Merthur One-shots

When It Rains, It Pours

Summary: "With Merlin, he had learned that there was never a ‘right’ moment, only unpredictable things that could brighten or darken their days.
He simply locked the door behind himself, a habit that he had taken lately to avoid being disturbed while he was resting in his chambers. A habit that ensured Merlin would stay in the room until they were both ready to begrudgingly part.
Arthur was about to start his routine, beginning to shed some of the freezing layers that were stuck to his body, when Merlin uttered a quick: “I can explain,” clutching his hands over his chest and fretting nervously with his fingers."
When rain plagues Camelot for days, incidents happen, and even the most careful of sorcerers could get caught.

______________________________________

Winter was supposed to end any day now, with the equinox approaching. Or so the scholars claimed.

Apparently, the skies hadn’t received the invitation to celebrate the welcoming of the new spring, not just yet. The weather kept on changing, maintaining a pall over the ground, freezing the crops in their buds and sending peasants and farmers into a panic. The rain kept on pounding down incessantly, soaking even through the creaks in the palace walls.

It would take a miracle to salvage most of the harvest this year, his father’s administrators had claimed, and all over Camelot, people were begging the skies to clear up for more than a couple of hours, to give some reprieve to their poor bones. Arthur and his knights had made rounds around the city for days now, passing blankets and bread, aiding the citizens with whatever they might need and helping with reparation after the water had made its way into houses and stables, before everything began to rot.

It had been a mystery, the way this rain acted, at least for the court: the skies had begun to dissipate the clouds four days prior, the Sun shining over them, blessing the ground with its warmth and then, out of the blue, it had started to pour. Before anyone inside the castle could make sense of the weather, the fruit on the market stands had begun to rot at the mere touch of the water, a sickness had spread and now the ground was almost completely ruined.

Or, at least, those were the words that arrived at the King’s ears, claiming that wouldn’t take the title of mage or scholar for anyone to understand the real nature of their plague.

The farmers and citizens didn’t believe in those voices, as the weather had a mind of its own and decided out of its own volition when to shine and when to pour, but the claims of his Father’s advisors were louder than reason. Besides, Arthur had lived amongst magic his entire life and had a closer look into sorcery than one might think, he had grown able to recognise when something was natural and when something was not.

Still, he and his men had tried as best as they could and, even if the King hadn’t given his seal of approval to their acts, it was their duty to protect the city, even from thunderstorms. Especially from apparent magical ones.

Arthur didn’t truly believe these words, having had his fair share of troubles caused by sorcery of all kind, but he couldn’t say as much, not when his Father was believing the tales his advisors fed him blindly. He couldn’t be reasoned with, the King, when he decided something was caused by magic or magic users: he would go into a blind rage that was unexplainable by anything other than fear, screaming constant orders of executions without even having gathered the barest hint of proof.

Both Arthur and Morgana, as Heir and Warden, had decided that it was best not to question him when he was in one of his megalomaniac fits of rage. Instead, they did all they could to help their people when the King forgot about his citizens in his search to eradicate all he couldn’t comprehend.