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0.
Arthur is not an idiot. That particular position is already filled, and quite admirably, by Merlin.
No, Arthur, on the other hand, is the pinnacle of common sense and wisdom. A paragon of reason. A man who can look at a situation, assess it correctly, and arrive at the only logical conclusion.
Arthur will rule a kingdom one day. He's been trained for this.
He prides himself on his unmatched deduction skills, and nothing goes unnoticed by him.
For example: Merlin thinks he is doing a marvellours job of hiding his magic.
As if.
Were the situation any less, well, a matter of life and death, Arthur would tease him about this relentlessly.
The only reason his idiot of a manservant still has his head firmly attached to his shoulders is that Arthur - through a combination of genius, royal authority, and benevolence - is there to cover for him.
Take that one time Merlin went and admitted to sorcery.
Out loud.
In the throne room of Camelot.
In front of Arthur's father, King Uther Pendragon, the literal idol of every sorcery-hating person of the realm.
To be fair, at the time Arthur had not yet been aware of the truth contained in that admission, but even then he had saved Merlin from certain execution through cunning and fine-honed acting skills originally acquired for life at court.
Covering for Merlin then had not required much effort, as convincing everyone that Merlin was simply idiot enough to make such claims in a misguided attempt to protect his crush had been a truly ingenius move on Arthur's part.
Not that anyone had needed much convincing. Merlin is that much of an idiot. After all, he had just confessed to being a sorcerer.
In the throne of Camelot.
In front of Uther Pendragon.
To reiterate - who does that?
The biggest idiot to ever walk the earth. That's who.
Keeping Merlin alive - and mostly out of trouble - is a full-time occupation in its own right, and Arthur really ought to be awarded a second royal title for it.
1.
The first time it happened, Arthur wasn't even aware that he was helping Merlin keep his ridiculous, treasonous little secret.
That, of course, would be the incident with Gwen's father - the healing, the confession, the dramatic self-sacrifice. But really, that one hardly counts. Merlin had accused himself, after all, and Arthur had simply reacted as anyone would when their manservant decided to commit public suicide by honesty.
No, the real first time someone accused Merlin of sorcery and actively Arthur saved him from being found out was when the Witchfinder came to Camelot.
Arthur very nearly facepalms right then and there when the woman tells his father about the horse in the smoke - and Merlin, absolute fool that he is - just averts his gaze in a visibly guilty way.
Of all the stupid things to do-
Aredian arrives in Camelot, and Arthur just knows this cannot possibly end well. He briefly entertains the hope that Merlin might, for once, be smart enough to hide all evidence of his... definitely-not-legal activites.
Arthur should know better by now than to expect good things because of course Merlin fails spectacularly. He is, somehow even worse at being inconspicious than he is at being a respectful manservant, which is an impressive feat in its own right.
It takes every shred of Arthur's self-control to look unaffected when Aredian accuses Merlin. He throws every single bit of incredulity and disbelief into his voice when he echoes Aredian's accusation, carefully pitching his tone somewhere between insulted and amused, when really he is exasparated and disappointed. Arthur looks at his father and raises his eyebrows in a meaningful way.
Merlin? Really?
His father, for once, applies some common sense and looks at Merlin with a skeptical frown. "Merlin?"
Arthur is briefly impressed that Uther remembers Merlin's name. More importantly, he is relieved that his father is doubtful, too. When Merlin claims that he has nothing to hide, Arthur sincerely hopes that this is true.
Everything promptly goes to hell when Aredian finds a magic bracelet in the physician's chambers, and whatever reason Uther Pendragon had been using immediately abandons him.
Things get even worse when Gaius takes the blame.
Arthur senses the storm brewing in Merlin even before the younger moves, and is therefore there to intercept him before he can do something monumentally stupid. Like confessing to sorcery. Again.
Arthur brings Merlin down to the dungeons and breaks the law by allowing him speak to Gaius. Not that it matters in the grand scheme of things. He is, after all, breaking the law by protecting Merlin's secret. Possibly committing treason, even.
Details.
Uther keeps acting like he stands above the law, so Arthur can too.
With Gaius' confession, Merlin is out of Aredian's immediate scrutiny. Arthur does not trust that this will last, nor is he particularly keen on seeing Gaius burn for the alleged crime of sorcery, so when Merlin and Gwen start plotting, he does not hesitate to join.
Together, they uncover the truth: Aredian planted the evidence himself. Taking this into account, a suspicious lot of evidence actually points towards the Witchfinder being a sorcerer himself.
Frankly, Arthur thinks Merlin went a little overboard when Aredian spits out a toad, but he feels no pity for the Witchfinder - not even when he crashes out the window.
On the second day of Gaius' confinement, Arthur watches him walk free again and allows himself a small breath of relief. He has heard of Aredian's methods. They are not something he wants anyone subjected to - least of all Gaius, who has only ever been loyal to both Arthur and his father.
He seethes on the inside, enraged on Gaius' behalf. That his father trusted a dubious Witchfinder over one of his oldest allies is infuriating beyond words. It is, unfortunately, not very surprising, either.
Then, Arthur remembers that he is guilty of the same thing.
Take Cedric, for instance. Merlin had warned him - repeatedly - that the other was playing at something, sabotaging Merlin to take his place. Arthur did not believe him them, and it had nearly ended in disaster. The only good thing to come out of it had been that conversation in the courtyard, when both sorcerers had believed Arthur to be unconscious and talked about Merlin's magic and dedication at length.
A rookie mistake, really.
It had confirmed what Arthur had suspected for quite some time and proved, beyond doubt, that Merlin was loyal to a fault.
Sure, Arthur had spent quite some time silently fuming and questioning just about everything in his life after, but overall, he was glad he knew.
Arthur makes a few pointed remarks about being careful the next time he sees Merlin, which is not all that easy to do without revealing what he knows. Nevertheless, he thinks he gets the message across.
That, he hopes, is the end of his nightmare.
2.
Arthur did not get the message across.
The second time it happens, Arthur does what he always does: he pretends not to notice when Merlin recklessly uses magic right beside him. He does not slow his stride, does not so much as flick his gaze in Merlin's direction, and resolutely resists the urge to turn his head and look.
It is only when a panicked townsman barrels into his path that Arthur is forced to stop and confront the situation.
He would much rather face a fully armed knight charging at him, but does anyone ever ask?
"Sire! That man- he- he's a sorcerer!"
Several heads turn in their direction. Arthur blinks at the villager, then very deliberately looks over at Merlin.
His manservant just blinks back at him a couple times, wide-eyed and blank, the perfect picture of innocence and confusion. At least his pokerface has improved since the whole Witchfinder debacle.
"I beg your pardon?" Arthur says at last, turning back to the man.
"I saw it with my own two eyes!" the villager insists. "He just stopped that loose piece of rock from hitting the girl!"
The man points frantically. Arthur follows the gesture to a girl barely in her teens standing beneath the roof of a building, eyes wide and shoulders hunched. At her feet, a chunk of brick lies on the stone, crumbled and visibly heavy.
When Arthur raises his gaze, he spots where it had fallen from. The gap in the masonry is, indeed, located right above the girl's head.
Still, the debris rests only a good half-step to her side.
Arthur can work with that.
He hopes.
"You," he says, addressing the girl, "Have you seen anything unusual?"
The girl quickly shakes her head, which Arthur had been counting on. Juding by her stance, she must have jumped when she heard the crush. Like most people in Camelot, she is not at all eager to be involved with magic in any way.
"I-it just fell. Almost hit me," she says, rubbing her arms nervously.
Arthur nods, then turns back to the man. "Doesn't sound like anyone stopped the debris, then." He points to the scattered mess on the floor.
"No!" the villager insists. "I swear it changed direction!"
Arthur exhales slowly, long and theatrical. "Assuming that is true, what makes you think my manservant had anything to do with it?"
"Well-" the man says, faltering under his gaze. Good. "His eyes flashed gold! Just like in the stories!"
Arthur turns his head again. As he does, the sinking sun shines right into his eyes. He squints slightly, then looks back at the man without turning his head any further.
Pointedly.
The man ducks his head in response.
"Is it a reward you're after?" Arthur asks mildly. "I see no other reason for why you would accuse an innocent man of sorcery. Such accusations get people killed, after all," Arthur drawls, injecting all his princely arrogance into his tone. "You are aware that false accusations are just as punishable by law, are you not?"
The man's eyes widen. "No! Of course not! I mean- That is, I am aware. I just- I..." The man bows, clumsily and far too deep. "I suppose it must have been a trick of the light. Forgive me, Your Highness."
Arthur waves a dismissive hand. "It shall be forgiven this once. So long as you refrain from accusing innocent people of sorcery in the future."
"I will! Thank you, Your Highness! You are most merciful!"
Arthur is already marching on, Merlin hot on his heels. For once, the fool keeps his mouth shut.
Arthur cannot even bring himself to be angry. Merlin might very well have saved that girl's life just now. No - Arthur is certain he did. The more he thinks about it, the more it sounds exactly like something Merlin would do.
The more time goes by, the more Arthur knows one thing for sure: Uther has made an enemy out of something that has never been evil to begin with. If magic can be used to both kill and protect someone, then what makes it any different from a sword, for example?
Is Uther's hate really enough to blind a whole kingdom?
When Arthur sighs, Merlin glances at him, curious, but Arthur offers no explanation.
This will not be the last time he has to cover for Merlin's magic, will it? Nor will it be the last time Arthur has to question every belief he has been raised on.
He pinches the bridge of his nose, already feeling the beginnings of a headache.
Merlin will be on stable duty for months.
3.
A few months in, Arthur has already spent a good portion of his time inventing excuses for Merlin's increasingly blatant use of magic.
He is, if not prepared, then at least resigned.
So when - after a bandit attack in the woods - a knight whirls on the entire group, eyes wide, and demands, "Who was that?" Arthur barely flinches.
The other knights exchange confused looks.
"Who was what?" one of them asks.
The knight - Sir Elon - points at a dead bandit sprawled on the forest floor, a sword lodged in his chest.
"That sword just- impaled him! Appeared out of nowhere! He snuck up on me, I should be dead!"
Arthur's gaze flicks across the clearing and lands, inevitably, on Merlin peering around the trunk of a tree. Their gazes meet. Merlin shrugs, shaking his head to indicate that he didn't see who did it.
Arthur almost scoffs.
Obviously Merlin didn't see anything. He'd been busy hurling a sword through the air and into a man's chest without ever touching it.
Arthur almost sighs aloud. Sir Elon's life has just been saved. Why is he so intent on repaying that kindness by exposing them and dooming them to the pyre?
Where is the gratitude? The honor? Arthur should look into drilling a few more virtues into his knights.
"It's sorcery!" Sir Elon insists, growing more agitated by the second. "Someone here used magic!"
The knights start glancing at each other, shifting uncomfortably and, this time, Arthur does sigh. He walks over to Sir Elon and sets both hands firmly on his shoulders.
"Sir Elon," he says evenly. "Pull yourself together."
The command makes the knight still, although his gaze remains frantic.
Good. Arthur can use that panic to his advantage.
He nods at the bandit. "He snuck up on you, yes?"
Sir Elon wets his lips, then nods.
Arthur nods. "What have we said about reflexes? About all the exercises we repeat until we can no longer stand upright?"
"...That our bodies will know what to do even when we do not."
"And what do we always tell the new recruits about their first real battle?" Arthur presses. "About the moments they cannot remember afterwards?"
Sir Elon's gaze goes distant with contemplation. His breathing slows. "That sometimes things happen faster that we can process. That training takes over when the moment can no longer keep up."
"And when the rush of the battle fades," Arthur finishes, "memory doesn't always follow."
Shakily, Sir Elon nods.
"So," Arthur prompts gently, "what happened?"
Sir Elon shakes his head. "I-I'm not sure. The sword just- He just collapsed."
Arthur puts on a contemplative expression, humming thoughtfully. "You know what I think?"
When Sir Elon looks back at him with the desperation of someone who wants an easy answer, Arthur nods and points at the bandit.
"I think he snuck up on you. You noticed at the last possible moment. Your body reacted faster than your mind."
He glances at the corpse and sees that the sword has gone through his chest from behind.
"You ducked the blow. Used the rolling maneuver we've practiced. You came up behind your attacker. With no time for hesitation, you ran him through."
Sir Elon nods slowly, then furrows his brows.
"But, sire... that is not my sword."
He lifts his own, still clenched in his hand.
Arthur quietly thanks his diplomacy instructors for the fact that he barely even hesitates before answering.
"Of course not," he says calmly. "You likely lost your sword during the evasive maneuver and seized another. In battle, who a weapon belongs to matters little. What matters is who wields it."
Arthur claps Sir Elon on the shoulder once and steps back.
"Once the threat was dealt with, you retrieved your own weapon and kept fighting because that is what we do. We let out training and our instincts take over. And you, as any other knight of Camelot deserving of his title, have been trained to pick up the sword and keep fighting."
Sir Elon finally looks convinced by the words. He nods slowly. "Yes. Yes, that must be it. I apologize, sire, I..."
"There is nothing to apologize for," Arthur replies. "Battle unsettles even the best of us - especially when we escape death's claws by a hair."
Arthur glances around and sees that the other knights have also been listening intently. They look inspired by his words, expressions thoughtful.
Arthur allows himself a flicker of smug satisfaction. Not only has he successfully covered for Merlin's magic, he has also soothed a rattled knight and delivered an impromptu motivational lecture.
Multitasking.
He is Arthur Pendragon, heir to the throne of Camelot, the best knight in the realm, and professional real-time rewriter of reality.
Too bad the last one has to remain his own little secret.
When no one is paying attention to him any longer, Arthur casts Merlin a pointed look.
"Isn't it fortunate that Sir Elon has such quick reflexes?"
"Most fortunate," Merlin agrees, "Impressive, really."
"Shame no one saw it," Arthur adds casually, handing his sword to Merlin. "I'm certain it was quite the spectacle."
Merlin staggers a bit from the momentum Arthur conveniently forgets to compensate for before loosening his grip on the pommel. His manservant gives a puzzled little frown.
"Mhm," he hums distractedly.
"The bandit must have been a subtle one," Arthur contiunes. "I'm sure we could have learned a thing or two from him. It is such a rare quality."
Merlin now openly frowns at him. Arthur keeps his gaze fixed on a tree straight ahead and hums.
"Can't say I've ever known you for sublety," Arthur adds for good measure. He then covers is up by saying, "Don't think I don't see you skirting your cleaning duties by simply sweeping the dust under my bed."
Merlin snorts in amusement. "I could say the same of you, sire."
I, at least, don't usually fling swords around without touching them, Arthur thinks, rolling his eyes.
"Next time," he says aloud, "do try to find a better hiding place. Anyone could have spotted you behind that tree."
Out of the corner of his eyes, he sees Merlin studying him for along moment. Slowly, the younger nods.
"I will."
4.
Arthur hopes Merlin appreciates all the help he gets from the prince. Honestly, Merlin would have been caught ten times over without Arthur's intervention.
Admittedly, the thought worries Arthur. More than he wants to admit.
Contrary to what he tries everyone else - and himself - to convince of, Arthur does care about his manservant. Merlin is, perhaps, Arthur's closest friend.
On the bright side, Arthur has become an expert at pretending not to notice things. He also likes to think that he has developed a sort of talent for the subtle manipulation he has always observed at court but never quite been able to master himself.
His abilities are put to the test when Merlin, predictably, slips up again.
How can anyone be this careless when the secret they keep could cost them their life before the next day breaks? Arthur is beginning to think that Merlin does it on purpose, though to what purpose, he has no idea.
Then again, Arthur has to be fair - Merlin hardly ever does it for his own benefit.
This time, it happens in the lower town.
Arthur is escorting a small group of knights through the streets - routine business, dull enough that he's only half-paying attention. Merlin trails after him with his usual air of restless distraction, eyes flicking everywhere at once even as he carries a precariously balanced stack of equipment.
There is a shout.
Arthur turns just in time to see a cart's axle give away. One moment it's rolling along the street; the next, it's tipping sharply, barrels breaking loose and hurtling straight toward a cluster of people. In the crowded street, there's hardly a place without people.
A woman screams. Someone panicks and turns to run, but stumbles and takes someone else down with them.
Merlin reacts.
Not visibly. Arthur feels it rather than sees it - the sudden pressure of the air, the way something pulls, then nudges.
The barrels wobble frantically, stuttering in their roll, then tilt to the side as one, rolling neatly past the crowd to spill harmlessly against a wall.
There is a beat of stunned silence.
Several people are staring. A knight blinks. Another swears under his breath, and a third one is already breaking away from the group to check on the people who stumbled.
Merlin stands very still.
Arthur does not hesitate.
"Honestly," he says loudly, with a sharp shake of his head, "how many times have I said not to overload carts?"
He strides forward, gesturing at the broken axle. "Look at the state of this! Rotting through the center. The whole thing was bound to give away."
He turns to the nearest knight. "Make a note - inspect every merchant cart in the lower town. And get someone to fix these uneven roads!"
Arthur nudges a loose stone with his boot, kicking it away. "Of course the axles break when steered over these things! We're lucky the road is so uneven, even the barrels couldn't keep a straight path!"
One of the townsmen opens his mouth. "How do you mean, sire?"
Arthur turns and gestures. "The barrels. They rolled downhill. Hit uneven stone. Momentum made them change direction." He shakes his hand. "A blessing, one might say - but would they have broken loose in the first place if our roads and carts were maintained properly? I doubt that."
He looks around, making pointed eye contact with everyone who is still staring. "I will bring this up at the next council meeting. This is a threat to public safety!"
One of the knights clears his throat. "Sire? Should we help with-"
He gestures at the mess of wood, wine and grain left behind by the broken barrels.
Arthur nods approvingly. "Yes, Sir Godwin, get to it at once. See? This is someone who has his priorities straight."
The townsfolk are spurred into motion by this. Before long, everyone is either scrambling to help clean up the mess, or resuming their errands.
Arthur gives a few more orders to ensure the street is cleared, assigns guards, checks on the people who tripped personally. People begin talking over one another - complaining about poor craftmanship, uneven streets, and lucky escapes.
By the time they move on, the incident has already transformed into nothing more than a near-miss.
Arthur never once looks at Merlin, and Merlin follows him in silence.
The rest of the day passes - blessedly - with no notable incidents. By the time Arthur makes it back to his chambers, all he wants is to eat dinner, take a hot both, and place his head on a pillow.
His shadow, however, has other plans.
Merlin has been uncharacteristically silent ever since the incident. Even now, Arthur senses hesitation in his steps.
Arthur drops into his chair, swiping a stack of papers aside with his arm. He throws his head back, closing his eyes for a brief moment.
In the silence of his chambers, he noticed for the first time that day that Merlin's breathing is uneven. It seems disturbingly loud now, and Arthur straightens to check on his friend.
Merlin stares at him. Stares. There is no other word for it, truly. His eyes are unblinking and slightly narrowed, and he holds his breath when Arthur's gaze finds his.
Arthur almost asks what the matter is. He already knows.
He waits.
Merlin stares for a moment longer. Then, without taking his eyes off Arthur's face, he slowly and deliberately lifts his arm, extending it toward Arthur's sword, which lays abandoned on the floor.
A quiet inhale.
Eyes flashing gold.
The sword flies - so fast it feels like a trick of the light - right into Merlin's hand.
The golden glow vanishes as quickly as it appeared, but its presence is undeniable.
This, even Arthur cannot explain away. Not in any plausible way.
But that is not at all what Merlin is looking for, is it?
There is no one else here. No tragedy to prevent. No turning of the head or coughs to conceal any incriminating evidence.
This is a test.
This is Merlin testing whether Arthur knows - or whether he is truly that oblivious. What he will do when faced with a truth he can no longer reason his way out of.
Arthur releases a sigh and shakes his head. He made that particular decision a long time ago. He is not undoing months of careful work now.
"Would it kill you to be a little more subtle?" he asks mildly, ignoring the startled noise Merlin gives. "I can only deter so many people. What if my father saw you? I assure you, he will not cower when faced with princely authority, and you do not want to test him."
Arthur waves a hand, sliding the stack of papers closer to himself again and pretending nothing out of the ordinary has occurred. Considering he's been doing this for months, nothing has. Helping his manservant hide his magic in plain sight has, apparently, become his new ordinary.
Honestly, what is his life?
"Don't just stand there. You still need to sharpen that sword. And clean my armor. Draw me a bath, too, will you?"
Merlin continues staring at him, but Arthur refuses to meet his gaze.
They should talk about this. Arthur knows they should. A part of him wants to ask all those questions burning on his tongue, wants to solve the mystery that is Merlin and which keeps him awake at night.
The sensible part of him, though, knows better.
As long as Uther Pendragon is alive and reigning, they cannot acknowledge this. Every word spoken about this may cost Merlin his life and Arthur his right to the throne. It is in everyone's best interest that they pretend this doesn't exist.
"Right away, sire," Merlin says at last, the words coming out quiet and breathy.
Arthur glances up, thrown off by the uncharacteristic reply.
Merlin is still looking at him with a careful gaze, apprehension clear in his eyes even as he averts them.
Fair enough. To Merlin, Arthur's reaction to this could mean the difference between life and death, and although he has not been detained and sentenced to death yet, Arthur realizes then that he hasn't indicated the opposite, either.
With a small sigh, he folds his hands and rests his chin on them. "Merlin," he says quietly, watching firelight play across his face, "this is Camelot. Uther Pendragon's Camelot. But I am not my father."
Merlin's mouth quirks. "I know that."
"And yet," Arthur continues, "not even I can protect you from the king."
"I wouldn't ask you to."
"I know." Arthur replies.
And isn't that the crux of the problem? Merlin values all and every life, saves children from falling debris on the street, and cries over animals killed on a hunt.
And yet, his own life seems to be nothing more than a passing concern to him.
Arthur straightens. "So do us both a favor. Try not to incriminate yourself. And everyone else who may know, for that matter. Knowing makes us complicit."
Merlin ducks his head at that, shoulders hunching. "I'm trying," he whispers.
Something about the reply sounds so tired, so raw and miserable that a hundred new questions burn in Arthur's throat. It takes effort to swallow them down.
"One day," Arthur says slowly, "things will be different."
Merlin looks back up at him, features distorted by the dancing flames nearby. "When you are king."
Arthur sincerely hopes this is the closest Merlin will ever get to being touched by flames.
"When I am king," Arthur confirms. He lowers his hands and leans forward, trying to catch Merlin's gaze. "But until this day comes, we know nothing. For all we know, the lucky coincidences happening around you exist to balance your hopeless clumsiness."
Quirking a smile, Merlin nods seriously. "Balance has to be restored in some way, right?"
"Indeed," Arthur says, then nods toward his sword. "Now. Your chores."
"Of course." Merlin bows - somehow mocking and earnest in equal measure. "I shall be right back with your bathwater, Your Highness."
Arthur's lips twitch upward in reponse, and he makes a shooing motion at his friend. "Try not to get yourself into trouble on the way."
Merlin promises that he won't.
Arthur knows better.
Merlin not getting into trouble? His father would sooner marry a sorceress.
5.
There comes a point in training where a motion becomes less deliberate and more reflexive.
Suddenly, you find your mind drifting while your body executes the movement cleanly and correctly, no longer needing any conscious input. What had once been a carefully directed movement becomes instinct.
This is exactly what Arthur wants to achieve when he puts both his knights and himself through drill after drill, time after time.
He did not think the same would apply for active, shameless reality enforcement - that had always seemed more like his father's or Morgana's particular talent - but here he is.
Arthur dares say that he has become even better at it than any of the people he has had the displeasure of meeting at court. He has always preferred the training yard to the throne room.
The training yard, currently, is in full motion.
Steel rings against steel, wood splinters from too much force applied, boots churn dirt into dust. Arthur paces the edge of the field, attention split between correcting footwork and shouting commands to control the flow of the drills. Merlin lingers nearby, passing out water and collecting discarded gear.
This is routine enough that Arthur is only half-paying attention to what happens outside of the nearest spar.
He is watching a paired drill when it goes wrong.
Sir Tomas advances too quickly. The squire opposite him panics, overcorrects, and stumbles backward with some dramatic flailing - right into another pair mid-swing.
The sudden collision sends one of the knights off balance. His practice sword slips free.
There is that infamous split second that stretches like an eternity and in which Arthur can see the trajectory of the sword clearly. It does not fly high. It skids low and fast, spinning toward a nearby knight with his back turned.
Arthur's breath catches, dread already churning in his stomach.
Merlin moves.
All he does is throw out a hand and take a half-step forward, but in that split moment where all else seems to stand still, Arthur notices.
The sword hits the ground at an angle it should not have met, colliding with the ground far earlier than it should have. The momentum sends it careening through the air once more, blade spinning before it bites into the dirt once more. It digs in, jerks sideways, and snaps to a stop a hand's width from the knight's leg.
For half a hearbeat, no one breathes.
Then someone swears.
The squire scrambles up, white-faced. The knight who had almost gotten his leg severed stares at the blade embedded in the ground.
Sir Tomas draws in a sharp breath. His gaze trails from the blade to the squire - and then lands at Merlin.
Arthur steps forward at once.
"Enough," he snaps. "Hold."
The command cuts through the yard like a blade. The remaining drills come to a stop.
Arthur strides to the lodged weapon and crouches, gripping the hilt. It takes effort to wrench it free.
He looks up, scowling. "This is why we tell you to use practice swords and not to rush the drills."
Sir Tomas swallows, gaze flitting between the blade and Merlin, who finally drops his arm. "Sire, that sword-"
"-almost hit Sir Cynan," Arthur finishes. "We're lucky it flew low enough to hit the ground first."
Sir Tomas shakes his head. "It shouldn't have. It didn't."
Arthur raises an eyebrow. "What are you saying?"
Another uncomfortable glance is sent Merlin's way. "That sword changed directions," he says slowly, "like something made it."
"Something did," Arthur confirms, straightening and kicking at the soft ground. "It hit soft ground. At speed. With uneven spin. That makes any stray weapon unpredictable."
"Sire," Sir Tomas replies, "I believe... Merlin had something to do with it."
Arthur looks at Sir Tomas. Looks at Merlin, standing several strides away. Looks back at Sir Tomas.
"Merlin?" he says at length, not bothering to keep the incredulity out of his voice. "What makes you think that?"
"He stepped forward, and the sword veered off-course."
Merlin stiffens.
"He stepped forward," Arthur says at length, "because unlike the rest of us, he is not trained to avoid stepping into a flying blade's path. Or trying to catch it. It's human instinct - one that seems out of place to you because we have run drills to suppress that instinct."
Sir Tomas falters then, gaze flicking around once more.
Arthur crosses his arms, all bored royal authority. "If you have something to say, knight, say it."
Sir Tomas straightens. "Apologies, sire. I thought I had seen the sword make an unnatural movement. It looked like sorcery."
Arthur blinks at length. Glances at Merlin. Glances back.
"Sir Tomas," he says, "are you telling me that you believe Merlin - Merlin - is capable of controlling a sword mid-air?"
Someone conceals a laugh with a cough. Sir Tomas looks dinstinctly uncomfortable.
"Remarkable," Arthur presses on, "And here I was under the impression that Merlin couldn't even carry a bucket without spilling it."
Merlin gives an offended sound. A few knights snort, startled into it.
Sir Tomas says nothing more, so Arthur ends the spectacle.
"Resume the drills. Slower. And watch the distance to other pairs!"
The yard stirs back to life, hesitant at first. Training soon resumes its full course, and the memory of the incident fades into the background.
Arthur does not look at Merlin until the danger has fully passed.
He still doesn't when he speaks, voice low. "You really ought to learn a thing or two about subtlety, Merlin."
Merlin frowns. "He would have lost a leg."
"Yes," Arthur says. He finally glances at Merlin. "He didn't."
Thanks to you, he doesn't voice.
Merlin meets his eyes.
"You could have lost far more," Arthur adds at last, turning his attention back to the drills.
Beside him, Merlin swallows. "I'm sorry."
Arthur folds his arms. "You have an awful habit of doing the right thing at the wrong time." He exhales sharply. "Next time, try not to move so obviously."
"I'm working on it," Merlin says under his breath.
Arthur valiantly tries not to picture Merlin practicing his magic where anyone could see. This cannot be healthy for his heart.
Instead, he watches the drills, jaw tight.
Instinct. Reflex. Training.
Arthus has spent his entire life shaping those things. All of it, he thinks grimly, can be taught.
Even this.
+1
Arthur, for all the headache it causes him, prides himself on his unmatched ability to rewrite reality in real time.
He has become a manipulator of words so masterful even court feels less daunting now. Reality is but a suggestion, a general direction for where an event could go. Observations are only as reliable as the logic behind them is sound. Arthur is no longer bound by truth; truth is subject to his will. He doesn't just command knights - he commands experiences, reshapes perception, and orchestrates belief.
Arthur-
Arthur watches as a carriage loses a wheel in the courtyard, tossing a cloud of dust and debris toward the assembled court. The wheel spins directly toward his father, standing squarely in the center of it all.
Merlin reacts. Because of course he does.
It is neither violent nor dramatic. He simply waves a hand in a near-imperceptible motion, and the air seems to thrum with a subtle pressure Arthur has been growing increasingly aware of lately.
The wheel rights itself mid-tilt, and changes direction, rolling harmlessly aside without striking anyone.
Uther blinks. Looks around.
His eyes narrow.
Arthur freezes for a heartbeat, already bracing for pandemonium and inventing excuse after excuse in his head. He can convince many people of absurd things now, but Uther Pendragon is an opponent of an entirely new order.
Before he has the chance to say anything, the owner of the carriage comes rushing over.
"Sire! Your Majesty! My apologies! The wheel must have caught on a loose cobblestone. What fortune that the inclince is the way it is!"
Uther blinks at the man. "The... incline?" he finally asks, dropping his gaze to the perfectly even ground beneath his feet.
A knight clears his throat. "The wheel was likely unbalanced, sire. Any slight irregularity would have sent it rolling off-course."
Another bystander nods. "Been seeing many things rolling all over the place lately. Ordering the streets evened out again was truly thoughtful."
The king glances at his son, who had indeed given that particular order to his knights despite Uther's reservations on whether it was truly necessary. Arthur meets Uther's gaze evenly and gives a small shrug as if to say told you so.
Arthur doesn't even need to say anything - the explanation is building itself right in front of his eyes.
Someone clicks their tongue. "Good thing the wind's blowing from the south today. If it had not tilted that wheel back upright..."
Arthur discreetly glances at the flags waving on the castle walls. The wind is not, in fact, blowing from the south. No one seems to notice this.
Merlin stares at Arthur, wide-eyed. Arthur can only raise a brow in silent acknowledgment.
Some nobles nod, muttering about shoddy craftsmanship and long-overdue road maintenance. Another remarks on Uther's order to have all carriages in the lower town inspected - which, again, was Arthur's order, though Uther soaks up the credit without comment.
Someone finally picks up the wheel. The crowd disperses. Uther and his court move on without ever connecting a single dot, their attention already diverted to the next boring topic.
Arthur exchanges a glance with Merlin.
"Did they just...?" Merlin whispers.
Arthur considers for a long moment.
The disaster waiting to happen. The disaster that had waited to happen, the magical interference, the perfectly plausible explanations forming without him. Reality, for once, seems to have reshaped itself entirely on its own.
Huh.
"Must have been the uneven ground," he says at length, shrugging.
Arthur resumes his walk. Merlin scurries after him.
Forget a second royal title. Forget accolades. Today, reality reshaped itself around the illusion Arthur has been steadily building - and Arthur did not even have to say anything.
He allows himself a small, tight-lipped smile. Take that, instructors who called me hopeless at the subtle art of manipulation.
Merlin catches up to him, a grin on his face.
"That was almost too easy."
Arthur glances at him sideways. "Don't go tempting fate."
"Me? I would never!" Merlin replies cheerily.
Arthur snorts. They both know better than that.
One of the servants accompanying them slows to let Merlin catch up with him. Arthur keeps walking, putting just enough distance between himself and the servants to appear like he is giving privacy while remaining in earshot.
"Did you see that?" the servant asks Merlin. "The wheel was headed straight for His Majesty! It's incredible luck that it veered off-course!"
Arthur can hear the smile in Merlin's voice when the other answers, "Yes. Very lucky indeed. Balance has to be restored in some way, right?"
The servant chuckles, droning on about dropping a stack of plates just last week, and how surely fate has intervened now to make up for this.
Arthur shakes his head to himself. People will truly believe anything.
What fortune, then, that he has perfected the art of making even the absurd sound most convincing.