Merlin's magic (Oneshots) 1

The sorcerer's touch

A.N.// (The comic chapters will be added later and moved before this chapter.)

Touch.
Arthur wasn't a stranger to touch, not at all. Arthur had always been surrounded by people who would touch him all the time: Servant's who'd help dress and undress him, servant's who'd bath him, knight's who'd clap him on the shoulder, or his father who'd grant him a single touch with a gloved hand to acknowledge Arthur's accomplishments. Noble women who'd visit and reach out their hands for Arthur to take and kiss to pay his respects.
Arthur was not a stranger to touch, but he knew that it would always remain a privilege.

How often had Arthur seen families hug each other, chase each other around only to pick each other up? How often had Arthur visited camps were even strangers would huddle for warmth in the winter because they didn't have enough blankets or fur to keep them warm? How often had Arthur seen his knights and servants sneak through the corridors and secret passages of the castle to keep each other company under the blind eyes of the night?

Arthur, he knew, would never have that. That casualty, the lack of reluctance that came with being used to the gesture.

Arthur was the Prince and later, King of Camelot. He couldn't afford to show affection in public, he would always have to keep a certain distance, always push people away and always be the one receiving the touch, never the one granting it.

If Arthur were to describe his relationship with touch, he'd say it was normal for a Prince. He would also say that he wasn't afraid of touch, but he would have to admit that touch would always mean something to him. It would always carry weight and meaning. That was the cost of putting conditions on gestures of affection.
To Arthur, touch was a confirmation. Only Prince's and King's got to be dressed by servants, only missions well done would grant him a clap on the shoulder, only the winning of tournaments would grant him as much as a smile from his father. Touch was sacred, touch was a privilege, touch meant that Arthur had done well. And if he didn't do well, Arthur would be locked in his rooms or the dungeon, with no one allowed to even talk to him.

Touch was a comfort Arthur needed to fight for, to work for, to deserve.

For a long time, Arthur believed he was the only one with such a complicated relationship with touch. When he met Merlin, he thought him the same as everyone else, always reaching out to touch, always asking for it, always initiating it, always taking touch for granted and always doing the things Arthur couldn't do. In the beginning, it was easy for Arthur to let him. Merlin handed out praise and trust like he didn't have a care in the world and pouting when he was rejected.
Arthur had to reject him often, feeling like Merlin's gesture was not deserved and that if Arthur accepted it, he'd have to work twice as hard to prove his worth.

And then... Came the sickness that killed everyone it befell. The victims grew pale and their eyes glazed over with a white sheen. Quickly, it was clear that this sickness wasn't natural, and instead, induced by magical means. Only one person survived, Tom the blacksmith, and his daughter was accused of using magic to save him. A day later, naive, trusting, stupid Merlin stormed into the council chambers and declared like a fool:
"It was me! I'm the sorcerer!"

A shockwave shot through Arthur's limbs, making him freeze in his position. MERLIN, a SOCERER?! This was madness! But Arthur didn't speak up, he didn't even move. He couldn't because his father was right next to him, and Arthur had always been longing for his approval. And so Arthur had to watch as Merlin was grabbed by the arms and dragged into the dungeons. Yet, Merlin was fighting against their grip until they let him walk by himself.

...

"Arthur, I wish that you don't visit him in the dungeons." Uther had told Arthur to remain behind in the council room to talk about the situation. He didn't offer condolences, his glare may as well have accused Arthur for hiding a sorcerer from him. "I'm aware that you have gotten quite attached to the boy, but I must ask you to stay away from him. While he's in the dungeons, he could enchant the guards or you and I don't want that to happen." Uther's hand rested on Arthur's shoulder, as if approving of the fact that Arthur hadn't stepped in to protect the fool.