Chapter Text
Merlin Myrorson first meets Leon when he is seven years old.
It has been three years since his mother was killed in front of him; three years of moving from place to place, watching as his adopted father slaughters those he is paid a good amount of coin to kill. Now he is being trained to do the same, and that starts with the death of Sir Lionel. First Knight of Camelot, the most loyal servant to King Uther Pendragon.
“You must do this, my boy,” his father says firmly. The man is dressed in the clothes of a noble, his face washed and clean for the first time in days. He tightens his grip on Merlin’s shoulder. “Our new employers will pay a fortune for Sir Lionel’s head. We will be set for the rest of our lives.”
We. Our. Merlin smiles, and his father smiles back, though reluctantly. “That’s right.” He presses a cool blade into Merlin’s palm. “You remember what to do?”
“Yes,” Merlin says quietly, taking the dagger.
“What’s your name for today?”
“Becket Baxtere.”
His father nods proudly. “And my name?”
“Kendrick Baxtere.”
“Very good. Who are we?”
“We are two nobles from…” Merlin stumbles for a moment, racking his mind for the name he had forgotten. His father’s eyes darken, and a jolt of fear runs through him. “Hathewaye. We’re two nobles from Hathewaye, a nearby manor.”
“There you go.” His father’s hand is now squeezing his shoulder so hard it hurts. “And when Lionel turns his back on the innocent little noble’s son?”
“I stab him.”
His father releases him, and Merlin lets out a small breath of relief. “You’re prepared. Don’t mess this up, my boy.”
Merlin nods determinedly, though the hand holding the dagger is shaking. He quickly stashes the dagger in his boot, and his father doesn’t seem to notice his moment of weakness. “Let’s go inside, son. They must be waiting for us.”
Merlin follows his father into Lionel’s manor without argument, holding his head high as they pass the gardeners watching them. Right now, he is a noble, and this is how he has seen nobles act. Snobbish. Cold and distant, like they believe themselves to be superior. Maybe that is why his father is hired to kill so many.
A tall redheaded man in chainmail is waiting by the front gate, beaming. Next to him is his smaller, but just as redheaded son. Their names have been drilled into his head–Sir Lionel and his son Leon. Merlin bows his head respectfully, just as his father taught him.
“Lord Baxtere, welcome,” Lionel greets. “I am very pleased that we have finally met.” He extends his gloved hand.
“Likewise, Sir Lionel.” His father shakes Lionel’s hand. “My wife was insistent we got to know each other. She said you were an old friend of hers.”
Eira Baxtere, Merlin recites in his head. She had sent her real child and husband to meet Lionel in his manor. They didn’t make it halfway. After, it took his father hours to wipe the blood off his blade.
“Indeed,” Lionel confirms. “Well, you must come in.” He leads them into the manor. It is more grand than anything Merlin has ever seen in his life. Art decorates the walls. The carpet is a rich, velvety red. Lionel’s crest, a lion embedded in circular plates of gold, is everywhere. Merlin has to make a conscious effort not to let his jaw drop all the way to the perfectly polished floor.
“You must be Becket,” Lionel says warmly, looking down at Merlin. “This is Leon, my only son. He’s only four years older than you, I think you two will get on wonderfully.”
Merlin gives Leon a skeptical once-over. Four years is half his age, and Leon is quite a bit taller than him. Stronger, too. He’s barely ten, and he already looks like he could take on a group of bandits without breaking a sweat. No, Merlin is definitely not interested in being this boy’s friend. He has had enough experience with bullying nobles, thanks. And Leon doesn’t exactly look happy with the situation either. His eyes are low to the ground, and his shoulders are stiff in a sullen manner.
“Why don’t we let them go off and play?” Lionel suggests. Merlin’s father doesn’t look too happy with the suggestion, and he instantly knows why. Merlin is the one with the dagger. Merlin is the one who is supposed to kill Lionel. He can’t do that if he is on the other side of the manor with Leon. Have I let my father down already?
They don’t have a choice. Merlin and Leon are dismissed, and as soon as Lionel and Merlin’s father are out of sight, Leon whips around and storms down the hallway. “Hey!” Merlin yells, running after him. “Wait!”
“I’m not in the mood to play babysitter,” Leon grumbles, glaring at Merlin. “My time could be better spent on other things, like training. I’m training to become a knight. Do you think you’ll be a knight?” He doesn’t even wait for Merlin to respond. “I didn’t think so.”
Anger twists in Merlin’s stomach. This boy is just like all of the others born into noble families. He picks up his speed, jumping in front of Leon so the boy is forced to stop. “You’re right, I wouldn’t want to be a knight. But not because I’m a coward or whatever it is you’re assuming. I wouldn’t want to because all knights are rule-following prats.” He shoves his finger in Leon’s chest for emphasis. “Seems like you’ll fit in perfectly.”
Leon gapes at him for a moment. “You can’t say that to me,” he mumbles finally.
“I just did.”
Leon stares at him for a moment longer, and finally, a small grin spreads across his face. “You don’t have the temperament for a knight.”
“I know.”
“Not necessarily a bad thing,” Leon concludes. “You have…” He waves his hand vaguely in the air. “Spirit. And you’re definitely not a coward. Most of the other noble children I’ve met don’t dare to say two words. It’s rather boring. You’re definitely not boring.”
Merlin blinks. Leon sounds almost…impressed. “Thank you,” he tries, wrinkling his nose when the words come out. Leon laughs.
“That looked like it hurt.”
“It did, thank you.”
Leon pulls Merlin to the side of the hallway, glancing around conspiratorially. “I turned eleven just a week ago,” he whispers. “This is what my father gave me.” He reaches into the folds of his ridiculous red cape, drawing out a shiny metal dagger that’s twice the size of the one Merlin is currently hiding in his boot, with jewels embedded in the hilt. “You’re too young for something like this, but I thought you’d like to see.”
Merin feels a sudden wave of jealousy. Little does Leon know, age isn’t what he has to worry about. His father will never have the money to spend on a weapon like the one Leon holds, and even if he did, he would spend it on more useful things. But he doesn’t want to let Leon think he is better, not in any way, so he pulls his own dagger from his shoe.
“I’m not too young, look,” he says indignantly, shoving it in Leon’s face. Leon takes a step back, arching an eyebrow. “It may not be like yours, but I’m rather good with it.”
“Are you?” Leon doesn’t seem convinced, and Merlin feels his anger return. But before he can lash out, Leon holds out his hand. “Let’s trade.”
“What?”
“You can have mine, I’ll take yours,” Leon says casually, like he isn’t offering Merlin a dagger with real jewels in the hilt. “I’ll tell my dad I lost mine, he’ll buy me another one. And you’re a real fighter, I can tell already. You deserve a real blade.”
Merlin’s hand is shaking again. Slowly, scared that any moment Leon will shout it is all a trick, he takes Leon’s knife and puts his dagger in the noble boy’s palm. “Thank you.” He means it this time, and it comes much more naturally.
He examines his new dagger, and a thought hits him. Will I have to kill Leon’s father with this? He stiffens, clenching his free hand into a tight fist. For a moment, he imagines seeing Leon’s gift covered in Lionel’s blood.
“Are you alright?” Leon prods cautiously. “Becket?”
“That’s not my name.” The words come spilling out before he can talk himself out of it. “My name is Merlin.”
Leon takes a step back. “Sorry?”
“I’m not Becket Baxtere,” Merlin presses. Leon has to get it. “Becket Baxtere is dead. I’m supposed to make sure your father is next.”
Leon’s eyes widen, too large for his head, and Merlin knows he understands. “Then your father is—” He turns. “GUARDS!”
“Wait!” Merlin cries desperately, grabbing Leon’s arm. To his relief, Leon doesn’t pull away, only watching him. “You can’t say it was me that told you, please.” If his father finds out…he shudders. “Please, Leon.”
Footsteps echo in a nearby corridor.
“I won’t,” Leon promises at last, a mere second before the guards round the corner. Merlin doesn’t hesitate, not for a second. He turns around and bolts toward the exit.
His father escapes as well. Merlin is left alone in the woods for two days until his father can finally overcome his temper.
Three days later, Lionel dies of poison, and Leon is sent to Camelot.
Four days later, Merlin is given another mission.
Five days later, he kills someone for the first time.
-
For his thirteenth birthday, Prince Arthur Pendragon gets to go on a hunting trip. Merlin is eleven, the same age Leon was the first time they met. His father tells him that Prince Arthur is the new target.
Merlin is undaunted. By now, he has assassinated so many people on his father’s orders he has lost count. Prince Arthur will just be another name on the list.
He stalks the patrol as they leave Camelot. Of course Uther would never send Arthur out unaccompanied. The young prince is surrounded by a swarm of knights. They will be hard to kill, but Merlin has no doubt he will manage.
The true challenge comes a few hours before sunset, when one of the knights around Arthur tugs off his helmet. Merlin nearly falls off the tree branch he is perching on, staring in shock. The knight close to Arthur’s side has a familiar red mop of hair.
Leon. Merlin recognizes him instantly. It would be impossible to forget the boy who gave him the dagger he fights with. He clutches it tight in his hand, biting his tongue so hard it bleeds. He has given up a kill for Leon once before—he can’t do it again. Arthur Pendragon must die.
But before he can make a move, bandits charge through the trees, screaming and waving their swords. “PROTECT THE PRINCE!” one knight bellows, just before he is cut down.
Leon grabs Arthur’s arm and the two of them take off through the trees. Merlin grits his teeth when he sees three bandits follow them. Arthur is as good as dead at their hand, and Leon along with him.
It would be easier to let them both die. Merlin wouldn’t have to get his hands dirty, and the result would still be the same. Arthur would be dead. It would be so much easier to sit in his tree and do nothing.
Damn you, Leon, he curses as he drops silently to the ground and hurries in the direction they had gone.
In the chaos, Merlin goes unnoticed, and he manages to catch up with the bandits. They have Leon and Arthur pinned down in a cave—Merlin can see the tip of Arthur’s purple cloak.
“COME OUT, COME OUT, YOUR HIGHNESS!” one of the bandits shouts. His friends snicker. “WE’RE FRIENDLY, I PROMISE!”
Someone steps into the open, but instead of Arthur it is Leon. The young knight is holding his sword up defensively, a determined gleam in his eyes. “If you want to get to him, you’ll have to go through me,” he growls.
The bandits exchange nasty looks, and start walking toward Leon.
You idiot. Merlin runs toward the group, throwing his hands out. “Forbearnan!” he yells, and his magic explodes out of him. The ground erupts as fire bursts from nowhere, turning the bandits to ash in a matter of seconds.
Leaving just Merlin and Leon in the clearing.
Leon’s eyes flicker down to the dagger Merlin is still holding. “It’s you,” he realizes. “Merlin.”
Merin is taken aback. He hadn’t expected the knight to recognize him. “I’m surprised you remember my name.”
Leon glances over his shoulder at the cave, then back at Merlin. “They say you’re a threat. That you’ve become an assassin, like your father…” He hesitates. “Like your father…”
“You can say it.” He shrugs, pretending not to care that his father has become Camelot’s bogeyman. Leon doesn’t look convinced. “My father, the greatest assassin, the vicious Myror.”
“Yes,” Leon says uneasily. “You and Myror. They say you’re a monster he keeps on a leash.”
Merlin looks around the clearing, at the ashes painting the grass gray. “Maybe they have a point,” he says indifferently.
There’s a groan from the cave, and Arthur’s cloak twitches out of sight. He must have been unconscious this whole time. The prince is disoriented, likely injured. Merlin has the perfect opportunity to finish his mission.
Leon locks eyes with him, and if he can read Merlin’s thoughts, he says, “Don’t.”
And Merlin finds that he can’t, so he turns around and disappears into the forest.
Myror won’t be happy.
-
The third time Merlin encounters Leon, he is fifteen years old. And once again, it is Arthur Pendragon he is tasked with killing. Except this time, it isn’t Myror that wants Arthur dead. It isn’t some distant employers offering promises of riches.
Merlin wants Arthur dead more than anything he has ever wanted in his life.
Two days ago, he ventured inside the Camelot citadel for the first time. And one of the first things he saw was a witch, being burned alive. As she died, she screamed that she was innocent, pleading with the bystanders who cheered when her cries were silenced. Her screams are engraved in his mind, he doesn’t think he will forget them for the rest of her life.
Uther ordered her burned for having magic. Something that runs through his veins, something he was born with. To the noble king of Camelot, even having magic is a crime that warrants death.
Merlin has never been so angry. He wants Uther to suffer. He wants Arthur, the pompous prince who lazes on his throne and does nothing as thousands are slaughtered, to die.
So when he hears Arthur is going out on a patrol with only his most trusted knight, he realizes it is the perfect opportunity.
Trust Leon to screw everything up for him again.
He watches Arthur and Leon from the shadows of the foliage, eyes scanning their every room. Gods damn it all. Why does Leon always pop up at the worst possible moment? He recalls four years before, when Leon asked him not to kill the prince. He hadn’t, and Myror had nearly killed him. He won’t make that mistake again. He can’t show mercy to those who would never show mercy to him.
As soon as Leon strays far enough away from Arthur’s side, Merlin lunges out of the undergrowth, dagger clutched tightly in his hand. Leon spots him first, eyes widening with horror. “SIRE!” he shouts, reaching for his sword.
Not quick enough.
But Arthur is quicker. He ducks out of the way as Merlin slashes the air with the dagger, and unsheathes his sword, returning a blow. Merlin barely manages to dodge, and the side of the blade catches his shoulder, ripping a bloody line into his skin and shirt.
Now Leon has joined the fight, blocking Merlin’s next attack with his own sword. “Out of the way, Leon,” Merlin growls, taking a step back. Leon now stands between him and Arthur, keeping both of them at bay. “Arthur deserves to die. He doesn’t deserve your protection.”
“You know this man?” Arthur demands. Leon ignores him.
“He is the future king,” the redheaded knight says, almost pleadingly. “I have sworn a vow to him, I will be his First Knight when he comes of age. I cannot stand aside and let him die.”
Merlin huffs out a furious breath. “Don’t make me hurt you, Leon. I don’t want to, but I will. I have to.”
“No, you don’t,” Leon snaps. Slowly, ever so slowly, he lowers his sword, holding out a placating hand. Arthur gasps in outrage. “You don’t have to do anything, Merlin. Whatever Myror is telling you to do, you don’t have to do it. Come with us. We can protect you.”
He can protect me? Merlin scoffs. No, no one could protect him from Myror’s wrath if he left. And…and Myror is his father. The man who raised him.
The man who killed my mother, a small voice says in the back of his head. It has only grown louder in the last few years. The man who hit my head with a rock when I spared Arthur the last time.
No. No, no.
“Myror isn’t telling me to do this,” he says defiantly, raising his chin. “I want to do this. So many innocents have been slaughtered at the pyre. Uther deserves to know what it feels like to see his kin die.”
If making Uther pay means I have to leave two bodies in this clearing, then that’s the price I must pay. He lunges once again.
And then suddenly, they aren’t alone.
There are archers in the trees, shooting down at them with razor sharp arrows. They wear the purples of Cenred’s kingdom–they’re invaders. Enemy soldiers.
Of course, this is just his luck.
He ducks behind a tree, and out of the corner of his eye, he can see Leon drag Arthur behind a rock overhang. Merlin hopes that one of those arrows pierces Arthur’s armor and goes straight through his heart. But Leon—Leon doesn’t deserve that. Leon has never been anything but good to him.
Leon is shouting something at Arthur, and then Arthur takes off into the woods. It seems to work–the archers are too surprised to get a good shot at him, and Arthur disappears. The prince is probably going back to the castle, to warn his father of the imposing threat.
Once again, he has failed at killing Arthur Pendragon.
A flicker of movement catches his eye. There’s another archer, coming from the opposite direction as the others. He has his bow pointed right at Leon’s chest.
Merlin moves before he can think, before he can blink, before he can breathe. He runs, and he crashes to the ground right in front of Leon, just before the arrow can pierce the knight’s heart.
Instead, it sinks into Merlin’s shoulder.
Merlin screams in pain, sagging backward. The world has dissolved into blurs of color, tiny pricks that sharpen into spears and stab at his mind. A whimper escapes him against his will as agony erupts in his shoulder. There is already enough blood to stain his clothes red.
“--LIN!” Leon is yelling something, shaking him desperately. “MERLIN!” Merlin blinks dizzily up at him as he unleashes a string of curse words that must be inappropriate for a future First Knight.
“Yes, that’s right, look at me!” Leon demands. “Keep your eyes open, Merlin! Keep your eyes open or I swear to all that is holy in the world I will kill you myself!” His voice is strangely choked up. “You can’t die yet. I owe you too much. I haven’t paid my debt back, and you need to stick around so I can make things right. Please, just hang on a little longer!”
He blinks, and he is being hauled over someone’s shoulder. A golden crest catches his eye. Arthur? But the prince had fled.
“Lay him down here!” an old man says urgently. He looks oddly familiar, but Merlin can’t quite place him. Maybe because the life is draining out of him with every second that passes by.
He is carefully placed down on a cot–wait, when was he moved indoors?--and he gasps as the pain returns full force in his shoulder. Every small movement hurts. He squeezes his eyes shut, as if that will protect him from the harsh reality of his situation.
“He saved me,” Leon is insisting. “And he’s just a boy, you can’t let him die. Please, Gaius–”
“I’ll do my best.”
Gaius. The name rings a bell in the deep recesses of his memory, and he forces his eyes back open. “Un-cle Gaius?” he croaks out, barely able to manage the words in his weakened state.
The old man, Gaius, stares at him in shock. “It can’t be…Merlin? Are you Merlin?”
He manages a small nod, eyes slipping closed again.
“You know him?”
“He’s my nephew,” Gaius says gravely. “I haven’t seen him since his mother was killed.”
Merlin blinks, and the world goes black.
-
Slowly, slowly, he comes back to consciousness, eyes flickering open. He wrinkles his nose as even the light of a torch burns at his gaze. How is he alive? Didn’t an arrow go through his shoulder? He turns his head slightly to the side, and yes, his shoulder is wrapped in bandages. The bloody remnants of an arrow are discarded on a side table.
Where is he?
“Good morning,” a voice says from his left. Merlin turns his head again, and there is Leon, leaning against the wall and watching him carefully. “You’re in Camelot, in the quarters of our resident physician.” He pauses, and then adds, “Your uncle Gaius.”
Merlin stares up at the ceiling. “Why would you go through all of the trouble of saving me when you’re going to kill me anyway?”
Leon is silent for a long, long time. Not a good sign. But finally, he says, “No one is going to kill you, Merlin.”
“I attempted to assassinate the prince.”
“Arthur didn’t tell Uther that.”
Merlin sits up too fast, and his shoulder burns. He groans, flopping back onto the soft pillows beneath him. “Why?”
“I begged him not to,” Leon says matter-of-factly. “And he knew you saved my life. He saw how it nearly cost you yours. I think he might have been impressed.” He shrugs nonchalantly, though his facial expression betrays him. He looks…devastated. “You nearly died saving me. Again.”
“Yeah.” There’s really not anything else to say other than that. He can’t provide any sort of explanation–he doesn’t have one Leon will understand. How would the knight understand he had been the first person to treat Merlin with kindness since his mother had died?
“Gaius told me some of your story, once he realized you were his nephew,” Leon continues. “How your mother was killed when you were four years old. How you disappeared before he could get you and bring you to Camelot to live with him.” His eyes narrow. “Myror was the one who killed your mother, wasn’t he? And then he took you.”
“Took me, raised me, taught me to kill.”
Leon gave a decisive shake of his head. “All of that is over. I won’t let you go back to him.”
“I beg your pardon?”
“Gaius is letting you stay with him in Camelot, as an apprentice. He knows of your magic, too, and can help you control it. He can help you hide it from those who would do you harm if it was discovered. Arthur has already agreed as well. He doesn’t know about the magic, but he will keep your history a secret from Uther and everyone else. He is already telling people you just happened to be in the woods and took an arrow for me out of loyalty to Camelot.”
Merlin’s head is spinning. “That’s the most mad thing I’ve ever heard in my life.”
“Is that a yes?” Leon asks. “Will you stay? You’ll be safe in Camelot. Away from Myror. And you’ll be in a better position to help people like you if need be.”
Merlin stares at the knight. Stay in Camelot, where he is dead if his magic is discovered…or go back to Myror, who will likely kill him one day anyway and who will make his life miserable in the meantime? Go back to Myror, who has never truly been a father, or stay in Camelot, where he could make a home?
The choice is obvious.
“I’ll stay.”
Whatever that choice may bring.