrilling place to be. In fact, it was probably at the bottom of the list. 

Perhaps he should try a different approach. 

“I stopped at a tavern while I was following Lancelot. I ran into several knights there.”

Even though he tried to hide it behind an annoyed look, Arthur looked slightly curious. “You did?”

“Yes. Half of them were prats like you. The other half are waiting. They still think you’re alive and might come back one day.”

“They do?” 

“Yeah. So I wouldn’t throw in the towel on that yet.”

“Oh.” 

Arthur looked as though he didn’t know how to respond to that, so Merlin added, “But even if you weren’t a prince, you still have to treat people with respect regardless of their rank and pay off your own tavern tabs even thought it means picking potatoes because it’s the right thing to do. If you mess around with Gwen and Hannah at the same time - or any girls at the same time - it’s going to come back to bite you. And I’m going to turn you into a toad.”

“Don’t be ridiculous,” Arthur scoffed. “I know you can’t do that.” But he was starting to look less haughty and more guilty, which was usually a sign that whatever Merlin was saying was sinking in.

At least he hoped it was because he didn’t want to have to deal with an angry heartbroken woman who’d slaved away at learning magic just to kill Arthur ten years down the road.

(Prevention paid off.)

By now, Arthur was starting to look actually cold, and all of the talk about Camelot and Lord Agravaine had reminded him of something. 

“Come on,” Merlin said. “I’ve got something for you back at the cabin.”

At the idea of a gift, Arthur perked up. “You do? But I just looked - I mean…ah…”

As Arthur moved to get around him to head home, Merlin narrowed his eyes. “Have you been snooping through my things?”

“ You’re one to talk.”

“I was cleaning. We were starting to attract rat families. What’s your excuse?”

“I was bored . What else was I supposed to do?” 

And wasn’t that the question of the hour. 

“Oh, really? Well, there are solutions for that, your highness. How do you feel about a radish farm? I hear they’re hiring this time of year.”

…

After prying up the floorboard, Merlin pulled out his old wooden chest that had come from his old court days and set it on the table. While Arthur watched curiously, he unlocked it with a couple of words of magic.

“So,” he began, fiddling with the undone lock. “I don’t know if you remember it, but four years ago, I stopped your uncle from a tour of Camelot by giving him a case of bed rash.”

Arthur grinned.

“While I was doing that, I found something that should belong to you. I would have given it to you sooner, but it wasn’t the right time.”

Actually, he’d put it away for safekeeping and forgotten about it, but what Arthur didn’t know wouldn’t hurt him.

After cracking the lid of the chest, he reached into it, pulled the item out, and shut it again. He handed it to Arthur.

“Amazing. A sock. What I always wanted.”

“ In the sock, you dollophead.”

Wrinkling his nose (Merlin couldn’t remember if it had been a clean sock at the time), Arthur pulled the item out and discarded the garment on the floor. Puzzled, he looked up at Merlin. 

“It’s your mother’s sigil,” he explained. “It isn’t a castle or the royal treasury, but it’s a little piece of home away from home before you can actually go home. And your uncle is a murdering creep, so I thought you should have it instead of him.” Awkwardly, he scratched the back of his neck.

Arthur wasn’t saying anything.

Perhaps this was a bad idea and he should have left it in Arthur’s dirty clothes pile for him to find the next time he did the laundry if that ever happened.

Or maybe he’d said the wrong thing.

“Not that-” he started.

“Shut up, Mer lin. You don’t have to get all emotional and sappy.” 

“Right, sorry.” While Arthur turned the sigil in his hands, Merlin relocked the box and lugged it off the table to hide it back under the floorboard. When he stood up and turned back around, Arthur was standing right behind him. He looked about as ready to crawl into a hole as when he’d given Merlin the note for Gwen.

Awkwardly, he gave Merlin a half-pat, half-hug. “Thanks, Merlin.”

(Maybe teenagers weren’t that bad, after all.)

Narrowing his eyes, Merlin half-hugged him back. “If you think this will get you out of picking those potatoes, you’re wrong.”

“Blast it.”

(Or maybe not.)

…

When Arthur went off to the potato farm the next morning, Merlin popped over to the cult camp to ask Isildur if he knew anyone who was better at swinging a sword around at people’s heads than Merlin was.

He wasn’t a fool.

Arthur couldn’t sneak out if he was so tired from sparring that his face was glued to his pillow.

…

By some miracle (Arthur would have called it fate; Merlin would have called it bad luck), Lancelot and Gwaine made it to Camelot without any more tavern brawls. In the middle of the city, Lancelot spotted a blacksmith’s shop.

At that moment, Gwen just happened to be there visiting her father and brother instead of the castle, attending to Lady Morgana as her new job.

After Lancelot had given her the note, she waited until he was gone to open it up.

As she read it, she shook her head, but the corners of her mouth turned up into a smile. When she reached the end, she refolded the piece of paper and tucked it into her pocket.

(Thirty years later, Merlin would find it, read the entire thing this time, and laugh his head off.)

…

Heart pounding, Morgana jerked awake.

She’d had a dream, and it had been so real that she almost believed that it was .

But it couldn’t be because Arthur, the boy she’d known and spent her childhood with, wasn’t alive.

At least, that was what Lord Agravaine had told her, and as his ward, she was supposed to believe him.

Unsettled, she slipped out from underneath the covers. She would ask the court physician for a sleeping draught.

…

In an attempt to sort out her thoughts, Morgana told the physician her dream.

He nodded, informed her that it meant nothing, and sent her back to her room with a bottle of tonic. Then, after mulling over the matter for a bit, he requested an audience with Lord Agravaine, who listened to the story intently.

He didn’t necessarily believe it to be true, either, but it did not sit right in his mind. 

When Uther had been killed, there had been just one loose thread that could now threaten his claim to the throne of Camelot.

For the moment, he would be careful. He would watch and wait, send out men to the corners of the land to gather information for him.

He wasn’t worried, of course.

But better to be safe, he reasoned, than sorry.

Chapter Text

TWO YEARS LATER - ARTHUR’S AGE: 18

It was, Arthur knew, going to be a good day.

It was his last day at the potato farm.

The day he would pay off the tavern tab he owed Merlin.

Actually, that technically wasn’t true. He’d earned the amount two weeks ago, but he’d held off telling Merlin until he’d saved up enough extra to buy him a gift. The other day, Merlin had made him hang up their laundry to dry after a wash, and while doing so, he’d noticed that Merlin’s neckerchief was ratty like it’d been chewed up by a dog.

It wouldn’t be much (Arthur almost cringed at how paltry it was compared to the gift a real prince would have given), but it was all he could afford.

Just one more day of potatoes.

On top of that, Lancelot was supposed to arrive in their neck of the woods that evening for supper. That meant stories and sparring, and that was something to look forward to.

“What’s got you smiling this early in the morning?” Merlin asked suspiciously from across the breakfast table.

“Oh, nothing,” Arthur said nonchalantly, stabbing his eggs with his fork. Although Merlin kept eying him, he ignored him. “I’m going to meet Lancelot on his way in.”

“All right.”

Arthur smiled to himself.

It was going to be a good day, he just knew it.

…

On the road to McPherson’s farm, he passed a heavily clad rider. Since that wasn’t uncommon, he ignored the man entirely and did not notice the sharp look he sent Arthur’s way or when he turned his horse around to follow Arthur. 

…

Later that day, he also failed to register the same man watching him as he perused through the fabric wares at the village market.

“Have you got anything a bit more red than this?” he demanded, holding the neckerchief out to the woman selling it. 

“No. Buy it or take your grubby hands off it,” she told him snippily.

Arthur cast one more glance around at the other options, but they were of the same quality and just as drab. 

And none of them were red. This was the only one left.

“I’ll take it.” He dug around in his pocket for the coins.

The woman rolled her eyes.

When Arthur turned to leave with the neckerchief clutched in his hand, the man pushed through the crowd after him. 

…

Like most tragedies and calamities of Merlin’s life, it was without warning, and he was not aware that it had happened until it was far far too late to prevent it. 

…

It was, Merlin knew, going to be a great day.

It was Arthur’s last official run at McPherson’s potato farm, and Merlin had gotten him a gift to celebrate the occasion. 

Well, it was more like a gift to celebrate multiple occasions (the potato farm, next Michaelmas, and Arthur’s birthday, too, if he could get away with it), but the sword had cost him more than five gold coins. Arthur had outgrown his childhood one years ago, and Merlin knew that he was secretly disappointed with the one the cult had given him to practice with, so he’d asked Lancelot to select one and bring it the next time he came.

It was the most expensive thing Merlin had purchased in his entire life.

But it was going to be important. 

(And, he hoped, turn out better than the last time he’d given someone in Arthur’s family a fancy sword.)

Since Arthur was gone for the day, all Merlin had to do was wait until that evening.

It was going to be a great day.

…

After about an hour of twiddling his thumbs, Merlin decided that it was quite possibly one of the longest, most horrible days of his life. 

…

In the pot, one of Merlin’s stews that Arthur had claimed to be the most edible bubbled away. Even though it wasn’t necessary, Merlin laid out three sets of bowls and spoons on the table. And, true to their habit, the druids had left a pie for them.

Merlin wondered how many pies he’d eaten over the past six years.

There was a rap on the door, and he frowned. 

“Lancelot?” he called, abandoning his vigil over the pot and crossing over to the door.

“ It’s me.” 

Merlin opened the door, and Lancelot greeted him with a smile. “Hello, Merlin. I brought the sword. Want to get a look at it before Arthur comes?”

Hand still on the doorknob, Merlin blinked and tried to look past him. “Arthur? Isn’t he with you?”

Lancelot’s smile faded slightly. “Was he supposed to be?”

“He told me he was going to wait for you on the road.”

Alarms started going off in Merlin’s head.

Arthur wouldn’t have missed this. Lancelot’s arrival was like Michaelmas - he just wouldn’t have.

“I’m sure he’s fine,” Lancelot said. “We just missed each other.”

Right. That was a reasonable explanation. Arthur wasn’t that observant, especially if he were distracted or bored. He wouldn’t be able to spot a dragon on a field of snow. 

“I’ll get Frik.” 

Merlin made to move past Lancelot, but Lancelot stopped him with a hand on the shoulder. “Forgetting something?”

Oh, right. The stew.

Sheepishly, Merlin removed the pot from the stove.

Wouldn’t do to find Arthur and lose the house.

…

The road was empty.

Merlin and Lancelot rode its length until the sun was sinking below the horizon, and there was still no sign of Arthur.

“Perhaps he’s back at the cabin,” Lancelot suggested. “He probably gave up waiting for me and went home.”

Merlin felt like swearing or kicking something. For all the times that blasted cult stalked him, why couldn’t they be on top of things now?

Reluctantly, he turned Frik around. It wouldn’t work to keep scanning the road because Lancelot was right that Arthur wouldn’t have waited this long.

Unless he was injured.

Or worse.

But Lancelot was probably right. 

When they got back, Arthur would be on their front porch, demanding to know what took them so long and complaining that Merlin was a worrywart.

…

He wasn’t there.

In the dirt spot in front of the cabin, Merlin paced.

He didn’t know where Arthur was or what had happened to him.

“Blast it!” he yelled at a squirrel sitting in a tree nearby.

“What do you want me to do?” Lancelot asked. 

“I…I don’t know.” Merlin wasn’t sure of what step to take because he didn’t know what had happened to Arthur. 

For all he knew, he could be dead in a ditch somewhere.

“Merlin. We’ll find him.”

Lancelot was trying to be comforting.

Merlin was not comforted.

The only other place Arthur could be was McPherson’s farm, which was as good a place as any besides with the druids.

“There’s a cult - I mean a druid camp in the woods,” Merlin said, turning back to Lancelot. “If you go wandering around yelling Isildur’s name, they’ll come out. Tell them Emrys sent you if they don’t know who you are. Ask them if they know where Arthur is, and if they don’t, ask him to help look for him. I’m going to ride out to the potato farm.”

Lancelot nodded. Without another word, he turned and led his horse into the woods.

Merlin remounted Frik.

It was going to be fine, he told himself as they headed in the other direction. This wasn’t the first time he didn't know where Arthur was, and Arthur was older now. He didn’t need Merlin to worry about him when he could take care of himself.

It was going to be fine.

…

Although Merlin had not been to McPherson’s himself, he knew its location and was able to pick the farmhouse of the country.

After riding up the dirt road to the front yard, he swung down off Frik and dropped the reins.

At the door, he hesitated.

They were probably asleep. They’d never seen him before. They could be leery of strangers.

He knocked.

Somewhere inside, a dog barked, and Merlin winced at the noise.

After a few minutes of shuffling and cursing from inside, the door opened a smidge. Through the crack, a sleepy man with a red moustache peered, holding up a candle to see Merlin.

“Who’re you, and what’d you want?” he growled.

“I’m…”

At that moment, Merlin realized that in the past two years Arthur had worked on and off for McPherson, they’d never sat down and coordinated their cover story.

Whoops.

“Well?” McPherson raised his candle to properly glare at Merlin. “Speak or begone before I set the dog on you.”

Said dog poked its head in between McPherson’s legs and grinned happily at Merlin, its tongue hanging out of its mouth.

Right.

“I’m Merlin. I’m…Arthur’s guardian.” Technically, Arthur was of age and could live wherever and do whatever he wanted, but Merlin had a feeling McPherson didn’t care about such technicalities at the moment.

“ You?” McPherson eyed him even more closely. “I thought Arthur said he lived with his grandfather,” he said accusingly. “You can’t be older than him.”

Wonderful.

Merlin could have downed a transformation potion before setting out. 

A woman inside the cabin said something Merlin couldn’t make out, and McPherson turned to reply. While he was distracted, the dog tried to scootch forward to receive pets, but McPherson stopped it with a hand to the collar.

It whined.

Merlin could relate.

“Arthur is missing. He didn’t come home tonight. Do you know where he is?” Merlin asked with growing impatience. “Or could you tell me the last time you saw him?”

“He left hours ago. Said he wanted to buy you-” From McPherson’s tone of voice, Merlin gathered he thought Merlin was either lying, deluded, or pulling a prank. “-a present or something, so I let him go early.”

“Oh. I see…Thank you.”

That wasn’t good.

McPherson harrumphed.

The dog gave Merlin one last pitiful look before the farmer slammed the door in his face, leaving Merlin standing there as worried and confused as before.

…

With that piece of information, Merlin was even more convinced that Arthur wasn’t back home partying with the cult.

Something had definitely happened to him between McPherson’s farm, whatever village he’d gone to in order to purchase the present, and the road, so Merlin led Frik along, peering at the ground for a sign of…well, anything.

By the time he reached the outlying country of the village, his feet ached, and his eyes were sore from peering at the ground in the dark.

It was late, closer to morning than dinner, and there was no sign of Arthur.

Unless he wanted to draw attention to himself, he couldn’t demand to be let in through the village gate until sunrise when they opened it.

Since it was too late to turn back (and he didn’t want to at this point), Merlin made a bed for himself in the grass, using his coat as a pillow.

“Stay here,” he told Frik before settling down for a nap.

…

It was the worst sleep of his entire life.

…

Then, it was morning.

He rolled to his feet and scooped up his coat from the ground. As he shook it out, something in the grass closer to the road caught his eye.

A scrap of red fabric.

Upon closer investigation, he saw that it was meant to be a neckerchief, like the one he was wearing, but it had been trampled on and was muddy.

Although he didn’t know why, he tucked it into his pocket.

…

At a loss of how to go about finding Arthur, Merlin wandered around the village, keeping an eye out for anything that looked like it would help him locate the missing prince.

He stopped in front of a stand of fabric wares. Funnily enough, there was a neat pile of neckerchiefs among the other goods.

“Want anything in particular?” the woman asked him with a tone of voice that suggested that he needed to either want anything in particular or get out of the way for other prospective purchasers.

“Have you seen a young man about as tall as I am with blonde hair?” Merlin asked. “Kind of a sharp nose, maybe?”

Instantly, the woman’s face soured. “Oh, him.” 

Merlin’s hope rose. “You saw him?”

“Spent twenty minutes criticizing everything,” she sniped. “As though my wares weren’t good enough for his highness.” 

For a second, Merlin almost had a heart attack. Then, he realized that she was just using the title sarcastically and had no idea who Arthur truly was. “Could you tell me what direction he went in when he left?”

“The road. Had a mule with him. Why - has he done something?”

Since he didn’t want to come up with a good explanation on the spot, he avoided the question. “Did anything look weird?” he tried desperately. “Was he…injured or ill?”

He knew he was grasping at straws, but there had to be an explanation somewhere. 

“Ill in the head,” the woman muttered. “Are you going to buy anything or not?”

Before she could extract money from him, he hastily got lost.

The longer he thought about it, the more of a bad feeling he had about the neckerchief he had found in the grass.

It might have been jumping to conclusions, but Arthur could have bought it from her for Merlin, and something had interrupted him between the village and home.

Or someone.

Arthur was dressed like a peasant, as he liked to remind Merlin every once in a while. The only things still initially apparently royal about him were his name and the prattish attitude he got every once in a while.

And his face.

Merlin would bet the five gold coins Arthur had repaid him that someone had recognized the prince and had done something about it.

If that were true, Arthur was either dead or on his way to Camelot - and Agravaine.

…

Arthur woke up with a pounding head and no idea where he was. 

His body was being thrown around like a sack of potatoes, and the world was muffled and too loud at the same time.

As he gained more awareness, he found that he was thrown over someone’s shoulder.

If Merlin or Lancelot was trying to pull some kind of a joke on him, he was going to make sure they regretted it.

He started kicking.

Unceremoniously, he was dumped on the ground, and the sack was yanked off his head.

As his eyes adjusted to the bright light, he started cussing.

“My, my, we are upset,” a gruff voice cooed.

The ugly face in front of him did not belong to Merlin. 

He meant to ask what he was doing on the side of the road in the middle of nowhere, but what came out of his mouth instead was

“What is wrong with you?”

Although it shouldn’t have been possible, the man’s expression soured even further.

“Listen here, you brat-”

“Prat,” Arthur corrected without thinking.

“Shut up,” the man snarled. “Shut up, or I’ll gag you.”

He would do nothing of the sort, and Arthur was going to do nothing of the sort even though his throbbing head was making it difficult to process everything going on.

“A few years ago, Lord Agravaine put out a price for you. He showed all of us knights your portrait and offered a thousand gold coins to the one who spotted you and brought you to him. I thought it was a joke until I passed you on the road this morning, but it looks like I’m going to be a thousand gold coins richer than I was yesterday.”

He looked rather pleased with himself for this fortuitous transaction.

“That’s treason,” Arthur said. “You can’t-”

“It’s by order of the king, boy.” The knight grinned.

Despite his splitting head, Arthur knew one thing - he would not go back to Uncle Agravaine even after all these years.

The knight might as well kill him now and save his uncle the trouble. 

“LIsten here,” he started in the most authoritative tone he could muster, but his kidnapper was already done with him, moving away to check on his horse and Arthur’s mule and to start a fire for his supper.

Arthur tried to break or wiggle out of the ropes around his hands and feet, but they held fast.

Merlin had no idea where he was. He was going to be worried sick. He was always nagging Arthur that something like this was going to happen, and now that one of his worrywart predictions had come true, he would be even worse. 

At the thought, Arthur frowned.

He needed to escape. 

“If you don’t let me go, a terrible sorcerer is going to kill you in your sleep,” he started once more. “He’s going to grind your bones into dust and drink it-”

The knight - or rather, the man who called himself a knight because no true knight would have sacrificed honor for that much money - stood

“It will be quite painful,” he warned, pulling out his best Merlin-style threats and rambling in hopes that it was working. “The most-”

His kidnapper scooped up a spare shirt of his lying on the ground and stalked towards Arthur.

“-pain you’ve ever been in in your life.” 

There’d better be an apology at the end of this, Arthur thought. And maybe-

Without further ado, the man promptly gagged him.

Although Arthur cursed and shouted into the fabric, it was useless. Even if he could have made noise, there was no one around to hear it.

Merlin didn’t know where he was and probably wouldn’t put it together in time to stop it.

Arthur was going to see his uncle for the first time in years.

He was doubtful, however, that he was going to see Merlin again.

Much like that day when Uther had been killed, he was alone. 

Chapter Text

Since Merlin would not be coming for him, Arthur tried to devise a proper escape plan while his kidnapper slept.

After all, Merlin was always telling him that he was going to be king one day, and this was the sort of thing he would have to deal with, then. 

At least, that’s what he thought.

The only problem was that it was far easier to come to a resolution about his predicament than it was to actually come up with a plan to get out of it, especially due to the fact that he was indignant at being kidnapped, scared of what his uncle wanted with him, and frustrated that Merlin didn’t know where he was.

At the moment, he was trussed up, but not tied to anything. If he could roll himself in the right direction (and keep going)...it was worth a shot.

Cautiously, he wiggled into a sitting position and peered at the shape of his captor.

No movement. That was good. Maybe he was a deep sleeper.

Arthur kept scooting along. Although progress was slow, his hopes started to rise.

And then they were promptly dashed as he landed on a dry twig and it snapped in half.

In an instant, the knight jerked awake. 

Flopping back down to pretend that he had been drowsing, Arthur scowled.

So much for being a deep sleeper. 

…

Merlin left immediately on the main road to Camelot.

Although he didn’t exactly know how much of a headstart Arthur’s kidnapper had, he probably wouldn’t think that he was under pursuit. Unless Arthur opened his big mouth. But Merlin was going to assume he had at least a drop of common sense.

Hopefully. 

Maybe.

If that were the case, the element of surprise would be on his side.

“Come on, Frik,” he muttered, hunching lower over his horse. “We’ve got to catch him.”

…

Escape attempt number two was as successful as the first.

The next morning, after too little sleep on Arthur’s part, the knight conveniently forgot to give him breakfast. While he sat and ate, Arthur lay on the ground, his stomach growling miserably. 

After the camp was picked up, Arthur was slung over the back of the horse like a bedroll despite his attempts to elbow the man’s nose, and they set off.

With his boot toes, Arthur attempted to kick the flank of the horse and ended up flopping around like a dead fish.

“Cut it out,” the knight warned. “Move any more, brat, and you’ll fall off and break your neck. Think I have a problem with that?”

If he could have talked through the mold-infested shirt stuffed into his mouth, Arthur would have pointed out that it might matter to Uncle Agravaine and those gold coins if he was dead.

Then again, considering Uther’s demise, maybe not.

He would just have to find another way to escape and get back to Merlin before he found out.

…

Merlin might have caught up to Arthur and his abductor under the proper circumstances (in which case the latter would have received a proper magical thrashing, anonymity or not).

Unfortunately, two things he was unaware of kept this from happening.

First, while Merlin took the main road, hoping to catch them in a village, Arthur’s kidnapper chose a path straight across the countryside on a beesline to Camelot for the quickest way to get his grubby hands on those gold coins.

Second, Frik was not a young horse. Although Merlin took as much care of him as he could, he moved slower than he used to, and the knight’s horse was fresh, excited, and eager. Unbeknownst to Merlin, the distance between them elongated bit by bit.

…

Although Arthur was used to picking potatoes in a field all day long, he hurt all over.

He just wanted to go home.

He’d tried to rack his head all day long for a way of escape, but the jostling of the horse rattled his brain around in his skull and made thinking difficult.

There was a knife hanging from the knight’s saddle right by his head, but he couldn’t reach it, only stare at it as it swung back and forth. 

After being on a horse all day long, he was exhausted.

On top of that, he was hungry.

With every bump of the horse, the liquid in his empty stomach sloshed around like some kind of sickening soup. 

Maybe he’d eaten his last lunch at McPherson’s farm.

He tried not to think about it, but the prospect loomed over his head.

They were growing closer and closer to Camelot.

…

Frik was exhausted.

Merlin was torn between pushing him onwards or momentarily giving up.

Neither was a good option.

Although he had been intermittently stopping at villages to ask if anyone had seen Arthur in the company of one of Agravaine’s men, he was met with a negative answer. Every. Single. Time.

His fear started to turn into panic. 

Where was Arthur?