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Merlin is sure of it.
He doesn’t blame Arthur, not one bit.
“Got somewhere to be?!” Prince’s displeasure is obvious even without looking at him. He has been testy all morning, for few days to be honest.
“What? Yes, sorry, sire – Gaius…” Merlin adjusts Arthur’s doublet and takes a step back. “Is there something else you urgently need, sire?” he asks with not very well-hidden jibe and can’t muster the energy to mask it with a smile. He still has to speak to the housekeeper about the roster for Arthur’s chambers and make the tinctures, Gaius has been – has mentioned couple of times he is behind.
“You do remember you are still my servant, Merlin?”
That and the stupid treatise on digestive tract he should really look at properly before heading to the surgeons quarters. He could probably manage tonight, Arderne said he will keep the body for him till morning. At least there is no new- no, he won’t jinx it.
“Of course, sire. You always said you don’t wish to be bothered more than necessary, as you remember. And I am Gaius’s apprentice too, if you per chance forgot.”
Arthur scoffed, no other word for it. No surprise there either, really.
“Have you considered… are you sure you can handle all of your duties?”
Merlin snorts, the question a source of amusement he doesn’t care to dissect. “No, not at all, sire, but I don’t have much of a choice.”
Which is such an odd answer, it leaves the prince speechless. Merlin opens the door for him, waiting till Arthur gets going (the court session awaits!) and then walks down the opposite corridor without a second glance.
There is no reason to blame the prince, rationally speaking – he didn’t know the bastet was a person, nor that it was somebody dear to Merlin. He even took notice of him being sad and was concerned, however poorly he went about it.
Neither is he responsible for the druids’ expectations of him, nor for his own father.
It is not Arthur’s fault that Merlin lost his friends and loved ones over the course of his stay.
Still.
For some reason it got difficult to spend too much time with Arthur. Well, he really doesn’t have much of it what with his work, studies and the near weekly disasters, but that is irrelevant. Over the past couple weeks… Every little thing Arthur did irked Merlin as never before. His constant complains, the way he can’t clean up after himself, his muscle-headedness, his kindness, his eating habits. His breathing. The fact he is in the same room as Merlin. That Merlin has to be in the same room as Arthur.
It doesn’t make sense.
He likes Arthur.
And, as Gaius pointed out (in very kind terms, which is the only reason Merlin could swallow it; even if Gaius would probably not agree with this description of Merlin’s reaction), he knew Freya just for a couple of days. To be sad was natural, but it will pass. Considering Gaius’ age, he probably talked from experience.
He knows it is not Arthur’s fault.
Still, there is this bizarre mesh of anger and discomfort when in Arthur’s presence that Merlin can’t place. It must mean that regardless his rationale he still blames Arthur for what happened to Freya, all that Merlin lost.
However stupid it is.
…
It must be that, there is no other reason to dislike Arthur. Quite the opposite, he is slowly turning into a decent human being (minus the occasional outburst of prattiness) and really good future king.
Exactly as the prophecies said he would.
See, like he is doing right now. Disregarding his own safety to dive into the river to save a poor useless man from drowning. Truly heroic!
Not very bright, mind you, as Arthur has his mail on and the current is strong, not to mention the bandits keep shooting arrows at them. Definitely a proof of his virtuous and noble heart, even if not strategic mind a good decision-making (and what would a golden king need those for, really?).
And also his strength, considering Arthur is able to pull the man to safety, pushing him towards the extended branches with all his might, he himself scrambling for purchase – and not finding it.
Merlin steps from his hiding place, leaving rest of the patrol to their fate, and jumps in too. He might be fed up with his idiot prince but that doesn’t mean he abandons his duty, calling, fate or whatever.
It is August, the water almost pleasant, were it not for the currents trying to steal his breath and pull him under. Merlin pushes his magic around, calling to the river as he starts to swim towards the prince. Oh, but the river is not happy about Merlin’s demands. It wants to play, to rush forward, immensely enjoying its strength and speed, the way Arthur’s mail glistens in the sun when he resurfaces from time to time. The sound it makes scraping against the stones at its bottom, how funnily it flops and struggles, a little sparkly rag-doll for the fishes to nibble on once they are done.
Emrys, Emrys… see how pretty we are? How quick and strong? We will take you wherever you want!
Well, right now I want to get to that idiot and then out of the water!
But why? cries the river, imitating a pouting child. We want to play, show you so much more! No, you must stay!
Merlin is once again pulled under, taking unwanted gulps of the water as he is sucked into a whirlwind, the water currents tickling his sides and pulling his arms. So much life all around him, were it not for his circumstances, he might even appreciate the beauty.
How much time has passed? He looks for Arthur, still too far away to reach as he bobs up and down with the river’s whims. Does the river know that humans need air for breathing? Does it care for the injuries sustained?
Just let me get to him, I will stay, just let him go!
Then you will play with us?
Merlin tries to stay above the water to no use. He is exhausted already, how much energy has Arthur left? If it means Arthur is kept safe, there is only one possible answer, isn’t there? Always the same. I am happy to be your servant till the day I die . He did say it once (More? He thought it hundreds of times) and it is still a truth, regardless of everything.
Yes, I will. Just help me save him.
The river rumbles joyfully, the water guiding him towards Arthur, again under the water, his body wedged between the rocks. Merlin frantically pulls and pushes at the unconscious man in vain.
Wouldn’t this solve things too? a mad thought flickers through his panic and-
No choice, he can hear the eventual complains in his head as he cuts the mail off, leaving it for the river to play with. He pushes up, struggling against the heavy weight of Arthur’s uncooperative body, gritting his teeth and holding tight.
They resurface again, this time together and Merlin swims towards the bank, the river eager to help him get there as quick as possible.
“You are really getting fat,” Merlin grumbles as he drags the unconscious prince out of the river and onto the muddy ground with no aid from Arthur himself. Slippery pebbles and dried reeds dig into his knees. The mud pungent – fish and rot – and squelching noisily as he crawls through.
He breathes heavily, limbs shaking with exertion and even the fishy mudbank seems like a nice place to lie down, but Arthur is still unconscious and breathing strangely and Merlin can’t let him die here, after everything he has been though, he just can’t.
Merlin drags himself up, turns the prat on his stomach and pulls him up with arms around his waist, a mockery of embrace, to push the water out.
She was my way out. And I lost her.
Arthur is hell to carry even conscious, now, soaked in water, it feels like moving boulders. There must be some easier way to do this, a spell or something.
But what if…
Again and again.
He thanks Gaius for all the endless lessons and drilling as the prince starts to vomit the swallowed (breathed in) water out, breathing out gratefully as he lets the prince fall out of his aching arms.
Arthur clutches at Merlin’s as he keeps coughing though, dragging him down into the stinking mud, his body almost convulsing with the strength of it.
He will never let me go…
Merlin puts his other hand on Arthur’s back. Healing magic, he should really get better at healing magic. There are possible complications, something about getting sick again. Is it just because of the cold? The river is swift and clean, it should be fine.
Ah, it was probably never about Freya… not really.
Merlin ponders the possibility of drying Arthur’s clothes, but it seems too risky. Serves him right for jumping in. “It’s all right, Arthur. You are safe now.”
This is about destinies and prophecies and free will or lack thereof, not about dead girls, Merlin’s musing continued uninvited.
The horrid thought that he got her killed.
Once upon a time the idea of destiny was a happy one. Currently, it suffocates him. The fate making sure he will stay put, serving Arthur till the day he die, regardless of his wishes. Faithful, obedient, no matter what. Arthur just … ball and chain keeping him here.
That it was all in vain.
Emrys! Emrys, you promised!
The water level is rising, the river sploshing around his ankles and demanding attention. Merlin extracts his arm from Arthur’s grip a finger after finger, the prince still not alert enough to be aware of his surroundings. The river licks at his soaked boots, lapping at Merlin’s feet, reaching for him.
You will not regret it, we will have so much fun! The river sprites cheer and drag him back in.
It is already evening when Merlin comes back to himself, the sensations of having scaly nimble body slipping away with the rivulets of water. Just brief impressions accompanied by surprisingly cheerful feelings and physical exhaustion as if he ran for miles.
Gaius will not be happy about this… A thought flickers through his mind and then he gets lost in the shimmering emerald dome of trees. The river is quiet here, just soft murmurs accompanied by the breeze, bird- and insect-songs. The soil underneath him damp and fragrant. He stretches himself out a bit, feeling around the grove, lightly touching the river and the old trees around him. Everything content and calm, ready to settle for the night.
Ah, it was stupid to get wrapped up in all of that, he thinks back to his previous musings. It is Arthur. And isn’t exactly this why he has to stay and endure? That one day… surely… one day.
He closes his eyes, lets the forest song lull him back to the edge of drowsiness, cocoons himself in the sun-soaked warmth of the soil, the verdant greenery and sweet-smelling blooms; slowly gathering his strength to go back.
Emrys? Must you go?
He doesn’t turn to the sprites and takes his first step. Back to the capital with its looming towers.
He is doing this willingly, exactly as was foretold.