Chapter Text
As soon as Merlin stands at the gates of Camelot, he knows the long days he spent traveling were more than worth every moment of discomfort. Not that it had been a hard journey, really. He spent more hours on the road than he usually did out in any field, but that's because farming is a lot more work. He could’ve gotten there faster if he hadn’t taken the time to enjoy the strange freedom of making his way through the world alone. He hadn’t seen anyone else on the first part of his way there. There had been a moment when he’d felt like he was the only person in the world, as he stood and looked back down a hill toward an untouched valley.
There had been a moment when he’d thought about turning away from the path. He’d lain under the trees and dreamed of simple letting go of ‘Merlin’ and becoming… other. Something greater than he has words to describe. He’d woken from the dream to see a cart traveling along the road that proved he was almost at his destination. He’d hurried after that, shaking away the strange feeling those sorts of dreams always leave him with.
Camelot is nothing like even the strangest of those dreams. Camelot is nothing like Ealdor. It’s not because there’s a bloody big castle that catches his eye first thing – not that they have anything like that in Ealdor, the part of Merlin that’s always ready to add commentary pipes in – but it almost pales in the face of everything else that hits him second. There are so many faces for him to see. He can’t truly compare it to Ealdor because the difference is too great to even start. In Camelot, you could disappear. Not everyone would know exactly who you were and have opinions on what you ought to be doing.
It’s everything that Merlin had hoped for when his mum had finally agreed that it was time for him to try something new. Neither of them had wanted to say it. He didn’t want to leave her. He didn’t want to leave Will. Part of him didn’t even want to leave Ealdor, for all he could count the parts he likes on one hand when he's in a mood. But he’s old enough now to strike off on his own – his mum had looked deeply skeptical at that claim and had given him very firm directions on where to go – and it was time. As he walks through the city, he can feel himself smiling. This is what he hoped for.
The sight in the square is what he’d been dreading.
Everyone knows that sorcery is forbidden in Camelot. It’s been banned for years. For most in Ealdor that’s as much as they know, and it’s surprising that they’re even aware of that much. Merlin has heard a few more stories (Merlin had reason to listen to the stories). He knows that when King Uther banished magic many had been killed (and not just at his hand). But that had been ages ago. Before Merlin had even been born. He had listened to all his mother’s warnings, but it hadn’t felt real.
The thud of the axe sounds very real. The gasp of the crowd is loud in the silence that rings in Merlin’s ears. He’s seen death before. He can’t imagine anyone who’s managed to escape that. It’s never been like this. It’s never been because of being someone like Merlin (there’s never been anyone like him). He wonders what the people around him think. They don’t look happy, but he can’t exactly go, ‘Hello, just wondering about your thoughts on magic. No, I don’t have any reason to want to know.’ Even the king doesn’t look happy.
Merlin might have missed some of King Uther’s speech – he’d been a little distracted – but he’d seen his stone face. Not a muscle moves as he looks down at the body and then turns away. They say he gets to the point. Abrupt, Merlin might say, if he truly lacked the sense he’d been born with so keeping quiet is proof that he does. No matter what anyone says. The crowd vanishes with the king, and Merlin keeps heading towards the palace, so maybe he hadn’t been born with that much sense. It would explain a lot.
It turns out, you can just walk right into the palace. Merlin didn’t even have to knock. He supposes when you have all those guards there you don’t have to keep doors locked. Still, it makes him feel right at home. Eda claimed that in the city people had to lock up their washing to stop thieves from running off with their underthings and here he is just walking into the palace of King Uther without anyone blinking! He doesn’t see anyone’s underthings, so those might be locked up.
The guards don’t even give him an unfriendly look. It’s enough to get past any hesitation in speaking to them. He usually isn’t put off by unfriendly looks, but it might be different in the city and he's glad he's been given some time to get ready for it just in case.
“Where would I find Gaius, the Court Physician?” He manages not to stumble over the words. Now that he’s saying out loud – to someone else, practicing out loud as he was walking doesn’t count – it sounds very important. He’s never been near a court. Ealdor doesn’t have anything close to a fancy physician.
The guard on the left gives him a sympathetic look. Merlin is ready to pull out his letter to offer proof that he has reason for looking for him before his thoughts are cut off in the middle of the mental argument he’s putting together. “You haven’t heard yet, boy? Gaius is dead.”
In the end, the guard directs Merlin to the physician’s quarters. Guards aren’t supposed to sit and chat, he supposes. For one thing, they have to stand in one place. He would be a terrible guard.
Merlin just needs to take one look around the room he was pointed towards to suspect that he’d be a terrible physician, too. He hadn’t come to Camelot for that. He hadn’t come with anything except hope that he’d finally find a place. He might even find a reason. The loss of a man he’s never met shouldn’t be more than an everyday sort of tragedy, but it feels as if the ground he'd been pretending was firm as anything has finally given out from under him proving to be no more than thin ice over a pond. He hadn’t thought that he was walking towards his execution even as he had stood and watched one, but in the quiet (dead feeling, or at least echoing with an absence that can’t be seen) room he realizes the truth.
All Merlin has is magic. The only thing that means is death. Either at Uther’s hands or the stifling, slow suffocation that comes with not using it. Not that he’s ever managed to control it well enough to hope for the slow death.
There are vials and things sitting on the table, as if waiting for someone who’s just stepped out of the room. There are more books and writing than he’s ever seen in his life. Maybe this was once the home of someone who would be able to answer the questions Merlin barely knows how to ask.
“What are you doing here?” Someone asks, shaking Merlin out of his mental spiral. He looks up to see a man standing in the door staring down at him. He’s a slight man, shorter than Merlin standing up, with auburn curls and curious grey eyes. His accent is unfamiliar, though Merlin doesn’t know where it’s from. He doesn’t look like he was expecting to see a peasant boy sitting on the floor. “I didn’t expect you so soon.”
Merlin attempts to stand. He almost manages it, but trips over his bag at the last moment sending him flailing down again. At least he manages to catch himself on the table before hitting the ground face first. “Sorry, sorry! You have the wrong person. Probably? Who are you expecting?”
The man gives him a bemused look. “I thought Gaius might have had an apprentice. I am Kestrel, the new Court Physician.”
Merlin gives him a pained smile. Hitting the table had hurt a lot. “I’m Merlin. Not the new anything, really. I mean I am new here. My mum sent me to Gaius, but…” He trails off, trying not to think of how pathetic he probably looks. From Kestrel’s look, he might have hit ‘idiotic’ before ‘pathetic’. Maybe it’s both.
“Why did she send you here, Merlin?” The patience in his voice definitely suggests that he doesn’t think highly of Merlin’s… anything.
“I have a letter!” He pulls it out of his bag, offering it to Kestrel in desperation. Once it leaves his hand, he realizes that it might have been better to keep it hidden, but it’s too late. His mum would never write down that he has magic, but he doesn’t know what the man might learn from it.
Kestrel frowns down at it, before moving to an open book running a finger down the entries. He looks over at Merlin again, who has at least managed to make it to his feet.
“Hunith’s son.”
“Yes!” Merlin picks up his pack, trying not to clutch it in obvious desperation.
“Yes, he wrote that you were going to arrive here.” He looks down at the letter again then back at Merlin. “You can read? Write?” They’re statements more than questions, but Merlin still nods. Kestrel sighs. “Do you have any experience with medicine?”
“Not really,” he admits. There’s no point trying to pretend. He’s not sure it would help.
Kestrel sighs again. “Literate is a start. You can serve as my apprentice, for now. I’m not completely heartless.”
Merlin isn’t sure that he wants to be the man’s apprentice. He knows for sure that he doesn’t want to be thrown into the street with nothing, so he nods as hard as he can to try to show appropriate appreciation for this gift. If someone wanted to learn to be a physician, this would probably be the best gift they could hope for.
At least it gives Merlin a little more time.