The King and His Sorcerer

Part V: A Confession

It had not escaped Merlin, the way that Uther treated Arthur. The King was constantly expecting so much from the young prince, and sometimes Merlin wondered how Arthur was able to roll out of bed every morning, knowing that Uther would expect him to complete some great task by sundown. Merlin knew what expectation felt like; his own destiny was to protect Arthur, and to help him grow into the once and future king that was meant to be. But other than the dragon Kilgharrah, no one else spoke to him of this destiny; of this expectation. Gaius was more proud of Merlin than any man had been of anyone in history. Arthur knew not of Merlin’s role in his life, and neither did anyone else. Merlin’s expectations, of which there were many, were all sourced from himself. So as though Merlin knew the weight of expectation, he knew not what it felt like to have that expectation come from someone outside himself. Someone that he wanted to please. Someone he loved. His father.

Merlin never knew his own father; it was said that once he learned of Merlin’s approaching birth, the man fled from Merlin’s mother – leaving her to raise Merlin on her own. For this, Merlin could never forgive the man, whatever reasons he had for leaving. Now, with Merlin in Camelot, his mother was all by herself. Merlin could not dwell on that thought too much; otherwise he was consumed with worry for her safety, and guilt that he had left her alone while he pursued his destiny. She wrote to him every so often, constantly telling him how proud she was of the man that he was becoming. Merlin knew that one day, he really would be the man she had always hoped he would become.

Which is why it pained Merlin to know of Uther’s great expectations of Arthur. He was not a kind man. He was ruthless, and hard. He was not entirely just, nor was her completely fair. And Merlin knew that these attributes of Uther’s did not change depending on the recipient. If anything, he was harsher on Arthur than anyone else in all of Albion.

“One day I will be dead, Arthur, and Camelot will need a king. Not a boy with fancies of his own. You cannot think of yourself all the time. You must think of Camelot, of your future!” Merlin had once heard Uther telling Arthur.

If only Merlin was in a position to inform Uther of the young man that Arthur truly was. He had changed so much since their meeting earlier that year. The young prince knew the meaning of justice, and of friendship. For as many times Merlin had saved his life, Arthur had risked his own for Merlin’s. Merlin knew not of another royal who would do so for a servant, no matter his qualities. Although, sometimes Merlin liked to think it was not only Arthur’s sense of fairness and justice that persuaded him to save Merlin in those hard times. He liked to think that it was something more, well, personal. That it was because of his feelings of friendship towards the young sorcerer that led him to care for his state of being. Not that Arthur knew of Merlin’s magic. No, it was not time for him to know. Not yet.

Merlin was gathering Arthur’s clothes to be washed one evening when Arthur entered his chambers. Startled, as Arthur was not usually in his chambers at this time, Merlin dropped the clothes on the cobblestoned floor. He immediately bent to pick them up, cradling the swaths of clothing in his arms. Merlin started towards the door when he heard Arthur sigh his name. He turned around, peering past the clothing in his arms. Arthur was perched on the end of his bed, shirt untied halfway down his chest, loose pants on his hips, and no boots. It was not often that Merlin saw the prince in such a state of undress, except of course when he was dressing him, and he felt his blood rising to his cheeks. Embarrassing thoughts fled his mind, however, when he took in the look on Arthur’s face.

The prince’s features were cloaked in sadness. Merlin immediately deposited the clothes on the floor and made his way over to the prince. He stopped at the end of the large wooden bed frame, and leaned against it. Even though it was not his place to start a conversation with Arthur, that was not the reason for Merlin’s silence. Merlin knew the prince would talk to him when he felt ready. And Merlin would wait until that time came.

A few minutes passed in silence. Merlin’s gaze roamed around the room, and he suddenly noticed how dark it was. The windows were covered by their shutters, the candles had not been lit, and the rest of the furniture and detailing in the room were dark wood. Merlin took a step away from the bed, to light some candles, when he felt a tug on his jacket. Turning around, he saw that three of Arthur’s fingers were holding on tightly to the end of his jacket. Merlin stood entirely still, almost too afraid to breathe in the oxygen he knew his lungs needed. But Arthur’s fingers on him; the display of need from someone so independent, that was more important than anything.

“Merlin.” His name escaped Arthur’s lips, weary and laced with pain. “I can’t do this anymore.”

After a heartbeat of silence, Merlin replied “What sire?”

Arthur lifted his gaze from the floor to Merlin’s eyes. The look in them was of complete tiredness. Of hopelessness. Of surrender. Merlin’s heart squeezed in his chest. He longed for nothing more than to encase Arthur’s shoulders with his arms, and bring his head to his chest, but he knew that the prince would not allow it. So instead, he merely took a step closer to him.

“What sire?” he repeated softly.

Arthur’s grip on Merlin’s jacket tightened.

“Father’s expectations, Merlin. I cannot handle them any longer. He expects so much of me, and I fear that no matter what I do, no matter how much I accomplish – he will never be truly proud to call me his son. I see the look in his eyes when they settle on me. He isn’t proud of me. He isn’t proud of the man I am. He doesn’t want me. He wants someone so much more.” His voice cracked on the last word, and Merlin’s heart cracked along with it.

How could Uther not be proud of the son he had raised? Arthur was kind, and fair, and just. He was civil, and reasonable, and respectable. He risked his life for those he loved, and he did not care of where they came from. He was more than any king or father could ever ask or want for.

Merlin wished he could say these things out loud, but his mouth was glued shut. He did not know what Arthur wanted from him. He did not know if Arthur would see those words as empty flattery, or those from the bottom of Merlin’s heart. So Merlin stayed silent.

“I am a failure of a son in his eyes.”

This time, Merlin opened his mouth. “Arthur,” he said, stepping forward. “You could never be a failure of a son in anyone’s eyes – commoner or king.”

Arthur looked into Merlin’s eyes in that moment and Merlin suddenly found that breathing required more effort in that moment than in his entire life before.

“Do you really mean that, Merlin?” Arthur whispered.

Merlin nodded. “Yes, sire. More than anything.”

The hand clutching Merlin’s jacket tightened once more, and then let go. Merlin could not say that he was happy because of this. In fact, he found himself wishing for more of Arthur’s hands on more of him.

Merlin heard Arthur swallow loudly, and realised he had once again drifted off into his own imagination. He cleared his throat softly.

“Merlin. I hope you know never to speak of this conversation ever again.”

And all at once, Arthur’s voice was as commanding and authoritative as it always was, and his moment of softness was over. Merlin nodded in response.

“I will take it to my grave,” he replied solemnly. “If there is anything else you need of me tonight, sire ….”

Arthur shook his head. “That is all, Merlin.”

Merlin once again gathered the clothes in his arms and made his way to the door.

“Merlin?” Arthur called after him.

Merlin turned to look at the prince.

“Thank you,” Arthur whispered.

“Always,” Merlin replied.