Don't Lose Your Head Over It: A Merlin RP (SevenxKawa)

[sevenpercentsolution]

Camelot was - cold.

Merlin woke up shivering under the thin material of his blanket and he blinked up at the ceiling, residual images from his dreams still burning in his retina, and an unmistakable voice echoing in his ears - no, echoing in his mind, like an insistent tug inside of his skull.

Merlin.

The warlock scowled; it had been five days since he had tried to trade his own life to save Arthur's, five days since his mother had stumbled to the doorstep covered in sores and blisters and dying in his arms, and five days since he had lost his temper with the dragon for his deceit.

Sitting up, Merlin pulled absently at the fraying stitching of his bed linens; of course, Gaius now knew that he had been going to the dungeons regularly to speak to the dragon, and once the old physician had regained his strength after the ordeal with Nimueh, he had made sure to catch Merlin upside the head with a scroll for it. Merlin wasn't so sure that he had deserved it; after all, how was he supposed to know that dragons did that sort of thing for fun?

"It's not like there's a guide to this sort of thing." Merlin had protested, and Gaius' eyebrows had made an impressive journey in opposite directions, with one at mid-forehead and the other obscuring the eye entirely - and then he had dropped a massive tome down onto the table in front of him. It was the kind of book that was so large that it tended to collect dust while being read, and by the time one was finished, the first half was obscured by cobwebs.

"Yes there is." Gaius had replied casually, while Merlin peered at the spot between the book at the table, certain that there had been a candlestick there moments ago and wondering if it had been flattened completely.

Gaius had made him read the whole thing - in fact, he was still reading it and he could safely say that his knowledge of Magical and Mythological Creatures was now par none.

He rubbed the heels of his palms into his eyes to fight off the grogginess.

Merlin.

He gritted his teeth and ignored it just the way he had done the last few days; every night and every morning, he would be woken up by the sound of the dragon calling to him, calling for him. If he paid attention to it, Merlin was sure that he could almost hear a note of worry, perhaps concern that he might live up to his angry promise to insure the dragon was never released from his dungeon prison.

Of course, he wasn't certain he could prevent it either, but he could bluff for now, couldn't he? The dragon hadn't got out so far, after all - it wasn't so farfetched.

But the important part, Merlin had decided, was that everyone was fine and that no ones suspicions had been aroused. Arthur had survived as a result of the physician's miracle medical 'tincture', his mother had been saved by Gaius' selflessness, and Gaius had been saved because of Nimueh's - sacrifice.

Occasionally Merlin winced when he thought about the look that Nimueh had given him and the confidence that had been in her eyes - she had been so certain that he was like her, that he should have somehow fallen into alignment with her twisted Old Religion. Somehow, she had been so sure.

But he hadn't been thinking about all of the implications of it at the time, his eyes had kept drifting to the unmoving figure by the stone altar, the familiar blue robes and thinning white hair of his friend. Right then, all Merlin had been able to think about was Gaius, about getting to Gaius as though he might somehow be able to bring him back from death if he could just be near him - so maybe he hadn't been thinking clearly. Maybe he had lost focus.

Maybe he should have learned a stronger spell.

He touched absently at the bandaging across his torso; it had been a searing, plate-sized burn, and Nimueh must have been under the impression it had finished him - in fact, for a moment Merlin had thought the same thing - but his legs had worked of their own accord and he'd found himself on his feet again. Even several days after the fact, Merlin wasn't certain what he had done, but it had been as though someone had turned off all of the light in his world and had left him standing in a vast black space - nothing had existed there, save for a strange surge that had crept through him, cold and promising.

And he couldn't deny the feeling of power that had rushed through him either; the clouds had gathered and the sky had roiled and obeyed him as he took what the dark had offered and he had watched Nimueh dissappear in a violent burst of electricity that had left bits of her scattered across the grass.

Initially he had felt nothing for what he had just done because he had made a desperate lunge for Gaius before the smoke had even cleared, and he'd pulled the old man into his arms with a desperation he couldn't recall feeling before. For a painfully long moment, Gaius was dead and nothing in the world could have soothed the sharp agony that Merlin had felt for the loss.

And conversely, nothing could have matched his joy when Gaius began to breathe again, and they ended up laughing like idiots in the rainstorm, struck by the insanity of it all and the thrill of having survived it.

It wasn't until later, when things had settled down and they had gotten their stories straight, it wasn't until Arthur was back on his feet and his mother had said her tearful goodbyes - having made a full recovery - that the gravity of the situation had finally hit him. He had sat carefully on his bed and considered what he had done, and while he was aware that his choices had been limited - well, he had killed her, hadn't he? In fact, not just Nimueh - he had been in Camelot for only a short time, scarcely a year serving as Arthur's manservant, and in that time he had ended the lives of four people. Directly, at least.

Of course, all of them had been trying to kill Arthur, so at least there was that, but the knowledge that he had taken lives would occasionally sneak up on Merlin and blindside him at some ungodly hour, leave him shaken to his core. He had gone from being a farmhand in a tiny, distant village, barely able to figure out the functions of a world that consisted of a few dozen people, to being the Prince's personal servant and barely skirting death on a regular basis.

"Merlin?"

Merlin let out a noise of frustration,

"Will you shut up!" he hissed out, and then opened his eyes and nearly scurried back against the headboard because Gaius was standing at the foot of his bed, accosting him with a grizzled eyebrow. There was a stretch of silence, and then Merlin added, while pulling on a shirt, "Not - not you."

Slowly and with great purpose, Gaius turned his head left, turned his head right, turned in a full circle to survey the room, and then turned back to Merlin and rose the offending eyebrow to nearly hairline.

"I see." Gaius said finally; for a moment he looked as though he might probe further, but he shook it off as he tended to do with the boy, "Breakfast is ready, Merlin, but at the rate you're going, you won't have time to eat - the Prince wants to see you."

Of course he did; now that a few days had passed, Arthur had recovered enough to be on his feet - though his colour was still a sickly sort of pallor - he refused to hold still long enough to completely heal. He couldn't appear weak, after all - and especially not to his father.

Merlin stood and grimaced as the burnt skin pulled and twinged, but he fixed Gaius with one of his bright smiles,

"Well, he can wait a few more minutes, can't he?" Merlin said, "After all, if it were an emergency -"

The eyebrow wiggled, and Merlin faltered,

"He's standing in the other room right now, isn't he?" Merlin asked sourly, and Arthur's blonde head popped in, eyes shifting around the room before focusing on him; he scowled at the warlock like the spoiled brat he was.

"Last I checked," Arthur said haughtily, "You were my servant, and therefor you are to come when I order, not whenever you feel like it."

"I see you're feeling better." Merlin said.

"I've been better for days, you might have noticed if you'd been around to do your job." Arthur replied snippily; it was an exaggeration, of course - Merlin had been around, but he had gone a bit slower than he normally would have on account of the injury. An injury that, fortunately or not, no one but Gaius knew about - after all, it was difficult to explain that sort of thing because Merlin knew that any mention of sorcery meant risking his head lobbed off. Ultimately, he much preferred dealing with the Prince's ribbings and a bit of pain over explaining to him - or worse, the king - why he couldn't do his job.

He ended up going without breakfast - he supposed it was his own fault for sleeping late - and he trailed along beside Arthur, only half-listening to the prince's airy insults as they moved towards the castle together.

Merlin.

"Are you even listening to me?" Arthur asked sharply, and Merlin jerked his head up, "Honestly, you've been a complete flake these last few days."

"No more than usual." Merlin countered, poorly, and Arthur raised one fine eyebrow at him.

"Anyways," Arthur said, "I had been told that the source of my healing was a -"

Arthur struggled with the word, aristocratic face twisting with the difficulty,

"'Tincture'," he finished, "From some sort of plant."

"Er," Merlin said, unclear on how he was meant to respond, so he just said: "Yes."

"And this was some sort of miracle cure - some ancient remedy, was it?" Arthur continued, and Merlin realized that the prince was staring at him as they walked, "Only, I'd thought it was Gaius, yet when I look into it, it turns out that you were the one who found it. Is this true, Merlin?"

He didn't give Merlin a chance to reply,

"How did you manage to conjure it?" Arthur asked seriously, and the wording drained some of the blood from Merlin's face - which the prince was continuing to inspect, unblinking.

"I got lucky." Merlin finally got out, and Arthur's jaw shifted, lips pursed slightly; for an instant, something like anger seemed to flicker over the prince's face, but it was quickly replaced by his usual cocky expression.

"That would have to be it." Arthur said arrogantly, walking with swagger as they moved up the staircase, "You're too much of an idiot to manage that sort of thing intentionally anyways."

Merlin paused for an instant, raising his eyebrows,

"Yes, sire." Merlin said finally, and trailed after him.

 

[Kawamura]

Bony, white, every knuckle distinguished under ropey skin, fingers like claws and like a line of hideous, chalky pearls. A long curve of blood, scarlet on old ochre, the smell of metal and gore mixing with the burnt air. The child was screaming, gurgling, fighting, but the old hag held on, white claws digging into the flesh of rosy, plump cheeks to muffle the screams, the dull knife working at the neck.

The knife was its own monster, an extension of the crone and apart from her, rusted over orange and caked with a darker brown, the same color on the old stone altar, the same color that crusted along ancient, carved ridges in the surface. Years and years ago, before men like Uther Pendragon swept in and tried to girdle the Old Religion, this place had seen use. That blood, layered up over more years than the Roman Empire had existed, spoke of eons of sacrifice. There were, however, no priests or priestesses here to watch over the act, just one old woman and one little boy.

The child had stopped struggling now, just the barest dribble of blood oozing out over the metal. He couldnâ??t have been more than four, just barely past the age where children were expected to survive and parents started thinking them of real members of the family that would stay with them for a long time. His dull blonde hair, the color of dirty wheat and dirty children, matted up where it touched the blood, darkening, just like her own shockingly white hair. The old woman stuck the knife deeper into skin, going after blood like dragging teeth along the skin of fruit for the last slivers of flesh, then dropped the child. His body fell, limp, a broken toy, garbage at the foot of the altar.

Her first act would be to properly dispose of it, rites must be observed, but she was not priestess yet. Soon. So very soon. The magic called to her, more beautiful than birdsong and more insistent than a babyâ??s cry, familiar and silky and dark like a loverâ??s voice from bed. Power. Power should not be left alone. That nasty boy that had killed the last priestess, he had orphaned this island, attempted to disrupt a long line of magic and women that stretched back, weaving with the blood of the altar over years and years.

Her second act, then, would be proper revenge for the old priestess. There were precious few of them around, even if she had gone a little mad at the end. But who wouldnâ??t, with a mad king killing off everything that sneezed sparks?

It was so lonely. She understood loneliness.

She understood madness, too, but she was beyond that.

Skeletal fingers smeared with blood reached out over the altar as her reedy voice sung an incantation older than even the idea of kings and war. Her voice rose with the wind that had picked up, unnatural for this time of day even on an island. The air took on that same burning smell, the one she had come across at first, and for a moment, she was afraid. But there was so much to gain, so little to lose, and after a life the magic owed her.

There were rules, and every one of them had a greater price for disobeying than any method Pendragon could employ.

They went above petty, human morality. Men liked to think that children were special, that they should be protected and fostered. And today, this child was. The old hag covered her face, the alter glowing too bright with a blue flame for her to keep her eyes on it. The spell was finished. Long strands of words had been woven, died with the childâ??s blood, and even if she couldnâ??t take up the previous priestessâ?? position, she would have gotten something in return.

There was the â??whooshâ?? of the fire being killed, then the wind died down suddenly, leaving behind a heavy silence. The woman stayed still, her dark brown robes and black hair settling around her, flayed of the dust of travel. For a moment, everything was still, unnaturally so, then the woman dropped her smooth, bloodied hands, shaking.

And, for the price of a child, everything was right again.

----​

Everything was right again.

Uther kept glancing to his side, couldnâ??t help himself. Arthur was putting on a show for court, letting them know exactly how well their crown prince was. After all, fights over the crown were bloody for all, from the lowest peasant to the fattest noble in his gold cloth. And Arthur was so â?¦

So likeable, unlike his father. It didnâ??t bother Uther that one day the golden-haired youth drinking and eating and laughing near him would one day be given a peaceful kingdom that he could rule kindly and would, God willing, never know what it was like to make violent, disliked decisions nearly every week to keep it like that. In fact, it was the thing that kept him strong. Arthur would be a good king, a beloved king, able to do what was right and what was liked at the same time, where Uther had to choose between the two.

And if Arthur had diedâ?¦ if Gaius hadnâ??t come through, and his only son had simply withered away and died, Uther would have, too. There would have been no crown prince and no king, because Arthur was his life in a way even Igraine hadnâ??t been. So he stared, drinking the sight of Arthur laughing and Arthur smiling and Arthur flirting horribly with Morgana, because less than a week ago his boy had been lying in bed, sweating and pale. Uther had pulled his glove off and touched clammy flesh and had felt a heartbeat that was too soft for a young man like Arthur. His boy, who sometimes had his temper and wouldnâ??t back down from a challenge, his pulse had been so faint, his breathing laboured and Gaius, Gaius had prepared him for dying.

â??To make him comfortable, sire.â? The words echoed in his head, unable to be drowned out with noise and wine, and even that ridiculous red feather on Arthurâ??s servantâ??s head.

Arthurâ??s servant. Merlin. There was something not quite right with the boy.

No. That was his paranoid mind talking. There was something fantastic about the boy, the way he looked at Arthur, the amazing loyalty. The way Gaius fawned over him, when the old man was just as wounded in trust as he was.

Where had he gone when Arthur was ill? Uther hadnâ??t thought to question it; after all, his life, his very heart, had been laying on his deathbed. When the king blinked, he could still see the little pricks of candlelight, the vigil, to guide Arthurâ??s soul away from his suffering body and into Paradise. Away from his father, who needed him more than angels did.

But again, heâ??d been distracted. Where had Merlin gone? And why had, when he disappeared and returned again, Arthur woken up? Uther did not believe in miracles, but he had been willing to accept just that one, just like Arthurâ??s birth.

That thought made him sit up a little straighter in his chair. Like Arthurâ??s birth. That hadnâ??t been a miracle. That had been... betrayal. A bargain he hadnâ??t expected, a contract he wasnâ??t fully given notice of. No, there werenâ??t miracles. Something had happened. Gaius had suddenly produced a cure, out of thin air, when he had been preparing his king for the worst.

Uther turned his head slightly, taking in the boy at the sides. He managed, somehow, to not stand out horribly, even with that silly feather that made him look more like some damaged bird of idiocy than a manservant. Morganaâ??s made was there as well, the orphan whose father he had... Fool. Tonight was not a night to reflect on every mistake he had made in his life. Consorting with Nimueh and nearly losing Arthur were enough.

His face was thoughtful as he considered the boy. He was attractive, in pieces. It was simply a matter of presentation, like several good fruits that simply did not go together. The ears, of course, were ridiculous and Uther knew very well they did nothing for his hearing. The hair was a common black, boring, nothing special and he certainly did nothing with it. He was tall, but not attractively so; he never seemed to have filled out like most boys did, keeping the awkward, gangly limbs of adolescence. And he seemed to have no more brain than he did muscle.

All and all, he was not a remarkable child. But there was something. Something that, once Uther caught sight of him, made him want to keep looking. It might have been, of course, too much wine, not enough sleep or food, and simple joy for anyone that was even tangentially related to his sonâ??s recovery (after all, he had wanted to kiss the woman who had brought fresh linens into the boyâ??s room right after he had woken up). This was something different.

The boy, made of pieces that didnâ??t fit well together but were highlighted by that extraordinary loyalty. He had lovely eyes. Uther remembered that as he rested his chin on a gloved hand thoughtfully, his grey hair glinting gold and red in the happy, festive colors of the feast, the crown, as ever, sitting straight. When he had commanded his sonâ??s care into Merlinâ??s hands, the boy had showed intelligence there and the love of a good man for his liege. Not Uther, but Arthur. He had meant to call him, to thank him, but he had forgotten after that all.

And now he was being reminded of him. Perhaps Merlin had more involvement in his sonâ??s miraculous recovery than Gaius was letting on. But why? Gaius would not take credit for another manâ??s work; his place in Utherâ??s castle was established, especially after that nasty episode with the burned boy. And hadnâ??t Merlin been involved there. He remembered, very vaguely, touch of hands that werenâ??t dry and lined, a soft voice.

Pieces. A lot of little pieces, none of which made sense or were even distinguished apart (save for that shining jewel of loyalty), but together, theyâ?¦

Well, there was something to be said for the whole. Something indeed. Morgana was still playing with her food, playing with Arthur and he was free to examine the serving boy. The way he met his eyes. He remembered that, too, when he had lied for Arthur. Uther had chalked it up to a rather nasty hit on the head or some high fever, but not after all this. Both Morgana and Arthur seemed to like the lad. Theyâ??d even run off to help him, hadnâ??t they? There was something very curious about a boy that had managed to wiggle his way into the hearts of his son, his ward and his closest friend. That love should have stuck out like that ridiculous red feather. Why hadnâ??t he noticed before?

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

There was nothing exceptional about the day; as Merlin had come to realize, his life in Camelot had the tendency of fluctuating between being mind-numblingly dull and utterly terrifying, separated only by moments of high velocity rotten fruit.

Of course, he hadn't actually been strapped into the Pillory for a while now - in fact, it had been a few weeks, so he was on something of a winning streak when it came to that. He wasn't sure it was something he should be so pleased about, but the warlock had the tendency of clinging to every sunny spot of optimism he encountered.

The winning streak ended in every way, however, when Arthur presented him with the mascot's uniform. Again.

"You'll wear it tonight," Arthur confirmed as his servant grimaced at the sight of it; the prince barely suppressed a smirk, "At my wake."

Merlin's head jerked up, along with his eyebrows,

"At your what?" Merlin asked, eyebrows dipping in the opposite direction, "But you aren't dead."

"Your observational skills remain unmatched." Arthur said, rolling his head back to look down his nose at Merlin, "Father insisted on a banquet - make sure everyone knows the bloodline is strong and all, but really, everyone there will be thinking the same thing - that I should be dead."

Merlin unconsciously hugged the uniform to his chest, but said nothing; any other servant, Arthur noted, would have jabbered about how it wasn't true, that he would have survived and the people of the kingdom had faith he would pull through, but Merlin didn't try it. Most of the time he was a complete fool, but Arthur knew that at the very least he could rely on him for the truth - and Merlin was a terrible liar anyways, he stuttered and turned the colour of his father's cape.

Again, the prince watched Merlin with that strange, thoughtful expression, but the silence stretched on for too long, and Arthur finally lifted a shoulder and shrugged his face,

"But I'm not." he finished, turning away from Merlin now, walking for the doorway and sticking an index finger up into the air, "I expect you to wear the hat this time, too. No taking it off because you saw a pretty girl, Merlin. This is a matter of celebration, life and death."

Arthur left the warlock standing in the hallway with the pile of crimson material,

"Right," Merlin said, and looked down miserably at the uniform, "Life or death."

He spent most of the evening trying to keep the feathers out of his face; the aggressively crimson glengarry had been adorned with a mass of red and green plumes that tilted into his nose and eyes every time he moved and left him twisting his face and sneezing. At one point the feather tipped into the side of his neck and caused the warlock to jerk so hard that he spilled some of the wine he had been pouring.

"What are you doing?" Arthur asked sharply, raising his hands up as though the droplets of wine were a flood threatening Camelot, "Clean this up, servant."

Arthur put on a good show; he could never have his subjects thinking he might like his manservant just a little. It was the Pendragon way - somewhere in their history they had decided that emotion was something that happened to others, and their bloodline would have no part of it.

Or at least, that was what they conveyed to the people - Merlin knew better, having seen both of the Pendragons in particularly vulnerable states, and that included the King. The King, who wouldn't show love for his only son unless Arthur couldn't actually see it; that type of aloofness was strange to Merlin, who had been raised on cuddles from his mum, who had called him her special boy - but he wasn't about to mention it. And besides, he wasn't so sure the King ever got cuddles as a child, though he could have probably used them.

He didn't move fast enough to clean up the wine, because Arthur took hold of his wrist and used the warlock's sleeve to absorb the alcohol, leaving the fabric sticking to his arm.

"Enjoy your drink," Arthur crowed, and laughed with his knights, giving Merlin what he was sure was meant to be a jovial whack on the back, but wound up being so forceful that it drove him forward a few inches and knocked his hat askew as he was turning to walk away. Staggering for a moment, Merlin stopped to straighten up, and as he stood there fussily re-arranging the hat, he felt a strange tingle at the back of his neck - for reasons he couldn't explain, he turned slowly on the spot, hands still holding up the plumes, and his eyes fixed directly onto the other side of the room.

The King was looking at him.

No, in fact, the King was staring at him - there was no emotion that the warlock could associate with the man's expression right then, but the very fact that those eyes were fixed on him was cause for him to nearly swallow his tongue. Slowly, Merlin's hands moved away from the hat, away from his face, and dropped down to his sides as he looked directly into the eyes of the man who would kill him in an instant if he only knew the truth.

And then, of course, he realized he was doing it and snapped his head off to the side, looking over at a wall and trying to seem casual but failing miserably as his eyes made to go in the opposite direction as the rest of him. He half-turned his head back to Uther two more times before finally pulling his gaze away, fighting down the cold chill that was creeping along the surface of his skin.

He tried to busy himself, tending to guests.

Why was the king looking at him? As far as Merlin knew, he hadn't done anything wrong - at least, he hadn't done anything wrong for a few days.

Well, except the bit of magic he'd used yesterday to get a book down from a high shelf, since that sort of thing would get him killed if anyone had seen it, so that was sort of a wrongdoing by Camelot standards - but the King couldn't have seen that.

No, Merlin told himself; everything was fine, the King probably wasn't even actually looking at him, he decided. He was probably - staring off at something else, lost in thought the way he tended to do, and that was all. He hadn't seen anything, didn't suspect anything - everything was fine. The King wasn't looking at him.

The King definitely wasn't looking at him.

In fact, he would bet that if he looked again, Uther would be staring at the same point on the wall, focusing intensely on it. Yes, that was it.

Merlin smiled to himself, abusing his optimism for all it was worth, and he looked back up at the head table, and the smile froze in place, and faltered very slightly at the corners. The plumes of his hat made a long, slow journey down to his cheekbone again, and Merlin gave one absent-minded breath to knock them away.

 

[Kawamura]

Uther found himself staring at the boy more and more as the night progressed.

He hadnâ??t had his fill of Arthur, certainly not, not when his son had been at deathâ??s door just five days ago, but he was distracted. When had this puzzle appeared in his court? The first time Uther ever remembered the boy was when he had saved his own son. How had he managed that? Uther had very few memories of that night outside of the cold whisper of webs down the back of his neck. A king was not supposed to be affected by the baser things, certainly not the heebie jeebies, but Uther had felt the ghosts of crawling things all over his skin for days afterwards. There had been one moment, safe in the privacy of his own rooms, his own manservant dismissed, where he had given into the urge to shake his limbs out in an attempt to dislodge the feeling of creepy crawlies slithering along his skin.

After years at war, with lice and fleas and leeches, he had thought the mild dislike of insects would have been bitten, crawled and sucked out of him, but it seemed that being covered in enchanted spider webs was something completely different.

His thoughts were becoming disjointed, rolling away in exhausted pieces. Uther felt a deep, lazy warmth in his chest, the kind most men would call security (he knew it as too much wine and not enough sleep), as he watched his son. Arthur was certainly acting the part of a healthy heir; he favoured neither arm though Uther was sure his injury must still make movement difficult, being no stranger to such wounds himself.

â??Weâ??ll have similar scarsâ??, Uther thought absently, taking a sip of wine to hide the small smile on his lips as he watched Arthur and his knights crow over the clumsy, bright red of his servant. Boys would be boys, and Merlin certainly seemed a good sport to enjoy their light hearted bullying. An off-balanced sport, but a good one none the less. Arthur had chosen his injured arm to land the smack on the boy and Uther wondered whom the display was for: him or the court? It wasnâ??t just boyâ??s fun. It was, as everything, a political gesture.

For some reason, his eyes followed Arthurâ??s manservantâ??s movements, not his sonâ??s, though the image of a laughing prince was forefront in his vision. It had to have been the feathers, the hat was simply ridiculous and it was impossible for any man to ignore them, the only remains of whatever giant, absurd birds they had been taken from. Then again, he had seen much more in the costumes of some of the noble men and women, quite a few of whom publicized their wealth by the amount of absurd, gaudy details they could add to their costumes. Arthur must have taken their examples to heart when he dug deep to find a suitably stupid outfit for his servant. It left Uther thinking of how many birds were wandering about, bottoms naked, as members of his court strutted about in their ill-gotten finery.

He really needed to rest.

Again, the boy met his eyes and all his thoughts were returned to their cold, careful places, clicking as each fell into place. From his seat, under the warm light of candles, some of which had been placed in colored glass holders to mimic a sunset, the boyâ??s eyes were dark. Uther didnâ??t look away. Merlin always met his eyes. Always. There was no proper lowering of his gaze along with his hands from that ridiculous hat, and that was strangely refreshing. Those eyes were honest; there was nothing to hide in that head of his, no deep political secret, no plan to destroy him or even guilt from a petty theft. Refreshing. That was the word. A sign of respect had become the tool of his enemies. Arthurâ??s servant met his eyes like Morgana did, like Gaius did when his king wasnâ??t temperamental.

It made him stare harder.

No, that was probably the wine. Utherâ??s appetite had yet to return, not when he still couldnâ??t sleep at night where his mind was free to imagine a world where no tincture had been discovered, no miracle cure had brought his son back to him, and he was left with only Arthurâ??s colourless corpse. Wine on an empty stomach was even more potent than usual, especially with warm lights and his son up and about only a few feet away. It was almost enough to cause him to let his guard down. Almost.

The boy recovered, eventually, after two half-starts, and continued his duties (which Arthur had loudly reminded him of, his cup having gone below the halfway mark without Merlin noticing, a grave offense indeed), but Uther still stared. Now he was no longer pondering the string of lucky coincidences that had happened since Merlin had arrived. He was smiling thinly, talking with Morgana but watching over her curly, dark haired head.

She noticed, of course. Morganaâ??s eyes were as sharp as her temper and Uther found there was little he could keep from his ward. She managed to glance back just as the boy had plastered that pained smile, looking for all the world that he had seen Medusa and got himself turned to stone while trying to talk her out of killing him. It was much the same look from when the youth had attempted to get out of a flogging, with only the movement of the feathers to destroy the image. She looked back at him with an expression that was somewhere between humor and a threat, an expression she alone could get away with. If anyone else had attempted it, Uther would have been very, very sore; instead, he was only slightly guilty, but Morgana didnâ??t need to know that.

â??You arenâ??t looking at Merlin, are you?â? she asked politely, a wide smile on her face. So maybe there was more humor than threat than he had thought. And though he might consider her to be one of the few friends he had and the daughter he had never had, it was certainly out of her place to notice where his wandering eyes landed. He chuckled softly, taking another sip of wine instead of answering, but after that Merlin wasnâ??t alone in being observed.

And she was less subtle than her king. Well, if she was going to play at that game. Uther leaned back a little, gesturing for his own attendant. The middle-aged man was average in every way, from his balding scalp to his softening belly, though he had a keen sense of his liegeâ??s thoughts; Uther could trust him to be discreet. He turned his grey head towards the servant, murmuring. Whatever he had said earned a sharp nod but not even a glance in Arthurâ??s direction. Uther rested the fingers of his left, and whole, hand on base of his goblet, thinking as he traced the designs of the base. Through the gloves, he couldnâ??t feel the fine metal work. After an appropriate amount of time, he glanced up, face void of any emotion besides a faint, magnanimous smile. Arthur was looking at him, staring hard and past his manâ??s shoulder. Then, he remembered himself, answered and sent his fatherâ??s servant away and gestured for Merlin.

If Uther had been paying attention, he would have noticed the faint smile that danced on Morganaâ??s lips as she looked down to her own cup. One-love

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Merlin felt as though he had been anchored to the spot; at one point he even told himself that he should look away because staring was impolite, but he found himself encountering immense difficulty when it came to breaking eye contact with the King. He was sure there was a rule about this sort of thing, too, that it could be considered disrespectful - the thought of winding up in the stocks again nearly had Merlin breaking the strange trance he had fallen under, but then -

- then Morgana had turned round.

A good sight gentler and much kinder than her mentor, Morgana affixed Merlin with her bright-eyed gaze and left the warlock's eyes bouncing between the pair, worry beginning to dig a divet between his eyebrows.

And it was when she turned away that Merlin finally managed to do the same; he spun to face the opposite wall, not knowing what he was doing, just that focusing elsewhere was the best thing for him right then. Again, he aggressively forced his attentions onto the guests, and for several minutes he managed to immerse himself in his work - of which there was plenty, as Camelot's wealthiest and most influential consistently managed to have no end of complaints and demands - before he caught sight of the king's attendant speaking in low tones to Arthur.

There was a long pause, and Merlin was unable to help noticing the way the prince turned to give his father one long, hard look - and then Arthur turned to him, and crooked a beckoning finger. Merlin approached, and leaned down to hear; the feather fell into Arthur's face and caused the prince to swat irritably at it.

"Yes? What is it?" Merlin asked, barely able to keep the anxiety from his voice.

 

[Kawamura]

Arthur poked the tip of his tongue behind his molars then forward along the bump of teeth, the last remains of a childhood habit that left him puffing out his cheeks in frustration when dealing with his father. Talking back even then had been forbidden, something that he had instilled in him since he could form the word â??noâ??, but even that tick had earned a sound smack on the side of his head when the king caught him.

Ah. Memories.

â??The king wishes for you to attend to him tonight.â? The way Arthur said it was the same tone of voice he might have used if Utherâ??s suggestion had been for him to pull on one of Morganaâ??s more revealing dresses and dance in front of his knights. Damn him. Merlin was almost, almost a friend and his father had â?¦

â??The only night, I wager. Once you manage to wrench his shoulder out of the socket with your clumsy fingers, heâ??ll regret even having the idea,â? he added dismissively. His blonde head turned back to his fatherâ??s for a moment, taking in the king. Unevenly colored eyes were moving between Morgana and Merlin, though heavy on the Merlin part and there was the slightest slouch to his fatherâ??s shoulders that told him the man was the closest to relaxed he would ever be in public. Looked like he wasnâ??t the only one enjoying his wake.

A dangerous night for Merlin. What had Morgana said to start this sort of game?

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

It wasn't what Merlin had been expecting; suddenly he wished he was being sent to the Pillory, because if the order wasn't life-threatening enough, Arthur's tone added to the sheer terror of it.

"Attend to him?" Merlin repeated stupidly; he straightened up and glanced around the wide room until his eyes settled on the king's servant, and then he leaned in again, "But the king has a personal attendant."

Arthur turned only slightly and raised a blonde eyebrow at him,

"Are you refusing?" he asked, and his voice was lined with challenge - and for an instant, Merlin thought, a touch of hope, though he couldn't say why.

It was a fair question: was he refusing the king's request? Of course, it was only called a request as a matter of phrasing - the truth was that no one in their right mind would actually try to turn it down, on account of the king's tendency to lob off heads and light fire to people on a regular basis. Merlin liked his head where it was, most of the time.

Again, Merlin's eyes wandered to the head table, but this time it was only a sparing glance that had him grimacing and looking quickly back to the prince.

"No?" Merlin said finally, and Arthur simply nodded into his wine glass; Merlin continued to watch him.

"Well?" Arthur asked.

"What?" Merlin asked, and the prince rolled his eyes dramatically before shoving his goblet out.

"Fill it."

 

[Kawamura]

Uther knew he had lost in some way.

The night was winding down, the purpose of the eveningâ??s festivities served. Arthur had presented himself, enjoyed himself and Uther had enjoyed watching his son be alive and well. For most of Camelotâ??s elite, seeing their prince drinking and laughing at the best of them would be enough to put the whole horrible business of his almost death behind them.

The father needed a little more. A distraction. Merlin was either terribly dim or terribly smart. He would figure that out himself, most likely with both him and the boy fully dressed, no matter what Arthur thought the purpose of his request was. After all, while sex was interesting, he was not a young man; he knew there were better things to do with partners than simply tumble them.

Perhaps that wasnâ??t age. Uther had always been fond of cat and mouse games. Staring was just the beginning.

He hadnâ??t even needed to send Will away; the man knew his wishes like they were the servantâ??s own. Uther stood in his bedroom later that night, pouring himself a glass of water. Hopefully, Arthur had explained the request in simple enough words that his manservant wouldnâ??t confuse what was being asked of him and end up mucking the stables. Though, he thought, snorting softly as he picked up the cup, the youth hadnâ??t been pelted with rotten food lately. It was almost a shame.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Merlin spent the rest of his evening desperately trying to keep his eyes averted, because even though the request had been a simple and straight-forward one, the warlock's interacton with the king had been limited to the worst possible moments. Each time they had been in the same room, the king had either been raging, vying to have someone's head lobbed off, or was too relieved to actually notice him, which Merlin had quite liked.

Granted, on one occasion he had got a bit closer to the king than he might of liked to, but the presence of another sorcerer and his intention to effectively put an end to Uther Pendragon's reign via a flesh-eating insect had made things a bit urgent. He could remember quite clearly how vulnerable the king had appeared right then, too - dressed only in dark linens and motionless on the bed he had stopped looking like an angry, imperial statue and had started looking very human indeed.

He had used magic then, right under the king's nose he had used it - but even Gaius had conceeded it was the thing to do, because their options had rapidly run out. He had initially worried that the king might have remembered his voice speaking the spell or thought that he might open his eyes just in time to see Merlin's eyes flash gold and would sit up and strangle him to death right upon awakening - but it never happened. In fact, the king seemed unaware that he had even been present at the time, and they had explained away the removal of the insect as being some medical method that Gaius had developed.

The death of the sorcerer had been a bit easier to explain, of course, what with the axe in his face and all. No one had believed Merlin had done it, so both he and Gaius had explained it away as an unfortunate series of events that had begun with the warlock tripping and ended with Edwin getting a head full of sharpened metal.

People had been much more willing to accept that version of the events, which was actually a little insulting, but as long as it kept people from getting suspicious, then Merlin could easily deal with a few blows to his ego - because it kept the blows away from his neck.

And save for a moment of clarity just before the king had been going to what he believed was his death when about to fight the black knight, Merlin had managed to keep the man from really seeing him.

And now, on what seemed to be a whim, he was asking Merlin to attend to him for an evening - it was too out of place for him not to be nervous about it and the whole thing left the warlock wondering if he was walking into some sort of trap. Did the king suspect him?

Gaius eyed him with slightly inebriated concern at the end of the party and placed a grizzled hand on his thin shoulder,

"Just stay calm." Gaius said firmly, "And don't do anything -"

There was a long hesitation as the physician waved his hand vaguely and searched for the proper word; he finished with a very succinct:

"- stupid."

They weren't the most encouraging words and especially not when he was trudging alone up to the king's quarters still wearing the ridiculous mascot's uniform. Outside the door, he fidgeted for a moment and wondered if he was supposed to knock first - he might look ridiculous if he did, but then he might also interrupt something (the king's evening snack of kittens, for instance) and so he decided it would be for the best. He rapped his knuckles twice against the thick, solid, carved door and then heaved it open enough to slip inside - so that was to say, he didn't need to open it much at all.

Practically flattened up against the door, Merlin twisted his fingers into the hem of his tunic when he spotted the king, and he offered a brittle smile before he remembered to bow and after he forgot to downcast his eyes.

"Sire?" Merlin said, "I was told you - requested me?"

 

[Kawamura]

Uther was currently going through his second cup of water, knowing that any sort of headache or malaise would turn his mood sour tomorrow, ruining what he considered was a good record with Morgana these last few days. Not that he particularly enjoyed his wardâ??s ability to make him feel awful with one look, but he had killed her maidâ??s father on such a weak reason and he had promised to try and avoid such things in the future. After Igraine and Morganaâ??s own father and his dear friend, Gorlois, had died, there had been precious few willing to keep his temper in check. He was terribly grateful to her, his foster daughter who had managed to grow up into a beautiful and strong woman even under his care, but he couldnâ??t help feeling a bit like a child when her brow furrowed at him.

Kings, he was sure, should not feel browbeaten by their own wards.

Nor tricked. He had seen a playful little curving Morganaâ??s mouth as she spoke with her maid in hushed tones. The two of them, Morganaâ??s girl attempting to be subtle and Morgana doing no such thing, had cast glances in his direction as he had left, and Uther was so certain that he was playing into some evil scheme of hers that he wanted to go over and shake her till it rattled out. Unfortunately, he had no reason to. This was a game, no matter what, and harmless, he just hated secrets.

The two knocks, quick in succession and practically swallowed up by the heavy wood of his door, pulled him out of his never-ending, always-futile attempt to understand the female brain. Uther turned his head over his shoulder to see a thin puff of red slipping into his room; ah, Merlin. â??I did,â? he said simply, focusing back on his water, back straight and facing the boy. â??I never thanked you for promising to take care of Arthur,â? he added, starting simply. Uther was perhaps not the best gift-giver, as his last major present to the boy had been to assign him to his own son and this time it seemed he was rewarding with his own company. He glanced back again, unable to fully ignore those feathers trailing from the boyâ??s hat. â??Come here, boy,â? he said, voice gentler than â??kitten-eating evilâ?? but much worse than the sort mothers used on their â??special boysâ??.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Merlin stared.

He stared because he was standing opposite to the king, had been in the room for over a minute, and he still had his head in place - and as far as he could tell, the king wasn't preparing to set him on fire either.

Though the man's back was facing him and there was a stiffness in his posture, there was no mistaking the words - Uther Pendragon had just thanked him.

Suddenly Merlin felt as though the world had been flipped upside-down because everything he knew about the king told him that this sort of thing just wasn't normal - and that made Merlin just a little more paranoid about the whole thing.

He was sure that he should respond somehow, that maybe he should tell the king that he lived to serve, or was doing his duty to Camelot - some generic loyal subject statement, but he was unable to get the words out of his suddenly too-tight throat. When Uther peered back at him, a strange, tiny squeaking noise escaped him; there was a moment's hesitation, and then his feet began to move him forward as he carefully obeyed the king's surprisingly gentle command.

He approached the way one might approach a very large and angry bear - that was to say, with the full expectation that he was about to die a painful, messy death - and seemed suddenly incapable of actually blinking.

Merlin told himself this was ridiculous; he shouldn't be so nervous, because - because he was a warlock, wasn't he? He could do things.

Of course, the consequences of using his magic on the king - he didn't want to think about those, not just because of what it would mean for his own life, but what it would mean for Gaius, who had known what he was from the very beginning, who had been grooming him to become a powerful sorcerer, going as far as providing him with text to do so. He couldn't risk Gaius.

He edged as close as he would dare, stopping roughly two feet away from the king, eyes affixed on him and the hat tilting very slightly, feathers drooping forwards and ears sticking out ridiculously.

 

[Kawamura]

It was the feathers that had started this whole mess. Arthur might give him a dirty look for inviting his manservant into his bedroom, but it was the boyâ??s own fault. Those silly feathers combined with the servantâ??s own big ears and bright, nervous smile triggered a predator response in Uther, something like dangling a large and exciting mouse in front of a cat.

A mouse that was covered in feathers, gold thread and a smile that seemed like it would crack into a look of total horror at any moment.

Really, what did Arthur expect?

He seemed almost to circle Uther as he came near, footsteps light and hesitant as if he were expecting the king to pull out his sword (which was laying on the table, of course, in easy reach: Uther might have guards stationed throughout the castle, but it only took a momentâ??s lapse to see his son on the throne before he was ready) and stab him where he stood, gaudy outfit and all.

Uther set the goblet down gently, just the slightest sound of plain metal on wood as he turned. â??Oh, come now, boy,â? he scoffed, closing his eyes momentarily as his face scrunched up in a look of disbelief. â??Iâ??m not going to eat you.â?

Not yet, at least.

Gloved fingers, his left as always, reached out as he took a lazy step forward. The tips brushed along the drooping feather and Uther had the silliest urge to twist it like girls playing jump rope. The wine. â??This hat is too big for you.â? It seemed the damned thing was only hanging on not by a thread but by ears. The king kept his face mostly expressionless as he added, "It's fetching," though that wasn't quite the word he thought would apply to a bundle of red fabric and obnoxiously colored plumes.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

His own footsteps seemed remarkably loud in the otherwise silent room, and he could hear the slight shuffle of his shoe's heel every time he brought his right foot forward; it made him feel clumsy, knowing that the king would be able to hear every footfall.

He might have given the king a wide berth as he came around to him and didn't quite settle in front of him, but rather on an angle like some sort of strategic defense position - though, really, Merlin was painfully aware of the fact that if the king chose to attack him, he would have little actual defense, save for the sort of defense where he ran very, very fast. He had seen the king fight before - twice in fact, once in battle with the black knight, and once while rolling across the plains like an animal, fighting for his life against his potential assassin.

It wasn't the sort of position Merlin ever wanted to find himself in, and would do his very best to keep himself out of it.

He watched annoyance ghost across the king's face at his hesitancy and Merlin shuffled forward just a little more, unsure of what he was getting into. His eyes watched the king's gloved hand as it rose up towards him and leather-encased fingers touched at one of the longest plumes, his expression disturbingly blank while Merlin's was an openly astonished one.

"Fetching?" Merlin repeated dumbly, because it wasn't exactly what he had thought when he had first seen the thing; even after wearing it twice, he couldn't bring himself to associate that particular word with the glengarry. The only real possibility was that the king was having a laugh, so Merlin's brittle smile remained firmly in place,

"The prince has unique taste, my lord." Merlin ventured, twisting at his own sleeve before adding with a touch of dryness, "And an unparalleled sense of humour."

 

[Kawamura]

If one had only seen Merlinâ??s face, his wide eyed look of surprise and the slightly opened mouth, they might have assumed that Uther had suddenly turned into a pile of robed kittens or a blathering idiot, whichever was more absurd. One thin eyebrow arched as the boy parroted him, frightening him with the idea that the boy was just as stupid as he appeared to be most of the time and those moments of intelligence were accidental, that he kept his eyes level with the kingâ??s because he was too dim to do anything else.

Because the boy was still looking at him, with those lovely blue eyes wide in his young face. It would be a shame if the boy was simply an idiot, because he liked to think that there was a bright light of intelligence sparking around in those eyes, not the frantic desperation of a complete fool.

â??Yes, that he does,â? Uther agreed, favouring the boy with an honest smile in an attempt to make him spontaneously combust from nerves. Stupid or not, he could still have his fun. He pressed the tip of the feather along distinct and high cheekbones, reminded of his earlier musings on the boyâ??s looks. Pretty in pieces, just the presentation as a whole was lacking. â??Iâ??m afraid it is his motherâ??s.â? There was the ghost of pain in his heart, like the twinge of pain from his shoulder when the weather got too cold, at the mention of Arthurâ??s mother, but the outfit was something Igraine would have approved of. Feathers, bright colors and a squirming child; of course, it would have been her own or maybe her king if she could bully him into such things in private.

Uther didnâ??t want to think about how sadly easy it would have been for her to do such. He had been unable to deny her nothing.

Instead, he stepped back, taking the hat with him. â??Tend to the fire,â? he said with nary a â??pleaseâ?? in earshot, examining the stolen hat thoughtfully. It had been a matter of safety, to remove the thing before Merlin started his work. The last thing he wanted was for the delightful thing to go up in flames.

Oh, and Merlin, too. That would be bad.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

The king was smiling at him.

Merlin's eyes went slightly glazed at the concept; as a rule, the king didn't smile at much of anyone, for any reason. Even during the times where the king should by all rights be happy, he tended not to smile - instead, he kept the same hard expression, kept the same stiff posture, and spoke in the same dry, indifferent tone. It was only in private, it seemed, that the king allowed himself to be human, save for the moment he had broken down in the town square with his dying son in his arms.

That was an image Merlin wouldn't easily forget, because it had broken his already too-tender heart.

Though, Merlin decided, perhaps he simply wasn't observing closely enough - the king's mention of his late wife had come with a slight creasing at the corners of his eyes, a movement that deepened the lines there and made him look just a little bit older.

The king stepped away from him, dragging the hat along, and Merlin stood there for a moment looking stunned, his dark hair sticking up at strange angles after being mussed by the action; then, when the order finally got through to him he moved to the fireplace and knelt at the hearth, down on one knee with the other long, gangly leg bent off to the side, only adding to the appearance of some bizarre and gawky crimson bird.

The fire was lit, Merlin simply added to the tinder to make sure it stayed that way; as he gazed into the flames and watched them grow, there came a distant whisper.

Merlin.

And it was so sudden that he jerked his head up and nearly connected it with the hearthstone, but steadied himself.

Merlin.

The dragon couldn't have picked a worse time; Merlin did his best to put his mind back on where he was, but since he was in the same room as the king, that provided him with little comfort. Words slipped from him in an attempt to distract himself, and he didn't think about why he was saying them:

"She must have been quite young, sire - you as well." he said.

 

[Kawamura]

Oh, dear. It seemed the child had landed in front of the fire, looking like one of those long legged birds in Gaiusâ?? books. Ahstridge, or something, but he remembered them being distinctly sombered colored, not like this boy currently fighting with his fire.

It had been a good idea to take the hat, Uther thought as he watched the poor boy nearly crack his head open on the stone. Fluff like that had would have gone up in a ball of flames, which might have cost the boy his pretty face or head, but would have given Uther a well needed chuckle.

He stiffened, muscles taking on the rigidity they always did when Igraine entered the conversation, but instead of exploding he agreed evenly, â??That we were.â? Very young. And very stupid. To think that magic was a good thing, to be used to helpâ?¦ Well, growing old came with knowledge, not just pain. His fingers traced along the spine of the longest feather, details lost to the gloves. â??Arthurâ??s very much like her.â? Of which he was glad. She had a more even temper and a better idea of compassion than her husband.

Sometimes, he still felt lost without her.

â??Have you managed that fire yet,â? he asked, setting the hat down on the dark table. Unlike Merlin, Uther managed not to be swallowed up in the large spaces and heavy furniture. â??I would like to get ready for bed while itâ??s still dark.â?

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Merlin prodded the flames with an intricate cast iron poker, shoving back errant coals before he rose fully, brushing his hands together and then rubbing at his cheek with the back of his hand, somehow managing to streak a thick line of soot across his cheekbone. He considered that Arthur must have been like his mother, because the similarities between him and his father seemed to end at the warrior's mentality, and divide when it came to things like compassion and anger management.

"Then she was an extraordinary person." Merlin said with painful earnesty; as much of a brat as Arthur could be, he couldn't deny that he saw something promising in the prince, something strong and reliable, and it just needed to be cultured like a particularly touchy little plant - he needed to be encouraged, was all. And Merlin was sure that he could be very encouraging.

The sound of the king's dry remark had him turn around to face him again,

"Yes, sire." Merlin said hurriedly, "It's done - and still dark. My lord."

 

[Kawamura]

Unfortunately, Uther had earned himself an outside conscience regarding his anger where Arthur had been lucky to have the bad example of his father to grow his own internal one. He doubted it sounded like Morgana; she was capable of driving the boy up a wall in a different way than she did her guardian. One day, he hoped they'd be happily married; he could think of no better way to honor Gorlios' memory than to make his daughter a queen of a peaceful and prosperous nation. The one he had helped build with his own sweat and voice and, finally, his own blood.

"Then she was an extraordinary person."

Uther swallowed, his mouth having gone dry suddenly. Talk of Igraine should have sent him flying off into a dark rage; the last time she had been mentioned had been connected to that nasty business with Nimueh and he still remembered his anger at seeing her again, hearing Gaius talk about that night. But he allowed it, because the youth seemed to mean no harm. â??Yes,â? he agreed softly, barely above a whisper. â??Very extraordinary.â? It was strangely sweet to hear the boy praising both his son and his wife in one breath, all without a hint of guile.

And then, because Pendragon men did not believe in emotions, Uther nodded, the idea of thanking Merlin not even getting a half-hearted run through his mind. â??Help me undress.â? He was already working at the right bracer but the left always gave him trouble. â??Make sure there is enough wood in the fire for it to last the night, then you may leave.â? Uther smiled thinly, imaging Arthurâ??s face when he examined Merlin and found no traces of a not-so-secret tryst. Confusion, distrust and then a return to the normal, haughty look his son practiced as a companion to his own aloofness.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Merlin rubbed his hand against his cheek again, and managed to smear some of the soot over the end of his nose, giving him the appearance of a particularly scrawny and undaunting warrior preparing for battle - in crimson tights.

The king's whispered reply was enough for Merlin to know that he should likely allow the subject to fade away and he did so before the next command came - he had, of course, helped Arthur to dress and undress many times before, it simply came with the job and there had never been any real discomfort about it all, save for perhaps the very first time when he had nearly put Arthur's mail on backwards. This, of course, was completely different because - well, he was dealing with the king, not Arthur.

Again, he approached the king with caution and came around to his front; his eyes dropped to the king's hands, and he noted the man had easily unclipped his right bracer, but his fingers seemed to be stumbling with the left. For an instant, there was a flicker of curiosity on Merlin's face as he observed and then reached out the remove the second cuff before his hands made a journey upwards to unfasten the loops that held his cape to his shoulders, and he pulled the material away with care that defied Merlin's normally fumbling movements.

For an instant, his eyes went up to look at the king's face, and then dropped immediately back down; even Merlin had to admit it was just a little too close for any sort of eye contact.

Affixing his face into the blankest expression he could manage, he tried to focus only on what he was doing; he opened the dark leather hide overcoat that the king favoured on colder days, beginning to move it down the man's shoulders and leaving him wondering precisely how many more layers he was going to encounter. While the king was tall, he was not particularly big, and the gradual removal of layers of metal and leather was somewhat bizarre - he had seen the king in only his bedclothes when he had taken ill (when Edwin had taken him ill) but at the time he hadn't been able to put so much consideration into the impressive amount of undressing it had taken to get him that way.

With the cape still hanging over one arm and the overcoat joining it, Merlin's hands moved down to the king's waist and began to open the buckle of his belt; he noted then that the king's sword was absent from his hip, and that observation caused the warlock's eyes to shift to the table, where he spotted the shining blade, laid out within the king's reach.

Not the best thing to observe right then, and Merlin found himself fumbling with the links on the belt for a long moment before he was able to open it.

 

[Kawamura]

So it appeared that stupidity was not Merlinâ??s problem. The boy was properly afraid of him, approaching him like he was a mad dog and the manservant had tied a piece of meat to his neck. It wasnâ??t entirely fair; Uther had never really done anything frightening to the boy, outside of put him in the stocks for a day, but that was good fun all around. Even through his undershirt, awkwardly long fingers were surprisingly warm and, for once, nearly graceful as he undid the bracer.

His face was an open book, not that Uther had expected anything different, and the older man saw light up with a curiosity that only faded once he had moved onto his cape. Again, long, slender fingers plucked along the string, managing to not even choke him. Uther was almost proud, his head falling back to give the boyâ??s hands room to work. Every once and awhile, he could feel the heat from agile fingers, a quiet sort of pleasure the boy was probably not aware of. Uther managed to keep his breathing slow and even.

For poor Merlin, Uther took the time to drop his head again at the exact moment the youth had decided to look up. Wine, exhaustion and the promise of bed left his mismatched eyes half-lidded as he watched the manservant. It was so lucky that the boy had appeared, had saved his son and caught his eye. With the recent events in Camelot, Utherâ??s interest in affairs had dropped off, understandably, and it was nice to feel the warmth from an unfamiliar body. Especially one that had such lovely blue eyes, like Igraineâ??s, but different. Sometimes, when the light hit them right, there were flecks of gold in them.

And the smudge of soot that was currently invading Merlinâ??s face was endearing.

Removing the heavy leather layer left him in mail and a soft undershirt to keep from getting pinched. Uther glanced down and paused in removing his own gloves to see a ratherâ?¦

Endearing was not the word he would use to describe what Merlin was doing now. The boy was focused on his belt, of all places, fingers suddenly clumsy again as he fiddled with the leather and metal. Uther stared for a moment, a shadow of a smile tugging at the corners of his lips, then continued stripping off his gloves, the left first, then the right, pulled off by one of the empty fingers.

â??Trouble, boy?â? he asked lowly, resting a bare hand on dark hair. Merlinâ??s scalp was warm against his scalp, slightly damp from the heat of the feast and the silly hat.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Blasted thing.

Merlin's expression was one of complete concentration, eyebrows furrowed very slightly and bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he focused on unbuckling the belt the metal links catching and refusing to budge open. It shouldn't be so complicated, it was just a belt - but the warlock had found that his fingers were suddenly no longer obeying him, and though he didn't want to admit it to himself, it was because of that instant where he had made eye contact with the king. Again.

He couldn't be sure what it was, but something about the man's eyes caused a shock of cold to go down Merlin's spine, a strange sensation like icy nails trailing over his nerves that caused him to lose his concentration every time. It was a disturbing feeling that was being made more apparent by the current proximity.

The chill increased when he heard the king's voice, speaking up suddenly after several long minutes of silence, and Merlin stiffened for a moment when a hand laced into his hair at the same time as the belt came loose, and it hung pointlessly in his hand as he lifted his head to look at the king from under his palm, blue eyes wide and startled.

"Only a brief hitch, sire," Merlin said weakly; he could feel the king's fingers on his scalp and he found himself surprised that the man was warm - but, well, of course he was warm, he was alive after all. Merlin was aware of the ridiculousness of the thought that the king should be ice cold, but he had simply never been able to associate heat with the man before, save for when the topic of his temper was presented.

But this - this was a little strange, wasn't it?

Or maybe it was normal. Maybe Arthur was just strange; he couldn't be sure, especially when it came to royalty.

Of course, with the king's left hand on his head, Merlin found an earlier thought returning to him, undeterred by the discomfort of the situation - or maybe due to the discomfort of the situation - and his eyes dropped to Uther's other hand, the one that had been having difficulty unlatching the bracer.

The fingers of Uther Pendragon's right hand were slightly warped-looking, and all of them - save for the thumb - were the same length. It wasn't something that anyone would notice with the gloves on, but now it was very apparent, and Merlin's expression suddenly turned to one of utter fascination.

Of course, he then realized how it must have looked with him staring and, more importantly, not doing his job - so he forced his eyes back,

"Wouldn't have known with how you handle a sword, sire," Merlin said, voice filled with a brittle sort of cheer as he tried desperately to keep his mind off of the fingers in his hair; as a solution, he dropped down suddenly to a crouch in front of the king, simultaneously putting himself away from the hand and allowing him to begin unlacing the king's boots.

 

[Kawamura]

Uther snorted lightly at Merlinâ??s response, tossing the gloves to the table near his sword. A hitch indeed. Perhaps the boy had realized why he had asked for him; up until now, it seemed that Arthurâ??s servant had never developed a proper idea of what one did with an adult body. Completely oblivious to that sort of charm until his king had rested his fingers in his hair.

Of course, Uther had to fight the urge to put pressure on the boyâ??s head, to pull him forward so the soot-stained tip of his nose was pressed against his belt. Heâ??d scare the poor boy off, leave him blathering somewhere or, worse, going to Morgana or Arthur. Or Gaius. Or all three. Uther wasnâ??t a man to let others tell him what to do but sometimes, when every person he held close was telling him not to do something and giving him dirty looks he did feel, well, influenced.

So instead of forcing the otherâ??s nose just a little closer, he sighed, calloused fingers rubbing slow circles into Merlinâ??s scalp. It was â?¦ nice. Nice to touch for a bit, without the leather.

And when he convinced the boy into his bed, it would be nice to touch without armor as well. He would just have to be very patient. Merlin seemed skittish.

â??I use my left hand, mostly,â? Uther responded coolly, as if most men had deformities. It was a bad omen; his nurse had told him often that he was paying for his fatherâ??s sins and that was why his hand had come out like that. He wasnâ??t entirely sure if that was the cause, since Gaius, dear Gaius and his love of science, had told him it was simply a part of nature, but it had been rather traumatic for him as a child. He still didnâ??t like it.

He did, however, like Merlin crouching in front of him. Uther closed his eyes for a moment, letting the boyâ??s head slip out from under his fingers. Oh, yes. This was very nice. â??Perhaps you should try your knees,â? he offered, ever helpful. â??Keep you from falling over.â? His fingers itched to tangle in that dark hair again and yank, hard, but that was too aggressive for the first evening.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Merlin managed to keep a very precarious sort of balance on the balls of his feet as he crouched in front of Uther, fingers working at the mass of criss-crossing laces and buckles to loosen the dark leather boots; he noted that the king even had armor on the tops of his feet, which he supposed was good if he ever dropped anything on them.

Actually, Merlin had a good mind to get a pair of those made up for himself.

Encountering a particularly resistent length of lacing, Merlin ducked his head to focus, and nearly bumped into the king's thigh; he supposed the suggestion was a good one, and tilted himself forward onto his knees. Merlin looked up then, and offered a bright and somewhat sheepish smile, his hair mussed ridiculously; blue eyes slid back to the mangled hand,

"I use my left as well," Merlin said conversationally; he looked back down, moving to the right foot now and beginning on the binding there; he glanced up again, "An elderly woman back in the village always said it was a sign that the devil was talking through you if you favour your left hand. She would cross herself when I passed, sometimes."

The smile grew just a little more, crinkling the corners of Merlin's eyes,

"Of course, then I got trampled by her sows, sire, and she told me that the devil must have more self-respect than that."

 

[Kawamura]

No, no proper understanding of what adult bodies were for at all. He could feel warmth even through the thick leather of his pants, glad, for a moment, that the servant hadnâ??t managed to get his tousled hair stuck in the links of his mail. That would be just a little too close for him and in an awkward way he wouldnâ??t enjoy.

Uther found himself smiling thinly in response to the boyâ??s own heartbreakingly open one. It was more of a smile than he generally gave to servants, the sort limited only towards free men. After all, the king didnâ??t have the time to even notice most serving men and women until he had a need for them or they turned traitor. That he remembered Merlinâ??s name at all was something he felt the boy should be grateful for.

"I am surprised," he said dryly, rubbing his wrists where the bracers had left a slight indention. "I would have thought it would be more difficult to get you on your knees."

Talkative thing, though. His own attendant would have been finished by now without saying a word. Not that he was complaining, no, it was almost a pleasure to listen to him babble on. â??Yes, I heard much the same thing,â? he said gently, unsure if he was more attracted by the youth on his knees, his face flushed and his form still accented with the silly outfit Arthur had picked out for him, or if he enjoyed the oblivious smiles and chatter. It wasnâ??t often that Uther got chattered at; in fact, the last time it had happened, Morgana had been a very young girl. Sometime after that, she had found that she preferred the female company of her maid and Uther almost missed the inane gossip and stories.

That was the problem of being king. He was expected to be above everyone at all times, if not by his subjects then by himself. There were a lot of little details of life he was never informed of.

â??And Arthur?â? he asked, gesturing for Merlin to stand. He would take the boots off himself when he got to bed instead of subjecting his feet to the cold of stone floors. "He does treat you right?" he added, trying to hide the truth, that he knew little of Arthur's personal life and that he was sounding Merlin for more.

 

[sevenpercentsolution]

Merlin's smile remained firmly in place as he looked up at Uther but there was a moment of stillness, a fraction of a second where his brows knitted in question at the king's remark before glancing down to his knees as though trying to figure out exactly what had brought it about. For a moment he considered asking if he had been somehow difficult, but then the king was smoothly moving on, leaving the warlock to puzzle over the comment as he rose again,

"Yes sire." Merlin said carefully; it wasn't untrue, really - Arthur treated him decently sometimes, so he could say that meant the prince was treating him 'right' - when he wasn't overworking him or beating him half to death out in the square so he could hone his sword fighting skills, of course. Merlin had taken the optimistic route on the matter anyways - he hadn't died yet, he had decided, so he could only be getting stronger each time. Though already quite sure he could take him on in a battle of wits, Merlin held onto the hope that one day he would best the prince in a sword fight - without the use of magic, of course.

And sometimes, once he got past the obnoxiousness and self-interest that constantly radiated from the fair-haired prince, sometimes Arthur was even friendly. Sometimes they were even surprised by how well they got along, though neither of them really said anything about it, it had been quite clear on the day that the prince had appeared to help him defend his little village - it wasn't something royalty did for a servant. It was, however, something that one did for a friend.

"He treats me well." Merlin added earnestly, trailing over to the fire once more to follow the second order he had been giving; he carefully stacked the flame to keep it going for the night, and turned back to the king.