Chapter Text
“You have got to be kidding me.”
“Well,” Merlin said faintly, “they are very straight-forward instructions.”
Arthur glared at the cave wall in front of him as if it would make the words change. In fact, Merlin could have sworn they etched themselves deeper.
“This is ridiculous,” Arthur said, “there has to be another way out.”
Merlin glanced at the caved-in entrance, “I mean...”
“Shut up, Merlin,” Arthur grumbled.
Merlin shut up.
They had been running from a group of bandits, because it was always bandits, wasn’t it? They were outnumbered 1 to 6 and even with Arthur’s sword and Merlin’s (subtle) magic, the ruffians overpowered them. They had been forced to take shelter in a cave, thinking they would find an exit further down. Unfortunately, once they were in, the entrance exploded and trapped them inside the small room.
Small magic room.
It wasn’t just speculation that it was magic either. It was very obviously and painfully proudly the old dwelling of a sorcerer. Magical artefacts hung from the walls, the fires burnt without needing to be lit- ah, right- and the message carved into the wall was glowing.
Oh, Merlin was also bleeding out.
Leave in peace by uttering my spell
Agor y fynedfa gudd
At least the previous owner was direct. Bluntness was a trait not often found amongst ancient ruins and magic. Merlin might have broken down if they had needed to decipher a riddle.
“This is stupid,” Arthur complained. “What is someone supposed to do if they don’t want to use magic? Die?”
The longer Merlin spent in close proximity to Arthur, the more he wished to bleed out quicker.
“Yes,” Merlin replied, almost hysterically, because the entire situation was fucked, “that is the entire point.”
Arthur was silent for a moment.
“Well that’s dumb,” he grumbled like a child.
Merlin took the opportunity to hit his head violently against the wall.
“Merlin?”
“Yes?”
“Shut up.”
“Gladly,” Merlin said, keeping his head against the stone.
He winced slightly as he tried to make himself more comfortable on the floor. His arse was slowly going numb and he didn’t appreciate the feeling. His slashed arm was also going numb, but for an entirely different (and possibly more worrying) reason. Based on the amount of warm, sticky blood that had leaked out before they put the ripped shirt on it, and the stuff that still leaked out after, Merlin would say he had… maybe four more hours until the arm was beyond saving? And Camelot was a little less than a two hour ride away, should they find the horses again.
And Merlin wasn’t sure the room was supposed to be fuzzy, so there was that.
Arthur kept pacing the room, looking behind tapestries, feeling the wall, searching for another way out. Merlin stayed rooted to the stone floor. He knew Arthur’s efforts were in vain. Arthur knew his efforts were in vain. There was one way to leave and it was through magic.
“Fuck,” Arthur cursed, sending a crate crashing to the ground in frustration. “There’s no way out.”
Merlin had the sinking feeling that someone, somewhere in Camelot, was sharpening the executioner's axe.
“There is one exit we haven’t tried,” Merlin said, looking at the glowing wall.
Arthur glared again, “No. We are not using magic to escape.”
Merlin felt like the cave was getting colder, but he was certain it was just him.
“It’s not like either of us have even done a spell before,” Arthur went on. “I don’t even know how it would work for someone who isn’t a sorcerer. Whether we would even be able to get it open if we tried.”
Arthur finally stopped pacing, a dark look in his eyes, “Besides, magic corrupts. If we were to try there’s no telling what one of us would become.”
Merlin was suddenly very aware that no matter how cold the cave was, Arthur’s blade would be colder.
“Okay,” he said complacently, if only to prolong the moment where Arthur would realise there was simply no other way.
Arthur returned to his searching, efforts doubled. In his crusade for an exit he even took to destroying the shelves and nicknacks.
It’s not like anyone will miss them, I suppose, Merlin thought to himself.
“For the love of god,” Arthur shouted, “if you fall asleep, I will end you!”
Merlin pried his eyes open and forced them to stay that way. He hadn’t noticed he was nodding off.
There was a (metaphorical, as far as he could tell) timer counting down over Merlin’s head. The great, big, stupid timer of destiny. The one that counted the moments before he first saved Arthur. The one that ticked away the hours to the first fight of a war. The one that quickened and ended way too soon when someone’s life was slipping away.
Merlin had always hated that cosmic countdown. He knew there was one counting down until his death, until his last words, his next big mistake. Yet the one that dictated the day he finally told Arthur the truth had never felt so close to hitting zero.
Merlin thought he would feel calmer. Like some sort of peace would fall over him when the time was right. Maybe he would even feel relieved the lies would end. He felt none of that. He felt like his skin was crawling, his chest was tightening, and his palms were getting sweaty. He felt nothing but the overwhelming wrongness, the fear, and the horror of knowing this could be where he died. If things went wrong. Even if they didn’t.
And if Merlin knew one thing, it was that things always went wrong.
“Dammit!” Arthur cursed.
Merlin hadn’t even noticed how much damage he’d managed to cause the dwelling. He had been staring without really seeing for some time now. Every piece of furniture was ripped apart or hacked to pieces. All the glass was broken, all the ceramics shattered, and every cloth ripped to shreds. It looked like a hurricane tore its way through the room. No matter what organisation or prestige the place once had, it was all gone now. Nothing was saved. Nothing except the words carved out of the stone wall.
Merlin had hardly noticed that the sound of Arthur’s rampage was covering up his own wheezing breaths. It sounded a lot worse when he could hear it. Everything hurt a lot more when he was present.
The timer above Merlin’s head had come to its end.
“Arthur,” he said, and it was almost pathetic how his voice strained. Luckily for him, it could have easily been explained by the blood loss.
“What, Merlin?” Arthur snapped. Merlin supposed it was quite inconvenient that any sadness Arthur had seemed to turn itself into anger. He was like Morgana and Uther in that way. Merlin didn’t know if the comparison was insulting.
Merlin couldn’t find the words he wanted to say. Should he confess before he performed the spell? No- then Arthur could knock him out before he could release them with it. He should just say the spell and worry about everything else later. Arthur would surely notice the ease in which Merlin used magic and know he was a sorcerer. Maybe Merlin could say the spell and Arthur would just leave him instead of enacting his judgement. Somehow the idea of Arthur turning away was more painful than him sentencing him then and there.
Whatever conclusion he was about to reach, he stopped forming. Arthur’s red face had evened out to a pink tint and he no longer looked enraged. He looked determined, if annoyed, and maybe some desperation did make its way out behind the anger. It was the same face he made when he had to make a decision he didn’t want to. The underlying frustration of being trapped without choice. The firm look of action that meant he was prepared to do whatever it took.
“You were right,” Arthur finally said, “there is one way out.”
If Merlin were to make a guess, he would say his own face was whiter than a sheet.
“Did you just admit I was right?” Merlin teased, because that was far easier to focus on than his impending doom.
The jibe must have fallen flat, because Arthur didn’t retaliate with an insult of his own.
“Just this once,” he said.
There was an unbearable silence between them.
“I’ll do it.”
“I’ll do it.”
The two looked at each other.
“It’s alright,” Merlin said, throat closing over, “I’ll do it.”
“No,” Arthur said fiercely, “I’m doing it.”
Merlin almost laughed out of hysteria, “I think I’ll have a better chance of opening it.”
“And why is that, Merlin?”
This was his chance. This was the moment. The day he’d been dreading since he arrived in Camelot.
“I work for Gaius,” Merlin blurted out, “I know more about magic than you.”
Arthur shook his head, “Doesn’t matter, if someone is risking it, it’s me. And you’re…”
Arthur didn’t need to finish the sentence. Merlin knew very well that he looked like death and may be accompanying it soon.
Then it hit Merlin like a ton of bricks. Arthur thought normal people stood a chance at working a spell. He thought that magic was an easy tempter, something the common man could be seduced by in a second. That people in the lower town, that couldn’t even read, could perform feats of magic that could threaten the kingdom. He thought it was a choice to do magic in all cases. He had no idea of the years of study that was needed for non-magical people to learn even the simplest enchantments. If Merlin were to recite it, the prince wouldn’t need to know his secret.
Destiny wasn’t as cruel as he thought.
“You have an entire kingdom to rule over,” Merlin said. He had to play the part. If there was one thing he didn’t want, it was Arthur to become suspicious. Merlin was supposed to think of magic as an all-corrupting source as well. He had to act as if it wasn’t as natural to him as breathing. “What happens if it- if it corrupts you?”
Arthur considered it for a moment.
If Merlin could just convince Arthur to let him do it, everything would be so much easier. Even if he let Arthur have a try and then swooped in, he would only need to deal with a few days in the stocks as punishment after he recovered.
Arthur’s shoulders tensed slightly, and Merlin almost forgot he was waiting on a response from the man.
“Then kill me,” Arthur finally said.
Merlin gaped.
Arthur didn’t wait for Merlin to pick his jaw off the floor. He was a cunning bastard, that prince. Never playing fair.
Before Merlin could do it himself, Arthur read, stilted and strange against syllables he had never string together, “Ag-Agor y fy-fyne-fynedfa gudd.”
Nothing happened.
Merlin was not surprised.
“Fuck,” Arthur muttered, “Agor y fyne-fynedfa gudd.”
It was beyond unsettling to see Arthur try magic. To see him read the ancient phrase and pour purpose into the words. To stumble over the harsh pronunciation like Merlin himself had, just a few years ago. Merlin never thought he’d ever hear the words of a spell pass over Arthur’s lips. It felt just as impossible as a fish getting up out of the water and dancing on land.
Merlin was so transfixed that he forgot Arthur would never be able to get the rock to open. He forgot for a second that his friend hated magic. Forgot that the two were stuck in a cave and not in some alternate reality where they practised sorcery together and shared their annoyance over the stupid spelling. A thought occurred to Merlin that he couldn’t just let Arthur stumble over the spell forever. At some point he’d need to say it himself.
Arthur let out a frustrated noise and- “Agor y fynedfa gudd.”
The prince’s eyes flashed gold and the rock started to shudder.
Merlin flapped his mouth in shock like that dancing fish. He thought he should maybe say something. Anything.
Prince Arthur Pendragon just used magic.
And it worked.
“Well,” Arthur said, “that was fairly easy.”
Merlin made a strangled noise.
“I thought sorcery would be a bit harder than that,” Arthur continued, looking way too calm for a man who just performed his first spell. “I expected us to be stuck in here for at least an hour before I got it.”
Merlin felt like he was going to pass out.
“Come on, Merlin.”
The bright new passage that opened up to them revealed a set of stairs. Arthur hoisted Merlin up by the arm, but Merlin was too stunned to help them move much.
They started climbing.
Merlin let Arthur drag him out of the stairs and into the light. The man trusted him to stay still at the base of a tree so he could try to call their horses back to them. Merlin sat obediently and silently.
He turned and hit his head on the tree trunk.
It had hurt.
He was not dreaming.
… Fuck.