The Thousandth Year || Merlin fanfic

Arthur- The Heavens

Alaric got some servants to take the body down to the mortuary, out of sight, and out of smell-range. No disrespect to the poor bugger, but he was starting to smell a little. Instead of reconvening the council though, Merlin demanded on retreating to the back bedroom: just Arthur, Alaric and him. Arthur tried to argue- what good could just they do? Merlin insisted though- one of his funny feelings again.  Still muttering rebelliously, Arthur consented, throwing himself onto the couch, which was made of the same tough material they used for training.

"What now then, genius?" He asked sarcastically. Merlin quickly ushered Alaric through the door, then slammed it behind him. He ran a swift hand across the door, pouring out words of the old religion as he did. Once he'd finished, he whirled around to face their confusion, a strained look on his face.

"We can't trust them."

Alaric stood with surprising grace. "What? Em, that's the council of elders! Beaten in rank by only you, me, Eva and Paris!"

"We can't trust them."

"How do you know?"

Merlin shrugged, his fists clenched. "Felt it when we were talking before. Bad feeling. Very bad."

"You're sure?"

Merlin nodded, and Alaric sat back down, completely reassured. "Okay."

Arthur watched with confusion- this high and mighty prince of the moon seemed to take Merlin's word as gospel.

"Wait." Arthur said. "What about him?"

Merlin pulled a face, then gestured to Alaric in complete bewilderment. "Him? But he's Alaric." He said as if that explained it. To him, it probably did.

Arthur held his hands up in surrender, then accidentally let out a yawn. Merlin frowned at him, then sat beside him on the... was it leather?

"I found this." Merlin suddenly seemed to remember, jumping from the seat as if he'd received an electric shock. He darted over to a satchel thing he'd dumped on the vanity, then yanked a book from it.

"Emcarte... frpmphed-" Arthur leant sideways to attempt to decipher the title, but Merlin shook his head.

"Dead language."

"Oh."

"So." Alaric began slowly. "Er... why aren't our souls currently being ripped painfully from our bodies?" Some how, Arthur thought, he didn't think subtlety was Alaric's strong point.

Merlin shook his head as he flipped through the book.

"Book about magic, not of it."

"Oh, obviously. How did I miss that?" Arthur hid his smile, but couldn't help but be relieved that someone was as lost as he was.

The Prince and former king sat in awkward silence, trying not to look at anything in particular as they waited for Merlin to find whatever it was he was looking for. Silence reigned for about ten minutes while Merlin rifled through the volume impatiently.

"Got it!" He crowed in triumph, just as Arthur was contemplating going back to sleep. Alaric, with his endless supply of energy, leaped to his feet to see what he'd discovered, while Arthur reluctantly pulled himself from the leather sofas embrace.

"What is it?"

Merlin splayed the book across the vanity, then stabbed a vindictive finger at the picture. "Our criminal." He said with a flourish.

Bordered with gold leaf was a painting of mighty towers, a castle rivaling even Camelot's majesty, with a dense woodland, surrounded by high-reaching mountains. Arthur wondered briefly if Merlin had finally lost it.