Chapter Text
No one in the tavern had met Merlin’s eyes. Aye, said the barmaid, there’s a castle. Nout going on up there, though; you’ll have no luck finding work. The boy at the table next to Merlin had earnestly offered to get him a place in the mill - business is slow at the moment, but I bet we could find something for you. Merlin had thanked him but turned him down, same as he’d turned down three kindly offers from traders to take him back to Camelot and a rather surprising one from the madam of the local brothel. He’d accepted a blessing from the priest, though when he’d asked why he might need a blessing everyone in earshot had suddenly looked rather shifty.
Only one old huntsman, dressed in so many skins he looked more animal than man, had been inclined to say anything, and that was only after Merlin spent too much of his meagre supply of coin buying him ales. He’d looked at Merlin with bleary, swimming eyes and mumbled, “There’s something wrong in the woods up there.”
“Have you seen something while hunting?” Merlin asked.
The huntsman laughed bitterly. “I don’t hunt there, not anymore. After last time… I couldn’t get the feeling off my back, not for weeks.”
“What feeling?”
He fell silent for a long minute, and Merlin nervously put his hand on his purse - he could just afford to get the man another drink tonight, though he’d had to sleep in a barn. He was still calculating whether he could stretch the bread he’d bought with him for the climb tomorrow when the huntsman spoke.
“Of what it’s like to be prey.”
And he raised his ale and swallowed it to the last drops.
Merlin leant forward. “What do you mean?”
But the old man was shaking his head. “That’s enough. You’re a fool to go there. Stay here, boy. We’re decent folk, and them at the castle don’t trouble us if we don’t trouble them. I’m getting old, you know. This place will need someone to replace me. Aye, you’ve got no subtlety and less sense, but I could train you - “
And Merlin said, as he’d said to all the others, “I’m sorry, but there’s a place waiting for me.”
It wasn’t quite true. It was a desperate hope, more than anything else - that his mother’s old friend would remember the debt he owed her, that he’d care about Merlin, that he’d let him stay. Merlin hadn’t expected much of the court physician of Camelot, and had expected even less when he arrived at the city only to be told that Gaius had long ago moved away. It had taken three weeks and a little tricky spell work for him to make his way to Castle Perilous. At least the people in the tavern had confirmed that much for him - yes, there was an old man in the castle, a doctor, perhaps he was called Gaius. In years past he’d occasionally come down the mountain to treat the villagers, but they hadn’t seen him in quite some time.
A slim thread for a future to hang on, but it was still enough to send Merlin climbing the mountain in the first blues of dawn. In the demi-dark, the forest shivered with secret life. The damp scuttling of the insects beneath the leaves; the steady amble of hedgehogs and the stop-start jumps of the rabbits; the great heavy silence, like a hand pressed down over the woods, that followed in the shadow of an owl. Once or twice he saw a hare struck still by Merlin’s golden eyes, taking him for a predator.
The letter for Gaius swooped and dived through the air ahead of him, leading him onwards. It was four hours, the sun long since having appeared, that the letter stopped going up and started leading him through the woods. The ground changed under his feet, and suddenly between one step and the next he was on a path - choked and overgrown, but undeniably there. The ground rose into two peaks far above. And between the teeth of the mountain sat Castle Perilous.
Some ancient builders had claimed a thin, triangular wedge of land from wood and mountain, and the wood was trying to claim it back. The castle was built on a jutting spike of stone, two of the walls dropping straight down the cliff face into miles of empty air. There was a tower built on the tip of the wedge - not squat and solid, the way Merlin would have built on the edge of an abyss, but so slender and graceful that it looked like a dare to the elements. The third wall faced the forest, and there was something in the crenelations of teeth bared in defiance. It had stood for a long time - centuries, perhaps, for the black unlovely stones spoke of an earlier age. But the trees were right up to the walls now, branches pressing against stones, undermining roots warping the foundations, a few breaching vines thrown over the wall. And the assault was working. Here and there were holes large enough for a man to climb through, each lipped with verdant green.
“Are you absolutely sure we’re in the right spot?” he asked the letter. The letter folded itself up in a paper approximation of a shrug. Don’t ask me, mate, you’re the one who enchanted me.
He sighed and followed the letter through a gap right next to the sternly locked gate.
He’d expected a challenge, a shout, maybe even a raised crossbow. It was a castle - yes, the walls needed repairing, but clearly there’d been enough people here for them to hire a physician. And this place had been beautiful once. The buttresses were carved with an exquisite bestiary: whip-coiled serpents punching the air with the force of their strike, wolves with their maws caught open in a rippling growl, a dragon spitting frozen flame so perfectly carved that Merlin almost heard the crackle, felt the heat. There was glass in the windows, stained glass on the ground floor. One great peaked window - it must have been the chapel - showed St Martha in a cloak of blue and scarlet, her eyes calm and solid as she stroked the head of the dragon she had tamed.
But Martha’s mouth was missing, ivy growing through the crack in the glass and spilling down her chin. Most of the windows were cracked. The towers listed, held together by straining buttresses. And the silence. The terrible silence.
Perhaps the letter was leading him to a quiet grave. Or a pile of bleached bones, still lying where they fell with no one left to bury them. What could he do now? Walk back to Ealdor, he supposed. Stumble back into his mother’s hut, hungry and filthy and braced for her disappointment. He could marry one of Matthew’s daughters, if any of them would have him. He’d spend all his days ploughing, except for the brief windows of sowing or harvesting, and pretend not to hear the things people whispered about him. Maybe they’d get used to him as the years dragged on.
It wouldn’t be a bad life. He felt awful thinking this - like he was too good for the life his mother had lived, too good to grow old living next to Will.
But for just a second, there had been that hope of more.
Maybe he’d been chasing a mirage anyway - perhaps there was no answer to who or what or why he was. Window Adams had double jointed elbows, Will could do a somersault from standing and Merlin could stop time. Some things just were.
Oh, but the whispers. It was bad enough being a bastard son; being a bastard son who things occasionally went funny around was ten times worse. At eight he’d been half-steaming, always following his mother around to apologise red-faced for something that I didn’t mean to do, mum, I swear it. At twelve he’d decided that if he couldn’t be normal he’d be helpful, and failed at being either. Plants he revived grew too many leaves in the wrong colours, gates he fixed began fluttering whenever he got mad, and the less said about the debacle with the chickens the better. Big Alan had spread a rumour that he was a changeling and for a solid season none of the other kids would respond when he talked. Annie Miller had even thrown salt in his eye. None of them believed it, of course, because Big Alan also claimed that he’d ridden a unicorn, but why let that get in the way of fun? Will loved him, but Will loved everything that looked like trouble. Sarah from down the road had tried to kiss him twice, but she’d also bit him five times and her top lip was always shiny with snot. He loved Ealdor, he really did. He just didn’t want to live there.
He was deep into a vividly imagined future of having five kids with Sarah from down the road (and being very brave about it) when something pecked him on the leg.
It was a chicken.
“Hi,” said Merlin.
The chicken cocked its head and pecked him again.
It is impossible to be maudlin in the presence of a chicken. A chicken is, fundamentally, a vegetable that just happens to look like a bird and desperately wants to be a lizard. Chickens have no thoughts and one emotion: pure contempt. They are ridiculous animals, and are therefore aware that everyone else is a ridiculous animal too. Anyone who has seen a chicken try to fly will know, down to their bones, that the universe is God’s little joke and we are the punchline.
Also, dead people didn’t keep chickens. Someone had been tending to this bird, and recently too. (The lifespan of a chicken is 5-10 years. The lifespan of a chicken in the wild is 5-10 minutes). Merlin wiped his eyes and went to have a proper look around.
The great doors of the castle proper hung open like a maw, but through them Merlin could see sunlight. He followed it and came out into a three-sided courtyard which the castle surrounded. It was the sort of space one expected to find courtly ladies playing boules amongst lilac-dappled bowers, and perhaps some arsehole mangling a saltarello on the lute. Here, it contained about twenty more chickens, a healthy kitchen garden with a fine crop of asparagus, and a contented-looking dairy cow having a little snooze.
Merlin looked at the floating letter. “Not to beat a dead horse, but are you sure - “
The letter flapped impatiently at him.
“Yes, I made you, I know, but I don’t exactly know what I’m doing, do I? Or do you? I mean, it’s definitely Gaius that we’ve found, isn’t it? You haven’t taken me to the place where the ink was made or - “
The letter lifted one corner and gave him a quick smack.
“Hey! Fine. You win. Lead on.”
He followed it across the courtyard, pausing to give the vaguely curious cow a friendly pat, and into a room.
Merlin didn’t really have words for the room.
No, he had plenty of words, they were just all completely inadequate. Mess wasn't strong enough, and clutter didn’t seem to cover the evidence of various explosions. Disaster felt a wee bit judgmental - someone was definitely using this room for a purpose, or five purposes at once. There were three cauldrons, two bubbling nicely and one which had reduced its contents to a smoky black sludge. There were books everywhere, on the workbenches and floor, propping up the end of a wonky alambic, a pile of them replacing a missing leg on a small cot in the corner. Something had sliced up the walls at some point, and the curtains bore evidence of a small fire.
And in the middle of the room was a little old man holding a very large knife.
“Hello,” said Merlin, and waved in what he hoped was a charming and unstabbable way.
“State your business, please,” said the man, not putting down the knife.
“I - well - it’s sort of complicated. I mean, I do have business, I just - are you Gaius? Because I really need to - “
“I can’t help but notice,” said the man calmly, “that you appear to be doing magic.”
“Um - yes? It’s just a - “
“Magic is, of course, punishable by death in this kingdom.” His voice did not waver a bit.
“I know, but my mum said - “
“I imagine you’ve been told that we’re defenceless up here. I regret to inform you that you’re very much mistaken.”
“I’m not here to attack you - “
“Then leave.”
“No, listen - please, I’m Merlin, I’ve got a letter for you - “
“I don’t know any Merlins.“
“Hunith’s son! I’m Hunith’s son! She said you could help me. She said you were the only one who could help me.” He plucked the letter from the air and held it out, a last pathetic defence. “I can’t - she said you wouldn’t mind about the magic. I’ve been walking for weeks, and no one knew where you were and I worked so hard and I - “ He swallowed. “Just read the letter. Please. She said you were her friend.”
The man - Gaius, or at least he bloody hoped it was Gaius - finally put down the knife. “A son. Hunith had - a son.”
“Yes? That’s me. You are - “
“Yes, yes, I’m Gaius.” He wiped his face. “Gods above. A son. How old are you, Merlin?”
“Eighteen.”
“Eighteen. A son.” He covered his mouth and exhaled hard. “Come, give me the letter.”
Merlin handed it over, heart in his throat as Gaius read it. “She said that you owed her a debt. She said to - to remind you of my - “
“Of your father,” said Gaius grimly. “Have you read this?”
“No!”
“You’re a bad liar, Merlin. It’s a terrible trait to have as a sorcerer in Camelot.” His eyes were very calm and very kind.
Merlin swallowed and looked at the ground. “So you see why I can’t go back.”
It is every mother’s fate to think her child special, and yet I would give my life that Merlin were not so. He knew what she meant, of course. She loved him, so she wanted him to be safe and happy and normal. She wasn’t really wishing him away. Just - wishing he was different.
“She loves you very much,” said Gaius, his voice gentle.
“Yeah, I know.” He forced a smile. “So will you help me?”
Gaius looked down at the letter, turning it over in his hands. “Your mother is right. I do owe her a debt - a bigger debt than I ever realised. It grieves me more than I can say that I cannot pay it.”
Merlin kept smiling. Because he hadn’t said that, surely. Because of course he hadn’t - he hadn’t actually - It wasn’t fair. And yes, life was unfair all the time, Merlin knew that. Good people died in hovels while the terrible sat entrenched in ermine; harvests failed; infants died. The gods were distant and unkind. But this wasn’t the gods. This was this - this lonely little man, the one who admitted that he owed Merlin something, refusing him just because - because -
“Wait - why?”
“This is not a safe place, Merlin.”
“I don’t care about the law - “
“You should, but that’s not what I’m talking about. Even for a young man with your talents, the dangers here are immense.”
“But - “
“I cannot. I’m sorry.” His eyes were very old and sad. “Believe me, I wish I could. I owed your father the world, and I owe your mother twice that. Not to mention that I could very much use an assistant. But to keep you here - ” He sighed. “Let’s just say that if your mother ever found out, she’d skin me. And I’d deserve it.”
“But you have to help.” He sounded like a child. “I - there isn’t anyone else. I can do things - and there’s no one to explain, no one to help. And I can’t go back, I can’t just pretend to be normal like everyone else, even my mother doesn’t - “ He stopped just before he choked up. “And maybe it’s illegal here, but back there - everyone hates me.”
“Yes.” Gaius came up and settled his hand on Merlin’s shoulders. “I’m sorry. It is a difficult thing, to be different. Would it help to know that every eighteen year old in the world thinks that everyone hates them?”
“But I’m right.”
“Perhaps, perhaps.” He gave Merlin a comforting pat. “But it will get easier. Chin up, lad. I’m not the only old sorcerer in the world, you know. There are druids in the forest a little north of here. Perhaps they can teach you something.”
“Right.” There was no point arguing, and he could have his nice snotty breakdown deep in the woods. “Well, thank you for your time.”
“Wait a moment, Merlin, let me give you some food before you go.” He turned and began filling a small basket - a loaf of gritty-looking bread, a bottle of milk. “By the way, who told you how to find me? I didn’t think anyone in Camelot still remembered we were here.”
“No one told me. I just enchanted the letter to find you and followed that.”
Gaius stopped. “Did you? That’s extraordinary magic. What spell did you use?”
“Oh, I don’t use spells.”
Gaius blinked. “Yes. You do.”
“No, really - “
“You do. That’s what sorcery is, lad - it’s spells.”
Merlin shrugged. “No, because I don’t know any, see? That’s why mum wanted me to come here.”
Gaius nodded sagely. “Perhaps you don’t think of them as proper spells. But you would have said a few words, or perhaps burnt a token of some sort - “
“No, I just asked it to find you.”
“Using what words? What specific verbiage?”
“I said, um, go on, find Gaius for me.”
“And then?”
“And then it started flying and I followed it. I mean, maybe I should have checked beforehand - I had a horrible moment earlier in the courtyard, but it all worked out for the - “
“You cannot,” pronounced Gaius grandly, “just ask magic to do things.”
“But - you can. I can. I can just sort of - “ He levitated a workbench a few feet away and set it gently back down. “And I can, you know, ask things to do things - like with the letter - “
“This letter.” Gaius picked it up and looked it over again. “The letter that I’ve never touched, never seen before - you used this letter as a foci for spatial divination.”
“I don’t know what that means.”
“But you didn’t know where I was, yes? And you didn’t have any of my hair, skin, blood - “
“Ugh, no.”
“Then - “ Gaius brandished the letter in a fist - “how did this letter know where I was?”
Merlin blinked. “Through magic.”
“Right, of course,” said Gaius, and sat down heavily. “Silly question, I suppose. Merlin, when you said that you can ask things to do things, could you give me some examples?”
“I can make things grow? Plants, I mean, I can’t make people grow. Though maybe I can, I haven't tried. I got us some strawberries in winter a few years back, but my mum made me feed them to the pigs before anyone saw. Um. I used to make things explode? I don’t do that as much anymore. And I stopped time once, but that was when I was really scared and I haven’t been able to do it since.”
“But you did not actually stop time,” said Gaius. “You mean that you - you - Tell me exactly what you mean.”
“I made everything stop.” Gaius stared at him, mouth agape. “I didn’t mean to. Will was falling out of a tree - my mate Will, he thinks he can climb anything and he’s usually right. There was this one time when he went all the way up the steeple of the church, but then he couldn’t get down - “
“So you stopped him falling? You levitated him?”
“I mean, sort of? He was frozen, and the wind stopped, and the fire stopped crackling - “
“You meddled with the elemental forces? Without a spell to mitigate any damage they might wreak upon your soul in return?”
“I didn’t mean to!” said Merlin, taking a step back. “Look, I was thirteen. And the wind didn’t seem like it was going to, uh, wreak my soul. It’s usually quite friendly to me whenever I need it to blow something away - “
“That explains it.” Gaius nodded to himself. “You have an elemental affinity - a strong one, perhaps, but the wind merely levitated your friend - “
“No,” said Merlin. “No, it stopped. Look, tell me to do something and I can prove it.”
Gaius’s mouth thinned, but he nodded. “Do you see that block of metal to your right?”
“Um - “ There were five little lumps of metal on the table. “Which - ?”
“We can make that part of the test. Four are pure, and one is an alloy of copper and iron. You must identify and separate - “
“But none of them are pure. They’ve all got - “ He waved his hand over the metals. They sang all of them, each in a different key, but all of them had another voice inside. “They’ve all got things in.”
“Things,” said Gaius, very politely.
“Yeah. I mean - look.” If he just focused, he could find the harmonies, peel them apart. He pushed the song, unwound melody from beat. One was resisting him. Metal was often fiddly to work with, but usually not this fussy. He gave it a nice, firm shove - and then he had six blocks of metal, four of them shining grey with a little mound of black specks next to them, and the fifth grey one visibly smaller next to a small lump of copper. Merlin flicked his fingers and neatened the edges until it was a nice square like the rest of them.
“Tadaah!” He beamed at Gaius.
Gaius did not beam back.
“Did I do it wrong? I can try again. I mean, I think I split the copper and iron - the brown one sounds really different to the others…” He trailed off.
“No,” said Gaius, very faintly. “No, you did not do it wrong.”
“Right.” He looked back at the lumps. “Soooo - hooray for me, right? Were the black specks part of the test?”
Gaius blinked. “The black- ? Ah. No. Those are the normal impurities that any metal, no matter how carefully smelted, will pick up.”
Merlin looked at the pile on the table and grimaced. “Ok, I realise that wasn’t very impressive, but it was your test. I can do way more stuff if you ask. Like the chickens.”
Gaius raised an eyebrow. “The chickens?”
“I can turn a chicken into a peacock.” He didn’t mention that he’d been trying to turn the chickens into pigs. That would be less impressive.
“Please leave the chickens alone.” He peered at the table. “When the alchemists of Carthage graduate, they are tasked with reducing metals to their purest state.”
“Should I go to Carthage? Also, where is Carthage?”
“They spend seven years training for that test,” said Gaius, grandly ignoring him. “And you did it without a spell. This - “ He indicated the block he’d had trouble with - “is cold iron.”
“Oh, I’ve heard of that. It was fussy. It didn’t want to turn.”
“It didn’t want to turn,” said Gaius, in the tones of one who was doing a very good job at staying calm and wanted everyone to know it. “Cold iron resists magic. No, it negates magic. It has been used to imprison sorcerers for centuries. Magic does not. Work. On cold iron.”
“Right.” He looked at the block. “But I did, though.”
“Yes. Yes, you did.”
“Are you saying that - “ He swallowed a lump in his throat. “That even among sorcerers I’m not - normal?”
“Normal is a very judgmental word. But you are - unique.”
“Will the druids know how to teach me?”
“My dear boy,” said Gaius softly, “I don’t think anyone will know what to do with you.”
Then there was a clatter from the doorway, and a tall, sandy-haired man in light mail bumbled in. “Gaius, have you seen Bertha? I’ve got training with Himself, but I want to get her back in the coop before she makes another - “
He stopped when he saw Merlin.
“If you mean the little black hen,” chirped Merlin, “she’s round the front, just by the steps.”
“Good to know,” said the man, and in one fluid motion drew his sword and pointed it at Merlin’s throat.
Merlin flung his hands up, then down, then up again. “Gaius - sword - what’s - “
“Who are you?” shouted the man in mail. “What business have you here? And - what have you done with Bertha?”
“Nothing!” squealed Merlin. “I mean, that’s the answer to question three - I’ve done nothing to Bertha. Actually she did something to me - I’m Merlin, by the way, and may I say that’s a lovely sword - “
“How did you get here?”
“Walking! Believe me, I’d have gotten a horse if I could. That’s a bloody steep mountain you live on, have you ever considered moving - “
“If you do not give me a straight answer in the next five seconds - “
“I promise, these are the straightest answers I have, really, I’ve never been good at straightening things, my mum says I’m a terrible conversationalist, she always says were you raised in a barn? and I’m like well, I don’t know, was I? and I’m not making this better, am I? It’s just that you know, you’ve got that pointy bit - lovely sword, did I say that? - only it’s awful close to my throat - “
“Oh for heaven’s sake,” said Gaius. “Leon, would you put down the sword?”
“Gaius - “ snapped Leon.
“This is Merlin, my new assistant. He’s eighteen years old and weighs slightly less than a healthy dog, so I think you can handle him without weapons.“
“But we can’t - “
“As you know, I am an old man, and I am finding it harder and harder to fulfill my duties alone. Merlin is here to ensure that I can continue to care for the wellbeing of all the inhabitants of this castle as decrepitude creeps up upon me.”
“Yes, but - “
“And while I appreciate the help that you’ve given me over the years, you don’t know how to use a sand bath, you’re not a naturally gifted researcher and the last time I sent you out to collect meadowsweet you bought back henbane, which I suppose would have eased our pain, albeit permanently. Merlin comes with a strong background in herblore, a great interest in my work and absolutely no desire to spend eight hours a day running around with a sword.”
“Alright, but - “
“Not to mention that at some point I will surely die - which I realise is inconvenient, though rest assured I do so against my will - at which time it will be expedient to have my replacement already here.”
“The king said - “
“Now, I understand your concerns, but I have complete faith in Merlin’s discretion - I was a very good friend of his mother. Was there anything else? No? I’m so glad we had this little talk. Put the sword down, Leon, you’re being an ass.”
Leon sighed and sheathed his sword. “Ten years. Ten years and I have never once won an argument with you. How do you do it?”
“The wisdom of ages. Now, if you could introduce yourself like a civilized being…?”
Leon grinned and stuck out his hand. “It’s a pleasure, Merlin. Sorry about the sword. Can you cook?”
“Um.” Leon’s handshake was very strong. “A bit?”
“Brilliant, because I can’t and Gaius is absolutely banned from the kitchen. Gaius, where is he going to sleep?”
“Isn’t there a secure chamber on the east side?”
“I’ll have a look, but a lot of the doorframes got warped when we had that leak in the roof.” Leon clicked his fingers. “Laundry. Merlin, how’s your laundry?”
“Like - the stuff I’m wearing now, or - “
“No, I mean can you do laundry.”
“Can’t everyone?”
“He’s a treasure,” said Leon. “A treasure. If you tell me that you can milk a cow, I might actually weep with joy.”
“Please don’t cry,” said Merlin, taking a few hasty steps back. “Are you the castle steward or something?”
“Or something”, said Leon. “Head chef, chief dogsbody, arms tutor and proud father of a small clutch of chickens.
“What?” Merlin looked at Gaius. “I mean - what?”
“Forgive us, we don’t have many visitors.” Gaius made a grand, theatrical gesture, half-mocking and half-sad. “Merlin, may I present Sir Leon of Camelot.”
“But - he’s a knight.” Merlin turned Leon. “You’re a knight.”
Leon shrugged. “Last I checked, yes.”
“Fuck. I mean, shit. I mean whoops. I’m sorry your - knightliness? Should I have bowed? How do I bow? I mean, I know that I have to bend, but do I need to do anything with my arms or is it just a straight up and - “
“Merlin!” Leon grasped him by the shoulders. “Breathe, Merlin. We’re all very informal here.”
“Right.” Merlin shook himself. “Informal. Can I ask a rude question?”
“Oh, I’m sure you can,” muttered Gaius.
Leon tutted. “Stop stirring up trouble, old man. Go on, Merlin.”
Merlin tried for politeness three times, gave up and said, “Are you pretending to be friendly now so you can stab me in my sleep?”
Leon gave him a quick glance that said would I really need to wait for you to be asleep? But he was much better at politeness than Merlin - knightly training, probably - so he just said, “No. And I am sorry for drawing on you, Merlin. It’s just that - “His eyes cut to Gaius and skittered away. “We’re quite secluded up here. Quite - private. It’s been - six years?”
Gaius nodded. “Seven years, I believe, since our last visitor. And normally they arrive with trumpets.”
Oh dear. Trumpets meant they were very grand. It didn’t quite fit with the walls and the mess and the chickens, but perhaps Sir Leon was very eccentric. Merlin, who had not been raised in a barn, gave a sad little half-bow and said, “Well, um, thank you very much for allowing me into your castle, Sir Leon.”
“Just Leon, please. And…” He glanced at Gaius again. “Well. It’s not actually my castle. Did you not explain?”
“I was about to,” said Gaius dryly, “but we were suddenly set upon by a madman with a sword. Merlin, what I’m about to tell you must remain a secret as long as you live.”
Merlin opened his mouth, but Leon beat him to the punch. “Look, Gaius, you say he’s in then he’s in. But are you sure?”
“I’m sure. It’s not a secret we can keep, Leon. He will meet him.”
“Yes, but….” Leon frowned. “You know how he is.”
“I do this with his best interests at heart. This is one of those times where you trust me and don’t ask questions.”
Leon gave Merlin a quick, assessing look. “I’m not asking. But if he asks, you better have a good answer.”
“Sorry,” said Merlin, “but who’s he?”
Gaius and Leon shared a look that seemed to contain an entire conversation, then Gaius said, “The owner of this castle.”
“Right.” Merlin looked between the two of them. “Um, whose castle is this?”
“Isn’t it obvious?” said a new voice from the door.
Merlin turned, and his breath caught in his throat.
The man was beautiful. Hair as gold as dawn sunlight, eyes like the endless blue depths of a midsummer afternoon. His face was a marble angel’s, the lines of brow and cheek and jaw almost too mathematically perfect. Every good sculptor always knew to put in a flaw. His was in his front teeth, just a little too large, and it made Merlin dig his fingernails into his palms. He was lithe, muscular, dressed in black. Half-dressed - his jerkin was unbuttoned, his shirt open nearly to his navel, and he was missing a sock. His hair had the raked-through look of a man in crisis. His smile was dazzling and mad.
“This,” he said, spreading his hands, “is the magnificent - nay, the opulent court of the Crown Prince of Camelot!”
And then, very pleasantly - “Gaius, what the fuck is this?”
He gestured carelessly at Merlin as he said it, one contemptuous little flick. It was too much whirling in Merlin’s head - his eyes, Gaius saying I can’t help you and then my new assistant, he’d been held at swordpoint, didn’t like feeling like prey and now this arrogant prick flicking him away - that he opened his mouth without thinking and barked out, “Excuse me?”
“You’re excused,” said the twat. “Though traditionally it should be pardon me, my lord. Gaius, unwashed peasant in my castle, explain.”
“Who the hell are you calling unwashed?” said Merlin.
Twatface rolled his eyes. “I’m sorry. Why, clearly you took a bath just last month!”
“I’m not being lectured on cleanliness by a man with straw on his sleeve.”
“I do not - !”
“I’m sorry.” Merlin reached over and plucked off the offending bit of straw. “Please, your princeliness, let me get that for you.”
The dickhead jerked away. “Did I give you permission to touch me?”
“Well pardon me, sire. Tell me, if I fall to my knees and kiss your boot, may I be permitted to get the chicken feather from your hair? Or is that the latest court fashion?”
“Someone should have whipped some manners into you.”
“I’d like to see you try.”
“Oooh, what are you going to do to me? Get your mud in my hair?”
“You’d be surprised what I can do.”
“Enough,” barked Leon.
“Arthur, this is Merlin,” said Gaius, very calmly. “He’ll be staying on with us for a while.”
Arthur bared his teeth. “I don’t recall asking for a court fool.”
“Yeah,” said Merlin. “Looks like that job’s already taken”
“And this,” said Gaius, “is Arthur Pendragon, Crown Prince of Camelot, so you will show him some respect.”
Merlin opened his mouth to say Crown Prince of Arseholes, more like and then the words hit him.
“Oh.” He blinked. “I thought he was joking.”
Gaius closed his eyes.
The Crown Prince of Camelot laughed, thin and bitter. “Marvellous. Every unwashed commoner thinks I’m a joke.”
He did not look like a Crown Prince. It wasn’t just the dishevelled clothes or the wobbly chicken feather. Merlin admittedly didn’t know a lot about Princes, but he was fairly sure they were supposed to swan around rescuing princesses and declaiming new and virtuous laws, or at the very least swagger about debauching maidens. Arthur Pendragon did not swan or declaim or swagger. He moved like a terrier and snapped like a snake.
He’s mad. That had been his first thought. But that wasn’t right. He was something, something sharp and flinching-hot. Mad was just the word his mind spat out, along with a tangle of images - a sharp edge just avoided in a fall, a missed step, a snapping dog on a frayed leash.
“I apologise for the boy’s rash words,” said Gaius. “I will talk to him about protocol.”
Arthur bared his teeth. “No need. He’s not staying.”
“Yes,” said Gaius, very low and insistent. “He is.”
Merlin stared at him. Oh gods. He’d dragged himself halfway across the country, he’d spent half his mum’s money getting here, he’d climbed a whole bloody mountain just to watch the man who should be training him get his head cut off. It was probably a lesson. He’d work out the moral very soon, just as long as he avoided execution.
“I have served you,” said Gaius, “for ten years. I have done nothing that was not with your best interests at heart. I left everything I knew, everything I had built, to care for you here. I have never, ever once asked for anything. Merlin will be very useful for my work here, sire. But if you will not let him stay for your own sake, then prove yourself worthy of the title you bear and let him stay for mine.”
Arthur swallowed. “You ask too much.”
“It has been an honour to serve you, Arthur. But I have given much. I give even now.”
“And when he grows tired of our royal life, and stumbles back to whatever pigpen he crawled out of? What stories will he carry?”
“I will maintain my usual discretion, sire. But I believe…” His eyes cut to Merlin, calculating and sharp. “I believe I am close to - something. Or closer than I was this morning, at least.”
Arthur was breathing hard, staring at the floor. “And you need him?”
“I need someone, and Merlin is eminently qualified. With him at my side, I have some… hope for progress.”
There was something in the room, something only the three of them could see. “Progress with what?” said Merlin. “Do you need to make a medicine or - “
Arthur’s head snapped up. “What have you told him?”
“Nothing!” Gaius stepped back, hands up. “He’s just arrived, sire - “
“Come on,” said Leon, with a forced cheer. “Let’s go, Arthur. Let’s go for a walk - you can help me find Bertha - “
“It was just a question,” said Merlin, and then Arthur grabbed his wrist.
Everyone in the room went knife-point still.
It was not a firm grip. Merlin could have wriggled his way out of Arthur’s hands with ease. Arthur was just a man, a little bigger and older perhaps but nothing Merlin couldn’t handle. He would pull away. He would pull away in just a second. He wasn’t scared.
Some ancient, animal part of his brain said Do. Not. Move.
Arthur was trembling with rage, lips pulled back in a snarl. Every tendon and vein seemed to pulse with promised violence. Like one of the grotesques on the walls, caught in the moment of the kill, except he wasn’t stone and any second now he would move and - Merlin didn’t know what he’d do. His pupils were black flecks in a sea of ice blue.
But his eyes were like holes carved in the world. His eyes made Merlin want to cry.
Oh, he thought. Not mad. Miserable.
“It’s all right.” On some strange impulse, he covered Arthur’s hand with his own. “It’s all right.”
“Oh Jesus fucking Christ,” said Leon. Gaius began to pray.
Arthur’s hand trembled beneath Merlin’s. He was looking at that point where they connected, looking like a man confronted with a world flipped upside down. Merlin’s fingertips brushed the soft delta of veins at his wrist. He could feel Arthur’s blood thundering. It should have been terrifying. Maybe it would have been to anyone else.
But Merlin had juggled lightning at fifteen. And when he moved his hand - the lightest caress - he felt Arthur’s blood jump.
“Don’t.” Arthur’s voice was a thin growl. “Don’t.”
His grip was tightening on Merlin’s wrist. It should have hurt. But it was nothing compared to the look in Arthur’s eyes. They’d been miserable before, but now - Christ, it cut like wire.
“I’m Merlin,” he said softly. “I’m just here to pick herbs and clean stuff. That’s all I’m here to do.”
Arthur’s breath was coming in short, sharp gasps. “You know not what you do.”
“I’m just saying hello.” He kept up that gentle stroking, a rhythm passed between their strings - brush-pulse, brush-pulse, slowing Arthur’s heartbeat with the very edge of a fingertip. “Hello. I’m Merlin - I said that, didn’t I? I’m sorry for before. Let’s start again. You’re Arthur, right? Prince Arthur.”
Arthur’s eyes never strayed from their hands. His tongue flicked out, pink and wet against his plush, soft lips. He mouthed something into the air, once, twice - “Yes. Yes. I’m Prince Arthur.”
“It’s nice to meet you,” murmured Merlin. Brush, brush, brush. There was something like lightning here. Something unnameable in the feel of Arthur’s body responding to his own. “I’m Gaius’s new assistant. You don’t need to be scared of me - ”
It was the wrong thing to say - Arthur’s pulse surged. “Scared of you? You think I’m scared of you?”
“I didn’t mean - “
“You’re an idiot,” said Arthur, and it sounded like a prayer. “You’re an idiot, and you’re going to - “
Then he wrenched himself away with a cry. Merlin jumped back. Arthur was slamming his fist - the one that had grabbed Merlin - against the wall over and over again until blood smeared the stone.
“Uh - “ Merlin gestured frantically at Gaius and Leon. “What - are - “
“Quiet,” barked Leon.
Gaius put his hand on Merlin’s arm. “Just wait. All will be well. All will be well.”
The slamming slowed. Trembled. Stopped. Arthur stood there, head against the stone. His shoulders heaved with something terrible.
“Are you yourself again, sire?” said Gaius, soft and quiet.
“I’m fine.” Arthur slammed his hand against the wall twice more, a pathetic imitation of fury. “Do whatever you want, Gaius. Just keep him the hell away from me.”
And with that, he stormed out of the room.
There was a long, pregnant silence. Outside a chicken screamed.
“Well,” said Leon. “Welcome to Castle Perilous, Merlin. Want the tour?”
“It’s the peas that are the problem,” said Leon.
“Right,” gasped Merlin. Leon moved at the pace of a healthy man of six-foot-something inured to physical activity, and he spoke very much like someone who hadn’t had a visitor in seven years. Merlin had learnt a lot. The location of the armory. The west wing had a terrible damp problem. The cow liked turnips. Did Merlin know the difference between a barebow and a longbow? (He did now.) Food and clothes were delivered from Camelot every four months. Collect the eggs at six, or whenever you feel like. Milk the cow at six thirty, unless she’s asleep. A couple of the southern chambers had gaps in the wall that fell straight down to the valley below. The tower was for the prince, and peas were the problem.
“Onions I have conquered. Asparagus bows to me. Artichokes? I’m a master. But peas - “ He clenched his fist. “The peas deny my sovereignty. But I’ll get them yet. I’m a hunter, Merlin, and the elusive quarry is the best kind. Oh, here’s the library.”
He flung open a grand set of doors to reveal a large, beautiful room with shelves twice as tall as Merlin, each one tottering with tomes.
“Oh,” said Merlin.
Light fell softly in the library, as if afraid to rustle the pages. The room had not quite escaped the ravages of nature, but it was only lightly touched - a curl of ivy coming in at the windows to point like verdant manicules at particular shelves, a few cushions of moss amongst the flagstones. The air was still but not stale. And the books - so many shades of fawn and amber, the rich subtle tones of Morocco leather - looked soft and inviting to the touch. He longed so much to stroke a spine, peel back an endpaper, find a page which would solve the riddle of his life.
It was glorious. He’d come here for Gaius, but in a room with this many books - surely there’d be something about magic here. He’d probably have to spend twelve lifetimes searching them. But they would be lifetimes well spent. There had been three books in Ealdor. He couldn’t even imagine this much wealth.
“You can read, right?” Leon scratched his neck. “Sorry if that’s a rude question.”
“It’s fine. Yeah, I can read.”
“Right.” Leon nodded. “Well, some of them are… illegal.”
“Illegal.”
“They’ve got - you know. Sorcery.”
“Some of them?”
Leon looked at the floor and mumbled, “Most of them, actually.”
“Got it,” said Merlin, and through sheer force of will managed to stop himself from jumping up and down with glee.
“So - yeah. Don’t read any of the illegal ones. Unless Gaius says you can, of course.”
“How will I know if they’re illegal if I don’t read them?”
“That,” said Leon, “is a very good question. A very, very good question.”
“Have you read them?”
“I’m a knight of Camelot!” And then, shamefaced - “I mean, some of them have cracking good stories in.”
“Of course.”
“And in winter, there’s not a lot of gardening to do.”
“Absolutely.”
“And Gaius said the books couldn’t hurt. He used to practise sorcery. He’d know.”
“Oh?” squeaked Merlin, trying not to combust on the spot.
Leon jumped. “But he’s a good man, you know! Nothing wrong with that. Except that it’s illegal, but - well - “ He gestured vaguely at the shelves. “The law’s the law, and a book’s a book.”
“Yes,” said Merlin. “Yes, that’s definitely true.”
“Yeah.” Leon nodded to himself and smiled. “Yeah, it is, isn’t it? Come on, we’re housing you down here.”
He led Merlin down through the east wing and shoved open a door with a slight effort. “In you come. Gaius will show you where to get bedding - we’re due another delivery in a few months, but…”
Merlin stopped listening.
Sunlight glittered off the gilded tapers of a rich, soft, four-post bed. The draperies were dapple-spun with gold thread - moth-eaten here and there, but still softer than any blanket Merlin had ever owned. The sheets - were they actual silk? No, that wasn’t possible, not for him. But there were mirrors - one tall enough to frame him with a silver frame like jagged teeth, another tripartite one that divided him in parts above a dresser, and a third glinting slyly in a little ivory frame by the bed. A desk too, rosewood. A closet with malachite handles. A chandelier of tinkling crystal.
“I can’t sleep here,” said Merlin.
Leon cocked his head. “What’s wrong? The bed’s sound, I promise.”
“I’m a servant. I’m Gaius’s assistant. I’m a peasant.”
“Oooh.” Leon nodded. “Yeah. Don’t worry about that.”
“But these are - they’re too - “
Leon shrugged. “There might be some on the other side, but I think these are nicer. Morning sunlight, you know?”
“Leon. Sir Leon. These are - there are mirrors!”
“You can cover them up if you like.”
“And wardrobes and a four-poster and - “
Leon strode into the room and flung open the door to the wardrobe.
A tangle of cloth slumped to the floor. Once it might have been beautiful. That thin gauzy strip might have been a princess’s wimple, or a delicate sash. There had been silk and leather, velvet and damask, the labour of a hundred hands.
Now there was just a bundle of sad frayed thread.
“Take the rooms, Merlin,” said Leon, simple and flat. “No one else is coming to claim them.”
In the silence, Merlin felt the whole castle breathe around him. One long exhale, the wind drawn through the great double doors and down into the invisible currents beyond the cliff, everything rushing out and down and weightless. It shifted the stones. Not much - less than a quarter of a quarter of a hair. But in that moment he could feel the point, a thousand years away, when the push of wood and wind would send this castle tumbling off the cliff and the mountain would be as it had been before humans ever dared to squat here. This tumbledown fortress, clinging to the skin of the world with its fingernails, while great and ancient forces moved below.
“Leon,” said Merlin, very quietly. “Why do you live like this?”
Leon didn’t respond for a moment. He just stared at the tangle of crepuscular silk flaking on the floor.
“Five rules,” he said, low and scratchy. “You follow them always. You never question them, ever. Do you understand?”
“All right.”
“Rule number one: you stay in your room after dark with the door locked. No matter what you hear, no matter who you think you hear. Understand?”
“Got it.”
“Good. Two - there are caves beneath the castle. You never, ever go down there. Three, always carry a weapon. Do you have one?”
“Uh - “
“I’ll get you a knife. Four, never make the Prince angry. What happened today can never happen again, got it? Don’t say something funny, Merlin, just nod. And number five…”
The tall mirror was a thin wedge of darkness, and Merlin’s face floated in it like a prisoner’s dream. It was a beautiful thing, edged with fretwork of silver spikes. Icicles, or blades, or fangs, and his own scared eyes caught between.
“Number five,” said Leon softly, “is don’t bleed.”
“What, ever?”
Leon shrugged. “Try and avoid it.”
“But what happens if I slip up with a knife or break a glass or - I’m a person, Leon! I’m full of blood!”
“You go straight to the nearest room with a lock and you lock the door,” said Leon. He rubbed his hands, and for the first time Merlin saw the two smallest fingers on his left. Or rather, the stumps of them. An old one, but ragged and uneven. Not a knife. There had been a few people in Ealdor who'd lost fingers to the law over petty thefts, and even the worst and most incompetent axeman wouldn't have made a mess like that. But he had seen a wound like that once - Swan the butcher. First the dog had turned rabid, then the man. His mother had kept him tied to the kitchen table for three days, desperately pouring herbs into his mouth while he swore and foamed and screamed wordless curses at the sky.
But his hand had looked a little like Leon’s. Something had bitten right through the bone.
“What the fuck is happening here?”
Leon shrugged. “You’ll know when you know. But I won’t be the one to tell you.”
“Why not?”
“I’m a knight of Camelot.” He smiled, thin and bitter. “As I have been for the past ten years. Dinner’s at six, Gaius will tell you where.”
And he strode out with a final friendly pat to Merlin’s shoulder.
Your mother would skin me. That’s what Gaius had said. There was a library full of books that he could find answers in, a library that shouldn’t exist. There was a herd of chickens and a beautiful, mad prince. There was a mentor and a friend and a garden and a rule against bleeding.
There was something in the woods that made a huntsman feel like prey.
“If I had any sense I’d run screaming down the mountain,” he said.
But he knew, looking at his own pale set face in the mirror, that he was going to stay.
He opened his eyes to moonlight and - something else.
There was no moment of confusion. The bed had cradled him more gently than his pile of blankets back in Ealdor ever could, and that softness had sunk deep into his sleep so that even in his dreams he walked the tenebrous halls of the Prince’s castle. And the space all around him, the great gaps of dark air between his bed and the walls. In Ealdor, he had slept wedged into a corner. It had been the warmest place. He had never realised what a luxury it was to sleep knowing there was nothing behind you.
Because he was slowly becoming more sure, as he felt the shadows seethe at his back - he had heard a voice.
He would get up. He would turn. He would see that there was nothing there. He almost said it out loud - I’m just being silly. There’s nothing there - except he couldn’t quite raise the words to his lips for fear of a voice answering Are you sure?
This was silly. This was a child’s fear, and he was far too old for it.
(And yet, said the little voice at the back of his mind, something did wake you.)
There was a candle on the nightstand. He took three quick breaths. Sat up, shoved his hand towards the wick - not even asking, just a desperate demand - turned with half a scream in his throat -
There was nothing there.
Just the wardrobe hanging open, pure darkness spilling from its lips. The spiderleg curls of the candelabra. The mirror, and his own scared face between its jaws.
“There’s nothing there,” he said cautiously, testingly. Then louder - “There’s nothing here.”
Merlin.
He sprang out of bed. Fumbled for his knife, nearly nicking his fingers in the process. “Who’s there?”
No answer.
Under the bed the spiders were jumping in the unexpected light. He swept his arm through the wardrobe, cobwebby silk fluttering against his wrist, pushed at the back in case it opened into some dark and hollow passage. Nothing behind the mirror, behind the curtains, behind the armoire.
Merlin.
The voice echoed strangely, as if it had travelled up through twisting veins of rock. And yet he heard it so close that the back of his neck prickled with imagined breath.
The locked door to his chamber stood black and solid as a dare.
Stay in your room after dark.
But the voice called again, more insistent now - MERLIN.
He edged towards the door. Placed his hand on the cold metal of the knob. And then stopped, knife shivering in his other hand.
The voice was distant. He knew that without knowing how. From deep in the catacombs, perhaps - the forbidden catacombs, beneath the twilight forbidden corridors of this strange and teetering castle on a hill.
So what was that breathing just beyond his bedroom door?
Slow and hot and heavy. Wet. Some ancient animal instinct calculated the size of those lungs. Huge. Bigger than a horse, bigger than a lion. Something in the sound suggesting jaws, teeth, an eager tongue licking its chops. What had the huntsman said? What it feels like to be prey.
“Hello?” He rapped on the door. “Who’s there?”
No answer. But the breath changed. Patient. Expectant. Excited.
Remember, his mother had said, if you come across a bear in the woods, stay calm and stay quiet. They can smell your fear.
But bears were just animals, bumbling through the woods in search of easy prey. This wasn’t that. His skin prickled with the sense of some ancient, malignant pleasure. He was suddenly very sure that the thing could taste his cold sweat in the air, hear the desperate rabbit-thump of his heart.
That if its jaws could have made the correct sounds, it would have been laughing.
He crept back to bed. Blew out the candle. Pulled the sheets up over his head. Monsters couldn’t get you if you were tucked into bed. Those were the rules, and if there were monsters - it’s just the cow, she somehow got upstairs, or the wind sighing through the castle, or a wild dog that’s got in - if monsters were real then the rules had to be too.
The thing lay panting until dawn.