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The cavernous stone corridors of the citadel stretched out ahead, swallowed by a heavy, suffocating gloom. Iron sconces bolted into the rough-hewn granite held sputtered torches, casting long, dancing shadows across the cold flagstones as the flames flickered violently in the draft. Drafts whispered through the narrow arrow slits, carrying the chill of the night deep into the heart of the palace.
"We already did the test, nothing came up," Gaius points out, his worn leather boots scraping rhythmically against the stone.
"But I'm telling you, he's being all nice to me! The other day, I called him a regressive species!" Merlin hisses, the amber glow of a passing torch catching the frantic panic in his eyes.
"That's what I'm doing now," he explains, resting a hand on the older man's shoulder as they continue down the dimly lit hallway, their shadows stretching awkwardly along the moisture-beaded walls.
"Merlin, for the love of God, we've already tested him for spells. We know he's not enchanted," Gaius reprimands, turning to gesticulate toward the far end of the passage where the darkness pooled in the alcoves.
"But how can you be sure? I mean—" Merlin tries again, keeping his voice low as it echoed off the vaulted ceiling above.
"Arthur has always enjoyed your company," Gaius brushes, tilting his shoulder away from Merlin as they passed beneath another flickering sconce, orange light washing across his weathered face. "This is a vulnerable time for him, with everything going on between him and his father."
Gaius pauses, step halting on the uneven floor. His face slips into an exasperated mask as he closes his eyes, slapping a heavy hand to the side of his face while the torchlight casts deep, sunken shadows over his features.
"Just... just try to be there for him, okay?" Gaius tells him, brushing Merlin away to continue down the lonely, echoing hallway by himself.
"Merlin!" a voice roars, ricocheting sharply off the bare stone hallway walls.
"Look," Merlin whispers, leaning in to rest his arm on Gaius's shoulder again as the draft sending the torchlight dancing erratically.
"Merlin, what in the bloody hell are you doing?" Arthur insists, the heavy thumping of his leather boots echoing softly off the stone as he catches up to them, breaking through the corridor's shadowy haze.
Merlin hisses, "He didn't call me 'clotpole' ONCE."
Gaius rolls his eyes, rolling his shoulder in an attempt to brush Merlin off again into the cold gloom of the corridor.
"Think about it," Merlin insists, his eyes wide in the flickering orange light. "What if the real Arthur has been abducted and he's being tortured somewhere? It's our responsibility to—" the young wizard insists, his voice running in tandem with the beating heart of a rabbit, the draft whistling faintly through the hallway arches.
"Didn't you hear me calling you?" Arthur insists, stepping out of the shadows. He grabs Merlin by the back of his neck and collar, tugging him backwards against the cold backdrop of the stone wall.
Gaius turns slowly, his eyes shifting between Merlin to the entirely focused Arthur standing beneath the warm, eerie glow of the sconce. Well, that does it—the small shuffle where Arthur straightens up, releasing the back of Merlin's shirt before swiping a hand awkwardly over the side of Merlin's coat to clean any presumed dust, the torchlight catching the strange gentleness in the motion.
Gaius couldn't help it; the old man's eyes were falling crooked under the weight of what could be happening in the dark reaches of the castle. He hadn't seen it before, he obviously thought no, but... had it been, well, Merlin really?
"Are you all right, Sire?" the old physician questions, the chill in the air suddenly feeling much sharper.
Arthur, stiffening from where he had been focused on Merlin, jerks up as if startled by the old man's presence, the dancing flames casting sharp angles across his jawline. "Mhm," he agrees, nodding. "I just need Merlin to come help me with something," he explains, reaching a hand out to grab Merlin's before letting go as if burnt by the very torches overhead. Overall flinching quickly away, he shakes it off, slinging an arm heavily around the servant's shoulders, pulling Merlin away down the dark hallway as an equal.
Gaius couldn't help the deep crease forming between his brows as he stood alone in the corridor, watched over only by the sputtering flames. "Merlin," he calls, his voice breaking sharply through the heavy air and ringing off the stone.
Turning only slightly, his eyes reaching over his shoulder as he continued down the dark, looming hall, "I'll make you another cup of tea later, Gaius," Merlin explained.
Merlin nodded emphatically as he continued down the torchlit hallway with the alleged Prince Arthur, their figures swallowed up by the long shadows of the palace.
....
The quiet expanse of Arthur's chambers felt unnaturally heavy, bathed in the low, golden glow of the grand table's centerpieces. Candlelight danced across polished dark wood, casting long, swaying shadows across the stone floor and throwing soft illumination over the spread of roasted meat, wine, and silver goblets. Outside the tall arched windows, night had fully settled over Camelot, rendering the room an isolated island of flickering warmth.
"Are you trying to poison me?" Merlin questions, his voice echoing softly against the dark tapestries lining the stone walls.
Arthur had pulled out the chair for Merlin, tucking it back under the wooden table after the servant had sat down. He had preferred the usual task—shooting a tiny sip of wine to his own lips and small pieces of the food to prove that it had not been tampered with—but Arthur did not even lisp the words.
Arthur pops a piece of chicken into his mouth with his fork, chewing slowly before opening his mouth to explain, "We're friends, Merlin. Don't you always call me your friend?" Arthur points out simply, continuing with his meal under the warm, amber glare of the flames.
"Oh, please," Merlin insists, his eyes darting to the breathless latch of the heavy oak door standing silently in the shadows.
Merlin flinched, his head whipping back to face Arthur, when he felt a foot wrap around his beneath the shadowy apron of the table.
"That's it, isn't it?" Merlin gasps, glaring at Arthur across the glittering tableware.
"You're always stealing food off my plate," Arthur explains, wetting his fingers slightly before picking up his goblet, leaning an elbow onto the table. "I," he gestures to the plate in the dim light, "now I'm actually feeding you," the prince elaborates, pulling his goblet to his lips, smacking his lips with a slow departure before continuing, "I never know what you want from me."
"I am your friend, Arthur," Merlin stammers, the candlelight reflecting nervously in his wide eyes, "and that's exactly why I know that this isn't you. What, have you been abducted by some far away creature that has decided to live in your stead? Hmm?" Merlin complains, sweeping an arm around the cavernous, shadowy chamber. "What—"
"Isn't that a good thing?" Arthur grumbles, dropping his goblet onto the table with a heavy thud that causes the silverware to rattle against the wood.
Merlin, his eyes twitching, doesn't say anything. He uses his magic to quietly flick a knife over the side of the table into the gloom below.
"Think about it. This is the best version of me for you," Arthur explains, his gaze cast to the edge of the table, the candlelight flickering with a yellow glow across his concerned pallor.
"I don't need a version of you, Arthur," Merlin cuts in sharply, the silverware rattling untouched across the clothless wood. Merlin's eyes fall to the table, his breath hitching as he realizes what he had just done in the clear light of the flames.
"Would you rather I go?" Arthur questions quietly, his voice carrying the weight of something Merlin simply couldn't comprehend, reaching through the warm quiet of the room.
"I care about destiny, and I believe..." Arthur, Merlin announces slowly, "...that despite your childish behavior, you don't simply have potential. You have been prophesied to rule much more than you know. And this is not a good use of your time," Merlin tries to explain, gesturing across the glowing spread.
"I don't want to be king," Arthur cuts in, ripping his foot away from Merlin beneath the table as if burnt.
"You're not your father," Merlin begins, his gaze flickering to the plate in front of him.
"I tried to kill him! Is your prophecy so powerful?" Arthur erupts, his voice growing sharper as he crooks a finger across the table, his gaze still turned away into the shadows of the room.
Merlin takes a breath, his eyes fully closed against the candlelight. "I know it is difficult, but the proph—"
"Could you believe in me that much?" Arthur questions, his voice hitching as he tries to force the words, his gaze turning slowly back to the servant, yellow flame reflecting in his stare.
"I don't need the prophecy," Merlin cuts in, shaking his head. "I know you," Merlin dismisses. "I know your heart, and I know that despite your anger, you must have had a good reason."
"Then why did you stop me?" Arthur forces out, his voice raspier now in the quiet, firelit chamber.
"Because he's the only thing you have," Merlin hesitates, his eyes fixing on the flickering flame across the table. "I never knew my own, but I do have a mother. I love her to death, and I can't think of a single thing I wouldn't give to keep her safe." Merlin hesitates, his gaze flickering to the edge of the table, his eyes welling up slightly in the ambient glow before flicking back to the flame. "I would not wish the loss of a parent on my worst enemy, and I certainly would not wish it upon you."
"What if he had, one day?" Arthur points out.
"What?" Merlin questions, his gaze flickering irritably to Arthur's plate rather than the prince's face.
"What if the roles were reversed and my father had almost killed me?"
The knife clatters sharply to the floor, echoing loudly off the stone walls and causing Merlin to flinch, his eyes flickering from the fire back to the plate in front of him. The young warlock takes a deep breath, his eyes falling shut as he rests his head in his hands under the dim light.
"Don't ask me that," Merlin cuts in, his voice low but clear, the implication cutting sharply through the supernatural mishaps in the room.
"Are you flicking my damn silverware?!" Arthur complains, his voice rising in pitch as he leans over the side of the table to look under it into the dark shadows beneath.
"You can't talk to me like that. I'm your friend," Merlin reminds him proudly, sitting up straight in the quiet, candlelit chamber.