Chapter Text
“…And when you’re done with the stables, you may take the rest of the night off,” Arthur said.
“Gee, thanks,” Merlin sniped before flouncing off in a huff and muttering something about royals that probably would have been deeply insulting, had Arthur cared to listen to it; only Arthur hadn’t listened, because he’d just given Merlin a list of chores that was, well, utterly unreasonable, even by his standards, and he knew it.
But really, he didn’t have a choice, because he needed Merlin distracted and out of the way, for vitally important Reasons of State.
Namely: for the Reason that Arthur didn’t want to deal with the smug State Merlin would be in, if he knew what Arthur was about to do.
Sighing, Arthur reached beneath the wardrobe— a hiding place Merlin would never think to check, for fear of having to actually to clean under something— and took out the book he’d secretly accepted from a visiting noble out of Nemeth, and thought about how much easier his life would be if he’d just admit that Merlin could be right every now and again.
Then he remembered the look in Merlin’s eyes when he’d told Arthur that ‘you know, if you cracked open a book for yourself every now and again, we wouldn’t have half the trouble we do with these sorts of things’ just after he’d brandished a live rooster at some ghastly snake creature that a full score of Arthur’s own knights had tried and failed to kill, making the thing drop dead on the spot, and thought better of it.
“He’d be insufferable,” Arthur muttered to himself as he set his crown to one side, wishing for the thousandth time that the King’s crown didn’t have to be twice as heavy as the one he had as a Prince, and opened the Bestiary Mysterium. “And I’m not doing it because he told me to, I’m doing it because this kingdom has turned into a magnet for monsters, somehow, and I’m responsible for its defense.”
* * *
A few moments later, Arthur managed to forget all about how irritated he was, because, as it turned out, the book was fascinating in the same obscene, slightly sickening way that watching Gaius when he was busy with a particularly bloody and unpleasant procedure— lancing over-large boils, for instance— was fascinating.
For example, there was, if the book was to be believed, a sect of cavalrymen in northern Éire that rode about with their heads tucked under their arms, and whipped their horses with lengths of human spine, and that was an image that would probably haunt Arthur for weeks. And that was nothing compared to the women who would go out at night after leaving their skins at home, or the blood thirsty, mean-tempered demons who took great pride in hopping about whilst pretending to be slightly-larger-than-average white rabbits!
He did, privately, have some doubts about some of it— especially about the evil rabbits— since the book had made the same claims about gryphons and the like being impossible to slay without magic being involved in the slaying, and he’d seen that disproven, but still, if even half of it was true….
Well, if even half of it was true, then the world was a great deal stranger than Arthur had previously thought, and after spending his life in Camelot, he’d thought it quite strange indeed.
Then he turned a page and saw a rather morbid illustration of a woman in a nightgown tearing at her own hair, and had to stick his head out and call for a passing servant to fetch him a large jug of wine after he read the words.
In speaking of the Creatures of Magic, the book had read, we must also speak of those who may count themselves as Men, but who bear magic in their veins. The common folk may persist in attributing all magic to sorcerers, but the learned amongst us ought to know that there are distinctions; sorcery, of course, is the Art and Practice of utilizing the Powers of the Earth and its many Creations by means of the words, amulets, icons, and symbols of the Old Religion, but not all with magic depend upon such methods. Indeed, there are many who are born with the Power, such as the Seers, who develop Foresight, usually upon the onset of puberty; this is, in fact, the most dangerous of the Gifts, at least for its wielder, for the Sight often begins in nightmares and ill-omens, and it is not at all uncommon for these poor souls to fall prey to madness, if they are not trained to manage their Sight. Worse yet, the strongest of them nearly always manifest some active magic, usually in the form of random pulses of Force, made more frequent in times of strong emotions, which may shatter clay and glass or cause fires to start or to flare up to dangerous proportions.
Arthur wanted, badly, to throw the book into the fire and count that passage among the half that was clearly untrue; only, he couldn’t, because it explained everything, and it left Arthur feeling distinctly ill. If it wasn’t a choice, if it just happened….
Arthur read on.
The next passage, which calmly read there are also Witches and Warlocks who are born with active magic, and who, with relatively little effort, can lay claim to the sort of Powers that most sorcerers must spend years striving to attain, if the sorcerer can ever manage it, made Arthur uneasy; the passage about Hearth Witches, who possess the uncanny ability to make bread to rise, perfectly season soups and foods of all sorts, and keep their homes clean with hardly any effort made him snort and wonder if there was something exactly the opposite of a Hearth Witch, and if Merlin was one— and then he felt a bit guilty for accusing Merlin of having magic, if only in jest and in the privacy of his own head, even if it would explain his nearly supernatural incompetence at being a servant.
But then he turned another page, and felt his entire world come apart at the seams.
Arthur surged to his feet, went out to the hallway, and seized the arm of the nearest servant.
“George, thank God!”
“Your Majesty?” George asked, doing his best to hide his confusion and displeasure at being touched, and largely failing.
Arthur took a moment to narrow his eyes at the man and think about Hearth Witches again, remembering the times that George had stood in when Merlin was off getting drunk or doing God knows what else, then shook off the thought as being unimportant— if still very interesting— and said, “I need you to fetch my Round Table, and send them to me immediately, and whatever you do, be discreet, and if you see Merlin, don’t ask him to come, but tell him I also need him to oil my saddles before he finishes tonight. And send someone up with a few trays, too; we’ll be working late! And some chairs!”
* * *
Gwaine and Percival arrived together, naturally, then Elyan and Leon, with Guinevere close behind.
“Arthur, what’s wrong?” Guinevere asked at once. “You look pale.”
A moment later, Gwaine looked around, stiffened, and said, “Where’s Merlin? Is he hurt?”
Arthur sighed, and said, “He’s fine, he’s probably still in the stables.”
“Should we send someone to fetch him, sire?” Leon offered.
“No!” Arthur shouted. He cleared his throat, seeing their concern, and said, more softly, “No. I want him to stay exactly where he is. This is… well… there’s no easy way to say this, but I’m trusting all of you to keep this secret, for now, even from him. Especially from him!”
“Your Majesty, forgive me, but hasn’t Merlin proven his loyalty?” Elyan said, hesitantly, and Arthur was gratified to see everyone nod.
Well, everyone but Gwaine, who was glaring at Arthur instead, and looked fully prepared to throw a gauntlet down and defend Merlin’s honor, if Arthur tried to say otherwise.
“He has, many times over,” Arthur said. “And that’s precisely why I don’t want him to be involved! This is about him, you see. Well, more accurately, it’s for him, and I don’t want to alarm him until we’re ready.”
Arthur held up his hands, stopping the rest of their questions, and took a deep breath. “Merlin is the most loyal man I know, and I trust him with my life,” he said, solemnly. “I want him to be safe, and protected, but he’s in danger.”
Arthur had to gesture again and glower forbiddingly at Gwaine, to stop him from interrupting when he heard the words Merlin and danger in the same sentence. “We need to fix that, and that means that the laws must change.”
Nothing could have stopped Leon from interrupting at that, though. “The laws?” Leon asked, incredulously.
Arthur tried to come up with a delicate way to phrase it, and failed.
Instead, he said, bluntly, “Merlin has magic.”
“Merlin would never—” Guinevere said, murderously, at the same time that Gwaine stood and put a hand on his sword, and Leon said, “Merlin?” in a tone which suggested that, if Arthur had just tried to convince him that the grass on the training field was purple, and always had been, it would have been more believable.
Elyan put a hand his sister’s shoulder, and on Gwaine’s wrist, and said, “You said the law must change; you mean to repeal the ban,” which silenced the lot of them and had Gwaine lurching heavily back into his chair.
Arthur lifted the book from his desk, and showed them the cover. “There have been too many attacks from magical creatures and the like; I decided it would be best to prepare for them, and learn more about the forces that may threaten our people,” Arthur said, deliberately not mentioning that it had actually been Merlin’s suggestion, for fear that it would eventually get back to him that he’d been right. “But this book also refers to people who are born with magic.”
“But sorcery is learned,” Leon said, furrowing his brow.
“Sorcery is,” Percival said seriously, “But magic isn’t always. Some people have… knacks. Little tricks they can just do, without really trying.” When they looked at him in astonishment, he shrugged. “I’ve met druids, before; I knew a man who could tie a knot that would never come loose unless it was touched by human hands, a hunter who could sniff out rabbits better than any hound could, and I even met a woman once who never burnt herself or her food while she cooked, no matter how drunk and reckless she got with her fires.”
“Thank you, Percival,” Arthur said, with true gratitude; it put him at ease to hear some of what he’d read confirmed, firsthand. “The book also spoke of people, usually woman, who could gain knowledge of the future. It detailed, quite plainly, the way that their power usually starts out as nightmares, and can lead to madness if it goes untrained. And the way that they might break things, or start fires, after a time, without meaning to. I was inclined to take the book a lot more seriously after that.”
Arthur favored his First Knight and his wife with very significant looks.
Guinevere whispered, “Morgana,” and covered her face with her hands while Leon pressed his lips together, tightly, and rubbed at his chin. Many of the other knights shuddered.
“Merlin doesn’t exactly run around prophesying, and I would hardly call him mad,” Gwaine said, “except for the bit where he manages to put up with you.”
Arthur might have grimaced at him if Gwaine hadn’t managed to cut through the tension beautifully, and if he didn’t strongly suspect that had been the man’s entire reason for making the joke in the first place.
“No, he doesn’t.” Arthur hefted the book again, opened it to the marked section, and read.
“Rarer still are the Hedge Wizards and Hedge Witches, who have an affinity for living things, warmth, and even Luck itself,” he quoted. “Under their hands, even the dampest wood will light without smoke. Under their eyes, the path to their desires becomes clear, without the need of a map, and they are invaluable in campaign, for they have a keen sense for danger, and often experience a shiver along their spines when they are watched or targeted for attack, and their enemies often fumble their blades, fall without reason, or suffer from other small misfortunes which may turn the tide of battle. Indeed, their Gifts are subtle, but mighty; often, they do not even know that they are so blessed, but if they do, it is not uncommon for them to gain some middling skill at the sorcerous arts, for they are often also blessed with keen memories and surprising wit.”
Arthur put the book down, and said, in a tone far lighter than his actual feelings on the matter, “Sound like anyone we know?”
“Shit,” Gwaine breathed, with something like awe.
“Falling branches,” Elyan whispered.
“I think,” Arthur said, ruefully, “that we’ll be here all night if we try to lay out all the little things Merlin might have helped us with, without us knowing. Hell, there’s probably a lot he does for us that he doesn’t even know about; the book says that a lot of what people born with magic do is instinctive.”
“Do you really think he’s unaware of it?” Percival asked. “I mean, he’s always been oddly observant; I can’t imagine he wouldn’t recognize it, eventually.”
“For his sake, I hope he hasn’t,” Arthur said, darkly. “Because if he has, it means he’s been living in a kingdom that would see him dead for something he couldn’t help, and sticking around anyways. I always knew he was loyal, but that….” He shook his head and reached for the food, to give him something to hide behind for a moment.
“He must have been so afraid,” Guinevere said.
“It’s a lot worse than that,” Arthur grumbled.
“What could be worse than thinking he could be burned, just for being who he is?” Gwaine asked, darkly.
“Hearing nearly all of his friends regularly condemn the evils and corruption of magic and all who practice it,” Arthur said in an even darker tone.
There wasn’t much more anyone could say, after that.
* * *
If Arthur spent the rest of his life doing nothing other than singing Leon’s praises to anyone and everyone in earshot, it still wouldn’t be enough; Arthur had anticipated pitched uphill battles with the Council, and worse, with their allies, given that the ban on magic was part of nearly every treaty Camelot had. And when Arthur had first presented his proposal to the Council, they’d reacted exactly the way he’d imagined they would.
Then, after a long bout of people shouting over each other Leon had stood, hurled a plate into the wall like a discus, then said into the ringing silence that filled the room after the ensuing crash, “My Lords, if you cannot have compassion for those who are being punished for the way that they were born, which is no more right than if the peasantry were to suddenly decide that all those of noble blood must die for the crime of having something by right of birth that they themselves do not possess, then perhaps you may consider the benefits of allowing magic into the land. You may consider, for example, the growth of crops that might otherwise have withered, the healing of sickness and injury which may otherwise have been fatal, and vanquishing of foes which may otherwise have decimated full scores of our men.”
Gaius and Geoffrey nodded, forcefully, and several nobles appeared to be considering this when Lord Henrich, one of Uther’s staunchest allies, rose. “And yet allowing magic would certainly cause the peasantry to rebel, should we allow them that power,” he argued. “We would not arm each serf with swords; they would be a danger to themselves, and to us! Why, then, would we allow them the weapon of sorcery?”
Arthur’s heart sank, but Leon scoffed. “I’d call it a tool, not a weapon, and allowing the practice does not allow every usage of it. We can always restrict certain aspects of the craft, if we have to, or, more simply, restrict the results; we would condemn murder the same if it was done by a knife as we would an axe, and a thief who snatched a purse at market is treated just the same as a servant who steals from his master’s household, and so we could easily say that any crime which is done by means of magic would be punished as if that crime was done by mortal means.”
Lord Henrich still looked unconvinced; then Leon said, “And you show a remarkable lack of foresight, for a man of the treasury.”
Lord Henrich spluttered, glowering— at least until Leon finished by saying, “After all, people will want magical aid, once they see it in action, and flock to buy it… think of the taxes!”
And suddenly a lot of people found themselves much more sympathetic to the plight of magic’s children.
* * *
Of course, having the Council’s cooperation didn’t mean it would be quick; they still needed to address Camelot’s allies, which would take time, even if they were as easily persuaded, and there would be a great deal of paperwork to go through. Uther, in his fervor, had included language condemning magic into nearly every piece of legislature, when he could find a pretense to do so, from provisions against enchanted cloth in the allowance for the Textile Guild, to specific ratifications on the nature of farming practices that forbid planting by the phases of the moon, of all things.
All of which meant that Arthur was going to have to put up with George far more than he’d like, and that he needed help, if he wasn’t going to damage his relationship with Merlin irreparably.
“Gaius, a moment,” Arthur said after calling a close to the meeting. When the doors shut, he said, “Can I trust in your support—”
“You have it,” Gaius said immediately, looking up at him through watery eyes. “I have never been prouder of you, sire.”
“Thank you, Gaius,” Arthur said, studying the reports in front of him for a moment, to hide his blush. “But please, allow me to finish. I need your support, and your discretion.” He hesitated, thinking of how best to word his request. “I would ask you to keep this from Merlin, and to help me keep him busy; the rest of the Council already knows not to speak of this, outside of these rooms, but I’m asking you to do the same.”
“Arthur,” Gaius began, but Arthur cut him off, gently.
“Please, Gaius,” Arthur said. “I know that Merlin has magic.”
“He told you?” Gaius said, falling back into his chair.
Arthur sighed. “No, I read about people being born with magic, and too many things added up to ignore it; and now, you’ve confirmed it.”
He moved to the chair next to Gaius, leaning in. “I know he didn’t have a choice in his magic, but honestly, I had hoped he was unaware of it. That it was an instinct he learned to ignore. I hated to think of him going round protecting us, caring for us, and worrying that I’d despise him for it, or worse.”
“I don’t believe he truly thinks you would,” Gaius said, as kindly as he could. “But I do know he fears it, sometimes. It’s an old fear, rooted in his earliest years, and that sort of thing doesn’t just go away because you tell it to, even when your mind knows it to be foolish.”
Arthur nodded. “Thank you for your honesty, Gaius.”
“Sire… Arthur… surely, then, you should speak to him about it?” Gaius advised. “It would do him a world of good to know that you know, and that it hasn’t changed the way you look at him.”
“Gaius, it has changed the way I look at him in at least a hundred ways, and all of them for the better!” Arthur replied. “I don’t blame him for the magic, or for hiding it; I can’t say I wouldn’t have done the same, in his place, although, truthfully, I’m not entirely sure I wouldn’t have simply fled Camelot ages ago were I in his shoes. But I don’t want to give him empty promises. I want to come to him when I can promise him that he’s safe, and not a moment before.”
“I see,” Gaius said, slowly, and Arthur couldn’t tell if he agreed with him, or had simply decided against arguing.
“But at the same time, I can’t keep giving him make-work to keep him from getting underfoot,” Arthur said, grinning, “Or he’s liable to kill me before I can work all this out, and then where would we be?”
“He may have made some complaints along those lines,” Gaius admitted, laughing.
“I thought as much. Which is why I need your help, Gaius; he doesn’t mind helping you, so long as there aren’t any leeches involved. I know he’s taken on more responsibilities from you, over the years. Perhaps we could find some pretense for those responsibilities to increase, for a time?”
“I am an old man, sire,” Gaius agreed, almost impishly. “A minor injury of the back— lingering, and painful, but non-threatening— is certainly not out of the question.”
* * *
Merlin came to Arthur the next day, bringing a better-than-usual lunch, to give him the bad news.
“He’ll be fine,” Merlin said, reassuring him, “He’s sworn that up and down, but he can’t stand for long periods, and doing his rounds are completely out of the question. I can still wake you, serve you breakfast and dress you and the like, and bring up your dinners, but he wanted me to ask if I might be released to him for the rest of the day.” Then, hesitantly, sounding truly remorseful, he said, “I am sorry, sire, but I really think he needs me; he’s never asked for anything like this before.”
“Merlin, it’s alright, Gaius is a good and loyal friend to me and the Crown,” Arthur said, soothingly. “And more than that, to you. Of course, you must help him; whatever he needs.” Then he frowned and added, hastily, “But you’d best hope he heals quickly, Merlin, before I get too accustomed to a competent servant!”
Merlin smirked. “You’ll be bored to tears in a week.”
Arthur’s frown deepened; not, as Merlin probably thought, from the teasing, but because Merlin still seemed nervous. No, not quite nervous— afraid!
Arthur considered that, for a moment; then, inspired, he said, “Of course, I can’t promise all of your time; if I should need you for a hunt, or a patrol, we’ll have to find someone else to assist Gaius while we’re gone,” and watched Merlin’s face clear.
Arthur didn’t know whether to feel enormously pleased that Merlin was still worrying about Arthur leaving the castle, even when his mentor was ostensibly injured and in need of assistance, or if he ought to be irritated over Merlin assuming he couldn’t take care of himself, and decided not to dwell on it too much either way.
“Thank you, sire,” Merlin said, sounding genuinely grateful, and Arthur thought, that’s that, then.
* * *
Of course, it wasn’t, quite; Merlin, curse him, had been entirely right about how quickly Arthur would miss him, and by the end of that first week, Arthur found himself loathing the sight of his own chambers.
He wanted, badly, to knock over a few candlesticks, and to drape a few old shirts over some of the lesser-used furniture, to restore some semblance of Merlin’s usual orderly disorder, only he knew George would right it all the second he looked away. It was almost worse knowing that he’d still see Merlin night and morning; it only made his absence through the day that much more conspicuous.
Arthur felt his mood growing fouler and fouler, and nearly lost sight of the reason for putting himself through all of this, until one morning, halfway through the second week, he caught Merlin looking at him oddly, and snarled, “What?”
Merlin ducked away, and said, “Nothing.”
“Merlin,” Arthur growled, warningly, because, well… just because he’d forgiven Merlin the secret of his magic, that didn’t mean he was inclined to allow any other secrets between them.
Merlin sighed, worried his lip between his teeth, and said, in a rush, “It’s just— I miss you! It’s silly, I suppose. I mean, I’m still around, and we see each other every day, but….”
That’s it, Arthur thought. That’s the reason I’m doing this, and it’s worth every blasted moment in between.
Ruthlessly, Arthur shoved down the warm feeling in his chest and said, “We could always start up your training again if you’re that desperate to see me; I’m sure Gaius could spare you for an hour or so in the afternoon. How’s your mace work coming?”
He grinned when Merlin stammered and said “Well we wouldn’t want both Physicians injured,” then fled until dinner.
* * *
Still, the next morning, when Merlin woke him, Arthur said, with a deliberately casual air in his delivery, “Oh, Merlin, it occurs to me that I should know more about that sort of things you do for Gaius, in case we do need to assign someone else to assist him, if there’s an emergency. Why don’t you bring up a double portion for supper this evening, so you can fill me in?”
Merlin’s beaming face told Arthur quite clearly that he wasn’t fooling anyone, but Merlin looked so pleased that he couldn’t bring himself to care that his deception had failed.
* * *
They dined together almost nightly, after that, and Arthur found he could forgive George for his zeal much easier, especially once Guinevere joined their dinners, too.
* * *
One month, two weeks, and four days after Arthur had called the first secret meeting of his Round Table, he stood on the balcony with his Queen, with Merlin waiting behind them, and announced that magic would no longer be outlawed in Camelot.
“Camelot’s greatest treasure is its people. You, all of you, are what makes our kingdom great. Without our farmers, we could not eat; without our tailors, we would not be clothed; without our smiths, we would have no armors, and no knights; without our knights, we would not be defended. It is only by working together that we can truly be great.”
“But for too long, we have ignored, and worse, shunned and punished a large part of our people. Those who have great skills, and knowledge, and those who were born with certain talents. Healers, fire-starters, wise men and women… we do ourselves a great disservice, and we do them great evil, in our treatment of them. And so, it is with the hope that we may all do better by our kingdom that I humbly announce that magic and sorcery shall never again be outlawed in Camelot. Sorcerers, witches, seers, and warlocks… I ask that you use your skills to benefit your kingdom, as all good citizens must; do that, and you have nothing more to fear from us! Do that, and we shall celebrate you, as we celebrate our knights, our bakers, our farmers, and our lords!”
“But remember that vice and violence of any will not be tolerated. Those who are found using magic to harm shall be punished to the fullest extent of the law, and will face swift justice for their actions. But I also promise this, though it is only a small thing, as apologies go: that justice will be swift! No one, from this day forth, shall ever fear the pyre again under my rule. So, say I, Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.”
The last part, outlawing the pyre as punishment, had been Gwaine’s idea, and Arthur had been almost ashamed that he hadn’t thought of it first, for a while, but when he heard Merlin’s little gasp even before the first cheers erupted from the crowd, he found that he couldn’t begrudge the man his due, and promised himself that he’d foot the bill the next time he caught Gwaine in the tavern.
When Arthur finally drew back from the balcony and turned to face Merlin, he saw exactly what he’d expected to see. He took in Merlin’s tear-streaked face and the fierce pride and profound relief in his eyes, and when Merlin opened his mouth to speak, Arthur drew him into his arms instead.
“I know,” he said softly, “I know.”
“But—”
“You were born with it,” Arthur whispered. “It’s instinctive, and you can’t help it, and you use it for me. For Camelot.”
“How?” Merlin asked, his voice cracking.
“I’m not entirely useless, you know. It took me far longer than it should have, but I figured it out own my own. I see you, Merlin; I understand, now.”
Neither of them said much, after that. Merlin couldn’t— the poor man could hardly catch his breath between his sobs— and Arthur knew his servant was past hearing him, so he abandoned speaking, too, and just held on, until Guinevere came, and wrapped her arms around them both.
Eventually, between the two of them, they managed to settle the man, and make him understand that they were beyond grateful for all that he had done, over the years, and that he didn’t owe them any explanations at all.
* * *
When the three of them finally pulled away from one another, and Merlin seemed to have calmed down, Guinevere asked, “Merlin, I’m sorry, but I have to know… when my father fell ill, did you really cure him? That time you confessed?”
Merlin pulled Guinevere into another hug and said, “I’m so sorry you were arrested because of me; it was the first time I’d ever tried something like that, and I was so exhausted after that I didn’t even think about the poultice. I should have taken it back with me.”
“Don’t you dare apologize,” Guinevere told him, sternly. “You saved my father, Merlin, and it all worked out. You gave me more time with him, and I’ll always be grateful for that.”
Merlin nodded, though he didn’t look quite convinced, then turned to Arthur, and said, “Arthur, about your father—”
Arthur put up a hand, and said, “There’s no need, Merlin; Gaius told me that Morgana used Agravaine to curse my father. I already know that there was nothing that Dragoon person could have done, and that he truly regrets what happened. No one is to blame, apart from Morgana herself.”
“Thank you,” Merlin said, seriously. “For trusting me, for doing all of this… Arthur, I’ve always known you had it in you to move past your father’s prejudice, but seeing it! It means more than I can ever say.”
“So does your loyalty,” Arthur said. “I don’t know much about what you’ve done, but even what I do know is…. Well, it’s more than anyone else has ever done for me.”
“For us,” Guinevere corrected. “For all of Camelot.”
“Just promise me that you won’t lie to us again, Merlin,” Arthur said. “I’m not asking for you to tell us everything tonight; I understand that everything has happened rather quickly, from your perspective, and it’ll probably be easier for everyone if we just deal with things as they come up naturally, but I do want you to promise me that.”
Then Arthur decided that was really quite enough feeling for one day, and said, “Well, that, and that you won’t accidentally blow up the tavern next time you go out drinking, now that you can actually use your magic.”
Arthur had expected Merlin to protest, or hit him with a pillow; instead, he laughed, loudly, and said, “Arthur, now that you know I’m magic, do you really think I was ever actually in the tavern? You know I can’t hold my drink!”
Arthur blinked at him. “What, so you were off doing secret illegal sorcery whenever Gaius said you were there?”
“Usually to save your life, or Camelot in general, yeah,” Merlin said, nodding.
Guinevere saved Arthur from having to respond to that by frowning and saying, irritably, “Then why on earth would Gaius use that as an excuse? Couldn’t he have chosen something that wouldn’t get you punished?”
“I’ve asked that same question for years,” Merlin said, with the barest touch of bitterness, and rolled his eyes. “I think it was his way of getting back at me for being ‘too reckless.’”
Then, more seriously, Merlin said, “Arthur, d’you think I could start training with you and the knights?”
“So, your mace work has been improving then?” Arthur drawled, grinning, and did get a pillow thrown at him, that time.
“Prat,” Merlin laughed. “No, I mean, can I lead them in some training? Most of the time, when there’s a magical threat, they get knocked out— or worse— pretty quickly; I’d like to teach them more about how they might actually defend against magic, and now that you all know, I’d love to have some backup, but I only want that if I can practice with them, so they know how not to get in my way, and the best way to act as backup, for a sorcerer. Sort of like how you have them train with the archers, sometimes, with the formations and such.”
“Huh,” Arthur said, “that actually makes a lot of sense. I didn’t think you understood military strategy at all, Merlin; you’re usually the last place I’d want you to be in a fight.”
“Only because I’ve had to be where people wouldn’t look for me, so no one would see golden eyes and cry sorcerer,” Merlin countered. “But I’ve been with you for ages, Arthur, I was bound to pick up on a few things, here and there.”
Arthur blinked at him, thinking he really ought to have figured that out for himself— and not even for the first time that night— then wondered how many times he’d find himself having that exact thought before all of Merlin’s various secrets came to light in their proper time.
“Alright,” Arthur said. “On one condition.”
“Oh?” Merlin asked, raising an eyebrow.
Arthur snickered and said, “Don’t tell the others what to expect.”
* * *
“Right, men,” Arthur said. “The most important part of any battle is the ability to think on your feet. Your enemy may try to surprise you, and they may often have the element of surprise, but a good soldier, a good knight, won’t let surprise rob him of his ability to fight.”
Then he spun, and swiped at Gwaine with his training sword.
Gwaine, to his credit, lifted his own blade into a quick parry; unfortunately, Arthur’s dull training blade was still sharp enough to cut through a flower, and Gwaine was still looking aghast at the bit of stem he was left holding when Arthur jabbed his pommel into the man’s stomach.
“No fair,” Gwaine wheezed a moment later, pulling himself off of the ground.
Merlin stepped out from behind one of the training dummies and said, “And if you were actually fighting a sorcerer, he probably would have done worse than that once he got the drop on you.”
“Nice trick,” Elyan said, grinning.
Merlin inclined his head, accepting the praise with only the faintest hint of a blush, and said, “Today, gentlemen, you’ll be training with me; you lot are frankly terrible when you’re confronted with a sorcerer. We’ll probably fight against them far less often now that Camelot isn’t actively persecuting magic, but that doesn’t mean we won’t face any; sorcerers may have magic, but they’re people first and foremost, and people aren’t always good. And that means that we’re going to have to work on your skills, unless you’d rather be tossed around and turned into stepladders.”
“Oi!” Gwaine cried.
“How’d you know about that?” Percival asked, flushing a deep crimson.
“I know more than you could possibly comprehend,” Merlin said, grinning impishly and tapping his nose before shooting Arthur a wink.
Arthur frowned; there was something extremely familiar about that turn of phrase, and that gesture.
“Now,” said Merlin. “Jokes aside, let’s start with how to identify a sorcerer. Obviously, we come in all shapes and sizes, but a good rule of thumb? If someone shows up to a battle without armor and doesn’t look all that concerned about the men with metal sticks rushing at him, there’s a good bet they’ve got a few tricks up their sleeves.”
Arthur and the knights groaned heavily at that, as they were expected to, letting Merlin have his bit fun at their expense; really, they deserved it, seeing as how often they’d made him the butt of their jokes over the years, especially now that they realized just how far off the mark their own jests had been.
“They’ll also probably be keeping their distance, but staying in plain sight, because most sorcerers can only bewitch what they’re looking at directly. Some of them might wear chains upon chains of talismans, or carry a staff, or hold a crystal, y’know, that sort of thing. But the stronger ones probably won’t need to; you can always watch their hands, though, because almost everyone makes a gesture of some sort when they cast. Any questions?”
Leon stepped forward, and said, “That’s all well and good, but once we know they’re there, what then? When they can just throw us back with a wave of their hand?”
“First of all, most of them can’t,” Merlin said. “The powerful ones, sure, but your average sorcerer will also need to say something. Honestly, even the powerful ones will probably use incantations for most things, because it’s easier, and more precise. And yeah, it’s true, they can probably toss you around, but that doesn’t mean you can’t do anything about it. For instance, Leon, you’ve been thrown about by Morgana before, right? What did it feel like?”
“Usually, it felt like getting shoved in the chest,” Leon said.
“Or kicked by a bloody horse,” Gwaine said.
“Right,” Merlin said. “A bit like this?” Then he put out his hand and let his eyes flare gold; the knights flinched, and staggered back, but they didn’t go flying. “Tell me how that felt.”
“Like a love tap, Merls,” Gwaine said. “But don’t feel bad, power isn’t everything.”
Then he landed on his back about three feet away, groaned, and said, “What is this, Everyone Pick On Gwaine Day?”
“You just make it so easy, is all,” Merlin grinned. “I held back for a reason Gwaine, this is training, not a battle.”
“Are you implying you could take us in a real battle?” Percival asked, furrowing his brow.
Before Arthur could laugh at that, Merlin said, very seriously, “Without breaking a sweat,” and Arthur frowned, because it didn’t sound like he was joking at all.
“But that’s not the point,” Merlin said. “Percival, what did it feel like to you? Take your time, and be serious.”
Percival frowned and furrowed his brow again, and raised his arms, tracing a rough oval covering the bottom of his chest, his solar plexus, and lower stomach. “Like an invisible fist, right here.”
“Very good!” Merlin praised. “You’ll notice, that’s right about the height of my hand, when I cast the spell; the rest of you probably felt it a bit higher up on your bodies, since Percival’s taller. Most of the time, those magical ‘pushes’ are going to be concentrated blasts, just like he described, and that means they can be dodged. Arthur?”
Merlin turned, and raised his hand, moving at about three-fourths speed.
Arthur threw himself sideways, and cursed as the blast clipped his shoulder and threw him off balance, but he kept his feet and heard a crash as the dummy behind him took the full force of the blow and was thrown off of its stand.
Merlin clapped his hands, delighted, and said, “You see? If this were a real battle, Arthur would have lost his balance, true, but he wouldn’t have gone down, and he might have been able to advance on the sorcerer or get behind some cover before they managed to attack again.”
“Yeah, mate, but most sorcerers aren’t going to slow up like you did, there,” Gwaine pointed out.
“True,” Merlin said, “But, remember, most sorcerers use spells, and it does take time to speak, and unless the sorcerer is really, really good, they can’t just rattle off incantations at lightning speed, either, because if they mess up the pronunciation, it might not work at all! That’s something of another rule of thumb for you, too: the weaker the sorcerer, the more precise and careful they have to be with their sorcery. Only the strong ones can get away with shortcuts.”
“You make it sound like you’re powerful,” Elyan said.
“I can hold my own,” Merlin demurred. “If there are no more questions, I’d like you to practice dodging, for a bit; I won’t be demonstrating the theory behind it this time, it’ll be actual practice, so I’ll be acting as though I were a run-of-the-mill sorcerer by using incantations paired with gestures. Who wants to go first?”
* * *
Arthur and the knights held their tongues until Merlin flounced off the field to fetch them bruise ointments and bandages for the minor wounds they’d picked up, but the second he was out of earshot, they groaned almost as one and collapsed onto the ground, or onto the stacks of hay that sometimes served as targets, or chairs, when they were called for.
Like now.
“Sweet Mercy!” cried Gwaine. “My bruises have bruises.”
“Our Merlin packs a punch,” Elyan agreed, rubbing his lower back. Percival prodded his side, gingerly, and nodded.
Leon huffed in agreement, then lifted his waterskin, and drank greedily. After several deep pulls, he took it from his lips and squeezed the remaining water over his head, shaking out his hair. Finally, he said, cautiously, “Sire… none of that was what I’d call middling sorcery; are you entirely sure that Merlin is a simple Hedge Wizard?”
“Of course he is!” Arthur said, indignantly. “It makes perfect sense!”
“He just seemed a bit stronger than I thought he’d be, is all,” Leon said.
“Well, it’s like Merlin said, we don’t know what to expect, with sorcery; that’s why we’re learning! It only seems powerful to us because we aren’t used to it,” Arthur replied, looking very pleased with his own logic.
“Of course, sire,” Leon said, dubiously.
* * *
“So, let me get this straight,” Leon said, slowly, staring at Merlin and the various brushes that were floating about, polishing armor and boots alike, at the whetstones that were honing the edges of a sword far sharper than anyone with actual hands could have managed, and at the bath that was filling itself and expanding greatly in size. “You’re an extremely powerful warlock— possibly the most powerful warlock ever, past and future— and there are countless prophecies centered around you and Arthur and what you’ll accomplish together?”
“That about sums it up,” Merlin agreed, flicking a finger at the empty table and conjuring up a tray full of food.
Leon narrowed his eyes, and said, “Are you aware that Arthur thinks you’re a Hedge Wizard who picked up a bit of sorcery here and there?”
Several pieces of armor crashed to the floor.
“What? Shit, no wonder he was so calm about everything; I’ve got to tell him!” Merlin stood, abruptly, and made for the door.
Leon grabbed him round the shoulders, and said, “Hang on!”
“What?” Merlin asked, warily.
“Wouldn’t it be better to not do that, and see how long it takes for the others to catch on?” Leon said, grinning broadly the way he did when he knew that he was about to get away with what he took to be an extremely excellent joke that no one would ever blame him for— because naturally, Sir Leon would never do something like that. “And get back at them for constantly underestimating you?”
Merlin’s answering grin was just as broad. “Leon, there’s a reason I’ve always said you were the smartest knight in Camelot.”