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

Merlin appeared as though he was holding his breath while the king watched him; his cheeks and ears were gradually going from bright red to an interesting shade of purple that made his eyes look fairly ridiculous, two enormous, shining blue things that looked as though they may very well pop out at any moment. No, this definitely wasn't how he had imagined the evening going; he could feel his face and chest burning at the same time, and it wasn't a particularly pleasant sensation.

He did finally take a breath; it was unclear if he did so in order to answer the king or because he was about to pass out, but the expression of muted horror didn't fade the way the purple hue did.

Merlin wasn't embarrassed of his inexperience; he was embarrassed of the entire subject, though he wasn't so clear on why - it may have had something to do with the unfamiliarity of someone directing that sort of attention to him. Merlin's eyes fell to the flagged stone floor, then back up to the king,

"It was a small village." Merlin said weakly, by way of answering without having to actually answer - after all, how did one go about explaining that it had never really occurred to them? It sounded odd, now that he actually had to talk about it.
 
Merlinâ??s face turned a particularly odd color of purple, as if his bruise had suddenly decided to spread out and tint the boyâ??s expressive face. Uther couldnâ??t quite decide if Merlin looked more like he was drowning or ready to explode and he was ready to command the boy to breathe when he did just that, taking a deep, rattling breath that sounded like he was still drowning.

â??Small villages still manage to have a few children every year. I am sure that someone told you where those plump babies come from.â? The king was smiling just a little wider now, actually showing teeth.

None of which, for Merlinâ??s information, were fangs. But something about the way he watched the boy, blinking very little, his head tilted up towards him, said that the fangs would have been a superfluous addition.

â??I would not mind hearing that you have been with no one else,â? Uther said, sure that he recognized all the signs of a darling little virgin. Merlinâ??s mother had shown up, not his father, to beg for help, so there must be no father. It explained the cheer and naivety if there was no man in the boyâ??s life; mothers liked to raise happy, healthy and stupid children, the sort that could survive in a village but not a city and who would faint if they ever were expected to perform.

Innocence, good cheer and an inability to stop chattering. Merlin was perfect prey.

â??In fact, I would find it to be quiteâ?¦â? The king paused, running the tip of his tongue against his molars, his own little twitch that he was very good at minimizing. â??A pleasure,â? he settled on.
 
"I understand the - workings - sire," Merlin said feebly, trying to ignore the cold chill that had gone down his spine when the king bared his teeth - perhaps it had been meant to be a smile, but it left the warlock feeling as though the other man was going to growl at him at any moment, then possibly eat him.

He watched the king; he could see the way the man's jaw was shifting, and could imagine him running his tongue over his teeth like a wolf would, after smelling something of particular interest - though, why he would have become a source of interest to the king was beyond Merlin, he just knew that he didn't like it.

And that he had no idea what to do under the circumstances - should he just smile and nod in the hopes that it would solve things?

But then, there it was again; the addition of a single word that turned an otherwise slightly embarrassing remark into an absolutely terrifying one: 'no one else' the king had said. Given that Merlin hadn't been with anyone at all, the implication was that there was the intention of there being - someone - and if Merlin's brain was keeping up with things properly, then he was sure that he didn't like where the conversation was going. He ended up staring at the king again, as though he had been frozen to the spot.
 
So there was something that could ruin Merlinâ??s good cheer, and it seemed that the king had found it. The boy was staring at him as if he had suddenly spoke some barbarian language, not one flicker of comprehension in those bright blue eyes. Forcefully, of course, Uther had seen intelligence there over the months even with the moments of terrible stupidity. Uther watched him for a moment and, then, did something extraordinary.

He laughed.

It was a low rumble of pleasure, without even a hint of the predator of earlier. Another human moment for Merlin to add to his collection, though the king had no idea that the boy was watching for them.

â??You may tell me â??noâ?? to this request, boy,â? he said, almost gently, as he reached out to run a gloved hand down the youthâ??s scrawny forearm. His left hand was large compared to the boy, hands of a grown man, a warrior, where Arthurâ??s servant looked perfect for house work or maybe even intellectual, like Gaius. â??I would like to think that I can find a bed partner without force." Of course, that wouldn't end their little game, not yet; Uther enjoyed watching, even if the closest thing they had to intimacy was helping him peel off armor and leather.
 
Laughter was a sound that was normally associated with the more positive things in life, but when Uther Pendragon did it and it came out as a low rumbling noise in his chest, it sent shudders through the warlock that he was barely able to suppress, though he wasn't entirely certain if the feeling had been a bad one - just a strange one.

But at least the king was amused by him, rather than annoyed.

A large, gloved hand went to his arm and slid down it, an oddly gentle motion, though it didn't erase any of the concern that was still written on Merlin's face like the open book he tended to be. The king had told him he could say 'no', a statement that forcefully confirmed what the warlock's mind had been telling him; yes, Uther Pendragon wanted to - and he struggled greatly with the idea - take him to his bed.

Mostly, Merlin had been taken over by an unholy sort of terror at the concept, partly because he'd never thought about it, and partly because - well, it was the king. The king, who took off heads if he suspected even for an instant that they had some involvement with any sort of magic. The king, who was a great deal stronger than him and probably slept with a knife.

The king, who didn't like it when people disagreed.

Finding his voice had stuck somewhere in his throat, Merlin for a long moment struggled to get any words out, and when he finally did, he sounded astonished, even to himself:

"My lord," Merlin croaked out, and then offered another of those little white smiles, the first in several minutes - possibly a record for the warlock - while his hands threaded together in front of him,

Was there even a way to word it? Uther Pendragon had his pick of the entire kingdom; there would be women across the plains who would eagerly enter his chambers, and likely just as many men - men who were a great deal more - well - with smaller ears, anyways. And less gawky. Possibly with some muscle, too, and eyes that suited their heads.

How was he supposed to tell the king that he was daft? The entire thing had Merlin wanting to toss his hands in the air melodramatically and cry 'why me?' because it seemed fitting for the situation. As far as he was concerned, he hadn't done anything to cause this, so it had him feeling as though someone was playing a cruel joke on him; perhaps in Nimueh's final moments she had sought revenge by casting some long-distance spell that made the king want to - do things to him. Yes; the Old Religion wanted to bugger him to death.

He winced at his own thought.

Looking utterly lost, he managed to get out,

"I - I don't know that I'm suited for -" he said, and waved a hand in the air in front of him as though to vaguely indicate 'that sort of thing' without really getting into specifics - because he didn't want specifics. He didn't want to know. He didn't want those images in his head, because he knew his imagination was far too detailed whether he liked it or not.
 
The gloved hand hovered around the level of the boyâ??s elbow, the joint sharp enough that he could feel the bone even though he was barely touching the boy. Didnâ??t seem to be a case of malnourishment, Merlin was just one of those people that would never have much muscle on their frame.

He didn't mind. The boy had a sort of awkward charm to him and he simply couldnâ??t imagine picking out someone with Igraineâ??s eyes and a build like a barrel.

Uther kept his head tilted back, his silver hair glinting in the firelight, making it look light and gold against the dark wood like some iconist had gone through and painted him with a halo. Like a saint, even with his heavy leather over shirt and mail, and even he would have found that ironic. His normally tight face was smoothed out with a lack of concern, unlike Merlinâ??s, he honestly looked peaceful.

After all, the boy was no threat. The worst he would do would be to gurgle a little and then manage a choked â??noâ??. Uther had no reason to fear assassination, trickery, sorcery, etc, etc from Arthurâ??s gawky manservant. It was a comforting feeling dealing with a human so incapable of guile that he could watch the refusal work its way up the boyâ??s throat, bob along with his Adamâ??s apple a few times, then finally make it to his mouth.

Partially. The response wasnâ??t a total refusal, but only because some of the words must have gotten stuck in the back of his throat. Uther let his hand drop, eyes still focused on the youthâ??s face.

â??A simple â??noâ?? will suffice, Merlin,â? he said pleasantly, if the adjective could be applied to Uther Pendragon. In any case, the tone was without malice, cunning or anger, had something that might have been amusement and that was the closest mix the king came to â??pleasantâ??. Instead of letting the boy off easy, though, his fingers once again moved to him, brushing along the bare skin of the boyâ??s wrist. Even here he could feel delicate and accented bone structures through the gloves. Wonderful wrists; similar to Igraineâ??s but also uniquely masculine.

It would be a shame to let him go unmolested.

"Help me out of my armor, tend to the fire and then you may leave." Uther pulled himself to his feet, to right within Merlin's personal safety bubble, eyes on the bruised chin. The skin would probably be warm, there, and tender. Too bad he wouldn't get a chance to explore it further.
 
With the king's eyes still on him like that, Merlin's nerves didn't ease despite having gotten the words out - and they hadn't come out with much confidence, he noted.

But at the very least, the response he had received hadn't been one of anger - in fact, it had been a quiet sort of amusement, which came as something of a surprise to Merlin, who hadn't exactly been sure what to expect from a man who normally made decisions to decapitate while he was eating breakfast. No, the kind had replied with an astounding sort of patience while placing gentle touches on him, one to his elbow and another to his wrist - both of which left residual warmth, despite the thick leather gloves.

Then the king was rising to his feet, eyes still on him - and the topic was dismissed casually when Uther moved on to giving the warlock his next orders. It was something of a relief for Merlin, who suddenly felt as though he had just barely escaped the jaws of some terrifying creature - the sort that was bound to leave lasting marks on him.

"Yes, sire."

Merlin gave a nod, and he watched the king step closer - he told himself it was so the mail could be removed - and he set about the task, long fingers first working on the leather layer over the chainmail while telling himself not to think about anything else, his wide eyes set stubbornly on the king's chest.
 
Uther was happy to let the boy pull off layers of leather and mail, feeling his body lighten immediately. Somewhere, a long time ago, someone had decided that kings needed to wear layers and layers of material, to show off how rich they were, to look big and important and, of course, to keep anyone from easily slipping a dagger between their ribs. Removing the heavy clothing was relieving both literally and metaphorically, just like removing the crown earlier.

Not that he was safer at night. But he was more comfortable and the knife under his pillow didnâ??t weigh down his shoulders and tug on poorly healed muscles.

â??I am surprised,â? he said lowly as Merlin managed to get him out of his mail without a problem for the second night in the row. Like before, his mismatched eyes were closed in pleasure. â??You have not hurt yourself nor me nor set anything on fire. It must be a good sign.â?

He wasnâ??t making conversation in order to calm the poor boy down; no, what fun would that be? Instead, he pitched his voice low, almost intimate.
 
Thankfully, Merlin's nerves didn't betray him and he was able to get the mail off without catching his fingers or any bits of the king in the links; there was a visible change in the older man's expression when the armour came off, similar to the previous night. He recalled that Gaius had mentioned the king's shoulder before, that he had an old and bothersome war wound that he occasionally needed salve for, due to the discomfort - Merlin tacked that information to the forefront of his mind, because if the reaction had been any indication, then the injury was bothering the king again.

Then came the comment, and Uther's voice had hit a note that caused a strange prickling on the back of Merlin's neck; he nearly dropped the chainmail as a result, but managed to collect himself in time.

"Well sire, I've yet to tend to the hearth, so there's still time." Merlin replied promptly, and it was unclear even to the warlock himself whether he was being self-effacing or sarcastic - he hoped it wouldn't be construed as the latter, however, because he was uncertain how that sort of thing would go over with the older Pendragon. Of course, he was occasionally cheeky with Arthur, but the worst that had come out of it was a sideways look and a few more chores - which, in Merlin's head, was worth it, because sometimes holding one's tongue got tiresome.

Instead of stopping to check what the king's reaction would be, he moved for the fireplace and tended to the dying bits of kindling while his mind began to prematurely examine the earlier conversation - it wasn't a good time, Merlin knew, because he was aware that if he thought about what the king had been implying earlier, he really might set something on fire.
 
The king rumbled low in his chest again at Merlinâ??s reply. Another laugh, but this one was much more quiet. A signal that the two of them were slipping back into the much more conventional master-servant relationship.

Not that he expected Merlin to know that. No. The boy seemed to lack the ability to read the various undercurrents of social situations. Probably he just thought Utherâ??s chuckle was scary and heâ??d scurry off once he had finished his duties. To be fair, Uther was scary, but only to threats. Which, unfortunately, was a good number of people, but Merlin was not one. Certainly not Merlin. The boy was too bad at lying to ever be apart of anything illegal.

Uther had never been so happily comfortable in another manâ??s social incompetence.

â??Yes, that there is,â? he said, settling himself back into the chair so he could watch the boy bend over and work on the fire. Arthurâ??s servant managed to make even crouching down look like a chore that required finesse and balance, of which he had none: all his long limbs and sharp angles stuck out discordantly. Uther had to wonder where this deviancy had appeared, the one that made him think that such an awkward body was attractive in any way.

He sat back with a wicked little smile on his lips. â??After that, I need you to polish my boots,â? he said as if it was the most boring command in the world and not one that would have the blue-eyed youth kneeling between his legs for any period of time
 
Merlin had been mentally reminding himself that all he needed to do was keep the fire going and then he would be able to scurry back to the relative safety of Gaius' cottage and possibly hide under his blanket for the rest of his life, bemoaning the fact that every time he turned around, someone was trying to do terrible things to him.

A little voice somewhere deep in the recesses of Merlin's mind spoke up:

Of course, it might not be so terrible. It's not like you'd really know, is it?

And that bit of internal monologue turned out to be more disturbing to him than the entire evening had been, mostly because it wasn't the sort of thing that the warlock would normally think about. No, in fact, it wasn't the sort of thing he had ever thought about, because really, this topic just hadn't come up for him at any point in his life.

With the fire blazing in front of him, he considered exiting the chambers at a full-on sprint - he was sure the king wasn't about to attack him, but really, more distance seemed better, it seemed so much better - but he opted to rise carefully instead, and it was just when he was on his feet, the king spoke again.

Polish his boots. He'd done that for Arthur before, of course, particularly on days where the prince was being exceptionally bratty and just wanted Merlin to kneel in public, but the warlock was humble enough that it wasn't any real impact to his ego, in fact he generally did it with enough humour that it left the prince significantly less moody.

Merlin turned then, and moved back across the chambers and towards the king, pausing only to pluck a cloth up off the end table while reasoning with himself; the king, after all, couldn't go around with dusty boots - even if he was just about to take them off to retire for the evening. Really, it was a simple thing, even if it did require him to come very close to the other man again - as long as the sword wasn't in his hands, Merlin decided, he would be fine.

But then there were still the hands themselves; the king had large hands, and even though one of them was a little unusual-looking, the warlock had no doubts that it was just as capable of collapsing a windpipe as the other would be - and it occurred to him that he'd never thought about death as much in his life as he had in that particular evening.

Moving to where the king had reclined, Merlin dropped down into a kneel and began to assault the thick leather boots in such a way that it seemed he may very well make it through the material - Arthur had protested to the method the first time around, until he'd realized that he could essentially see his own reflection in them by the time Merlin was done. At least there was something he could add to his list of talents: magic, destroying nasty sorcerers, and cleaning footwear.
 
Merlin was building up an impressive resume indeed.

The king kept his eyes on the boy, watching as he attacked his boots with all the ferocity of a starving dog being throne half a cow. Or perhaps just a servant that really wished to run off and hide. Either image worked, really, with the level of focus Merlin was giving to his footwear. Outside of the cobbler who had made them, Uther was certain that no man had ever put so much effort into his boots, not even the king, who was very aware of the value of a good pair of shoes.

For comparisonâ??s sake, Merlin was just about the level of a good pair of shoes but under a very good sword, like the one he had found and lost, most of the time. Lately, though, the boy was almost up there with a fast horse.

Uther had very clear ideas regarding the worth of human beings.

Now, though, with the youth on his knees, his dark-haired head bent down and his tongue sticking out in concentration, Uther was considering a revision of his hierarchy. Maybe better than a fast horse. Maybe up there with warm beds and even Gaius, because no matter how dear Gaius was to him, he did not make his heart beat just a little faster when he was on his knees nor did he make his kingâ??s fingers itch to touch the top of his head.

And since Uther saw little reason to deny himself such a simple pleasure, the reached out and rested gloved fingers on the back of the boyâ??s head, only disrupting him when he was nearly finished.

â??Very good,â? he murmured, voice low with pleasure. â??I can see why Arthur keeps you around.â?
 
Merlin did his very best to focus only on the boots, to put every ounce of his concentration into something so inane so as to avoid the mental backlash he would no doubt suffer if he dared to let his mind wander to any other part of that evening - he would have been successful in his endeavor, too, if it weren't for the hand that crept forward.

The warlock's head had been ducked down and he may have been doing something silly like poking out the tip of his tongue, and then there was the feeling of warm leather against his scalp, fingers ruffling through his hair, and Merlin very slowly looked up with the king's hand still on his head. Briefly, Merlin chewed on his bottom lip, one hand reaching up to fiddle with the edge of his scarf again - something that was turning into a nervous habit - and he found himself nearly gaping at the king, because that particular tone of voice was causing another shudder up his spine.

He searched himself for a response, but all he managed to get out was a slightly desperate:

"Thank you, sire?"
 
Utherâ??s wicked smile widened, though he managed to look less like a wolf and more like a man who had found a delightful game to play. He had seen that little shiver, after all; Merlinâ??s face wasnâ??t the only part of the lad that was an open book and he could read the boyâ??s body language just as clearly as his face.

That wasnâ??t just fear. Some fear, but something else.

â??Very good,â? he repeated, then, because the boy had already said â??noâ?? and he wanted just a little bit of fun, leather-encased fingers gripped the hair he had against his palm, dragging the tips of his fingers against the scalp. Very good indeed, he thought as he pulled the boyâ??s head back just a little, held, then released.

And all the while, that crooked little smile played across his lips.

â??Thank you, Merlin. I will ask for you another night.â?

Best to keep the lad on his toes.
 
Merlin hadn't expected it when the king's fingers clenched in his hair and tugged, causing the warlock to tilt his head back slightly and he drew in a tiny, audible breath in reaction to the motion. Still holding the cloth in his hands, Merlin suddenly felt a little ridiculous, and extremely vulnerable on his knees in front of Uther Pendragon - of course, he supposed royalty was supposed to make people feel that way, but he wasn't entirely sure a lot of people ever got this particular perspective.

The king purred at him; that same low tone before releasing him, and Merlin got to his feet feeling strangely numb,

"Yes sire." he said, backing away a few steps, eyes still on the other man before he managed to tear them away, and he headed out of the room on auto-pilot, propelling himself back to Gaius' cottage, expression completely blank until he got to the security of his small, dark room, and proceeded to sit on the bed and quietly panic.
 
Long, black hair curled down her milky white back and pert breasts, fading into the dark blue of the robes she had chosen. Beautiful, diaphanous cloths hugged her trim figure, flowed down her long legs and wide hips, beneath the heavier, darker wool. A thin, delicately boned hand reached over the bowl of water, setting it in motion without ever touching the surface, distorting her image. Bright blue eyes, cherry red lips and a round face slowly came into focus.

She sighed, staring at reflection lovingly. Beautiful. Simply beautiful. Just like she had been when she had been a girl, only now she had the poise of a grown witch.

Only now Alandrys would remain like this forever.

She glanced up, not even raising her head, and her eyes found the other one, the Warden, frozen in her spot, bare feet dirty and rough. Just like the rest of her. The woman was mannish, with a long, tanned face and arms and a wild shock of dirt brown hair that had been wrestled back into something like a tail. Unlike the sorceressâ??s elegant dress, she wore clothes that looked like they had been spun at home and pieced together by someone with no care for anything more than utility and that they would hold up under high levels of dirt. â??Warden,â? the sorceress cooed and the other woman blinked her leaf-green eyes slowly.

The woman must have been stupid, because she stared a little longer, eyes vacant like those of the dull creatures she was so fond of protecting before she spoke in her reedy voice,

â??Get out of Camelot.â?

Alandrys arched one delicately curved eyebrow, swept her hand out along the water again. â??I think not,â? she said pleasantly, reached down and plucked the flower she had come for. Dark red petals drifted into the water, curled and sunk, leaving her image in the still surface. Her beautiful image. Again, she was entranced, so glad to see the girl she was fifty, sixty years ago, made all the more lovely with those experienced eyes. Simply gorgeous.

Right. The Warden.

When she looked up, the Warden was gone. Good. Apparently the woman was not as stupid as she thought. The sorceress leaned over again, hair dipping into the water and whispered her spell.

---​

Gaius was up early, as old men were wont to, but it was something alarming that had his attention this morning. No, not Merlinâ??s recent and unfortunate run of evenings with the king, though that was certainly costing him hours of splendid, snore-filled sleep. Nor was it even the king, whose shoulder and temper got worse with the coming winter, as did his sense if his interest in Merlin was any hint. It wasnâ??t even Morganaâ??s dreams, though the dear girl complained that they had become more frequent as of late.

It was something in the water.

Not anything obvious, mind you, the last few days a handful of children and elderly in the castle had come down with low fevers. Gaius was a man of science, and where there was a pattern, there was something causing the pattern. Cause and effect. Simple. Sometimes men saw patterns where there were none, but he had been a physician for a very long time and this looked like a pattern.

Carefully, he dribbled a few drops of water onto a series of seedlings.

He would get to the bottom of this before it became a problem as illnesses were known to do in winter months.
 
Merlin had an inordinate amount of difficulty getting to sleep that night; he found that all he could seem to do was stare up at the ceiling while his mind replayed the entire evening again and again, from the moment he had set foot into the room with the king, to the moment he had left - and, apparently his brain was a sadist, because it took immense pleasure in focusing on the - touching.

Of course, the warlock was used to an amount of affection from back in the village, when his mum would hug him, or the neighbour would ruffle his hair, or Will might cling to him and would occasionally even kiss him on the temple - that was all quite normal to Merlin, but the touches from the king had been something else entirely. He wasn't even sure how one hand in his hair could be different from another, but he knew that the nextdoor neighbour had never tugged on his hair like that, and Will had never stroked his cheekbone.

And no one had ever given him that strange look before, either.

Or asked him to their bed.

The entire thing left Merlin confused and mildly anxious, because the world suddenly seemed a lot more complicated when he was quite sure it had already been complex enough.

Eventually he threw his blanket over his head in the hopes he might smother his own monologue; he drifted off to sleep late in the evening, and woke up only a few hours later, and he ended up staggering down the stairs with his hair sticking out at unfortunate angles, looking a little worse for the wear.

However, he wasn't so oblivious that he didn't notice Gaius on the other side of the room, hunched over a tiny dish.

"What's that?" Merlin asked immediately, making his way over to his uncle's side to peer curiously over - soil and a few seeds, it seemed, but the sparing use of water had Merlin immediately curious as to what Gaius was doing with them,

"You've got that look on your face, Gaius." Merlin said, watching the physician intently.
 
Gaius turned his head towards his young charge, one eyebrow having climbed up his face in a way that certainly had to have been magic, because no human face could have naturally distorted in such a way. â??Good to see you awake,â? he said, setting the seedlings aside for observation. They would grow well in the sunlight, rare as it was during the autumn.

Unless, of course, there was something in the water.

â??An experiment, Merlin,â? he said, wondering if maybe the kingâ??s sudden interest in his nephew was a sign more informing of something in the water than any fever. It wasnâ??t that he disliked the boy; after all, he thought he was a wonder, intelligent, kind and very responsible. A bit impatient and given to passion, but all young men were. If anyone was to be as powerful as Merlin, he was glad it was Merlin. But these were all things the king wouldnâ??t have seen, which Gaius had been glad for. The further Merlin stayed away from Uther, the better chance the child would have of outliving his uncle.

â??I fear we may be looking at a plague this winter. Did you sleep well?â? he asked, taking in the boyâ??s tousled hair. He would have to have a subtle talk with Uther about all this.
 
Merlin eyed the seeds with far more interest than anyone should possess only moments after waking; as Gaius had quickly learned, there was very little that could dampen Merlin's spirits or remove his curiosity, and it seemed there was nothing that would make him back down from anything that had caught his attention.

Just as he was considering what experiment Gaius could be conducting with seedlings, he spoke again and Merlin's head snapped up so quickly that his neck cracked; there was a brief, pained expression before Merlin parroted the physician,

"A plague!" he said, and then looked back to the seeds once more and his brows knitted, "And it's in the water."

It was far too familiar, and Merlin found himself thinking back to the pale, milky-eyed corpses that had littered the town square not so terribly long ago when Nimueh had birthed a plague into Camelot's water source. Of course, it wouldn't be Nimueh this time, and it was entirely possible that it wasn't even magic - but Merlin had an unfortunate crawling feeling in the pit of his stomach, and the feeling translated to a grim expression on his face.

"Well, at least if it's an Afanc, we'll know how to get rid of it." Merlin said.

That, and he would avoid using any poultices.

Or at least avoid leaving them laying around after using them.
 
â??Yes, Merlin. Though I highly doubt itâ??s magic.â? Gaius reached up and steered the boy away from the seedlings. Merlin was a dear child, but sometimes he was a bit clumsy and the physician didnâ??t want to have to painstakingly recreate the little garden. â??Youâ??ll find that in cities, disease is very, very common. Itâ??s what happens when thereâ??s too many people about.â? It was, Gaius felt, a better answer than â??God is very, very angry at usâ?? and he was pleased to have a king that agreed.

Of course, Uther only really believed in things because they were useful, and one king-like god was very, very useful. Especially one that blessed the throne.

It didnâ??t, however, explain why people got sick, of course, and if Gaius was being honest heâ??d admit that the old gods explained it better. Imbalance. But saying anything of the Old Religion was better than the new was a good way to anger Uther Pendragon, so he kept his tongue.

Speaking of Uther.

â??I trust you slept well?â? Gaius asked, a not so subtle probe at his nephewâ??s whereabouts. He wasn't quite sure how all of this had happened himself, but if Merlin was here this morning, well, he must not have spent the night in the king's chambers.

More things would be on fire, and not just the king's hair. Probably larger things, like his nephew.
 
Merlin allowed himself to be directed away from the seedlings and frankly he couldn't blame Gaius - he had the unfortunate tendency of knocking things over, after all. Or setting them on fire. But the latter was sometimes intentional, especially if it involved undead Knights.

"Well yes," Merlin said, unwilling to completely let go of the topic just yet; he took a seat at the table to assure his uncle that the room was temporarily safe from the siege of his long, lanky limbs, "But it might save us a lot of time, just popping down to the reservoir for a moment and seeing if there's something - you know, slimy and shrieking lurking in the water source. Just in case."

Of course, then Gaius was asking him what would seem like a completely innocent question if it weren't for the tone and everything that was implied in it - or perhaps it was just paranoia, caused by the sudden rush of memory from the previous night. For a long moment, Merlin watched Gaius; he was aware that he was utterly incapable of deceiving the older man - or really anyone for that matter - so he lifted one bony shoulder in a shrug, and mumbled a little, the very picture of adolescence.
 
Gaius pulled out a few bowls and jars from the mess that was his workspace and started measuring out some innocently smelling herbs and oils to combine into similarily innocent smelling unctions. There was a rumor going about the castle that the potency of Gaiusâ?? medications were inversely related to their taste so that a man at deathâ??s door might not be brought back because of the knowledge of the court physician but because no spirit wanted to go out with such an awful taste in his mouth. Luckily for the king, the salve he made was to be applied topically, not to be ingested.

Though, if his highness kept up the odd courtship with Gaiusâ?? nephew, Uther may find that his physician had developed a strong, if poor tasting, medicine for him to swallow.

â??You may if you want to. Iâ??ll need a few samples from there as well.â? Gaius started mashing up the herbs in his mortar, the physician grinding in a comfortable rhythm. â??It looks a bit more wide spread than I would expect from an Afnac. Besides, that requires such a high level of magic and with Nimueh gone, I donâ??t know of any sorcerer with the strength for it.â?

He let the mumble slip; after all, Merlin was in that age where talking about the rams and the ewes and the spring time was a bit much (especially when the boy would play ewe to Utherâ??s ram, an image he did not want to focus on). â??Arthur came by today. He wanted to know how you were feeling. Apparently he and his father tore into you, yesterday.â? Remaining focused on his work, Gaius asked, â??How is your chest?â?
 
Merlin's nose shrivelled when Gaius began to use the mortar and pestle; the odor in the cottage came in varying levels of noxiousness and that morning it was particularly foul-smelling, but Merlin had at least got to the point where he didn't need to plug his nose in order to stand it - though that wasn't much comfort, it only made the warlock wonder if his senses had become so offended by the smells that they had simply resigned.

"Samples - oh good. I'll have to make a list of things to bring with me - glass vials, torch, large weapon," Merlin said, and then tilted his head to look at his uncle, dropping his voice low, and then dropping his eyes as well, "I don't know, Gaius, Camelot seems to have an abundance of sorcerers passing through, and I can't help feeling -"

No, that wasn't quite right. It wasn't so much a feeling, but it was something else, something that burnt inside of him - something that whispered to him in a voice other than that damned dragon's.

"- thinking," Merlin corrected, scratching at the top of the table with a fingernail, "That there are a great many more."

He glanced up then, at the mention of Arthur and he found himself absently bringing his hand to his chest, touching at the area of the wound for a moment,

"It's healing." Merlin said, choosing not to comment on the mention of Arthur and Uther using him as a dummy for sword training, as it was rather obvious that they had beaten him into the ground. He was reminded once more of the cut on his lip and he thought of the sharp elbow to his jaw and of the man it had been attached to - the king hadn't exactly gone easy on him, but he really wasn't expecting any sort of kindness.

What he hadn't seen coming had been the strangely gentle touches from the king; he still wasn't entirely certain what to make of them - though he now knew the intention behind them, the knowledge of which still made Merlin want to hide somewhere.
 
â??I wonâ??t have you talking like that.â? Gaius scrapped a the medicine into a jar, tapping the thin metal tool carefully so nothing would be wasted nor spilled. Even with the seeming lack of order, the physician was a precise man. â??Youâ??ve had a rough year in Camelot, but that sort of talk will have you as paranoid as the king.â? He turned his lined face to his nephew, eyebrow still arched in its permanent lopsided position.

â??And you have your own power that comes not from having a crown. Iâ??d hate to see you start your own witch hunt, Merlin.â? Uther may have been one of the most important people in the old manâ??s life (after Merlin, of course, always after Merlin), but he could see flaws even with all the good the king accomplished. And he could see the similarities: both men had such a strength of character that it made spineless men like him simply want to follow. Gaius had learned from Uther, though, and he had more leverage with his nephew.

That, and the boy was so sweet he could never imagine that he was talking to the warlock version of the next Uther Pendragon.

â??Good,â? he said in response to the remark on Merlinâ??s wound, though something about the boyâ??s brevity made him want to ask again. And about the new bruise on his chin and cut on his lip. But Merlin was a young man and father figures couldnâ??t go around commanding grown men into doing things without resentment, for which Gaius was both grateful and terribly peeved about. â??You have been putting on the salve I recommended, right?â? If he could not care for the wounds himself, then he would at least make sure the boy had the right tools to do such. â??Changing the bandages often?â?
 
A 'rough year' - Merlin couldn't help but smile at the description. Back when he was younger, a rough year was when some of the crops failed, or when the patching on the roof seemed like it might not last through the winter. Never in his life had he considered that a 'rough year' would consist of killing five people and watching an entire city nearly crumble repeatedly.

He realized Gaius was looking at him - using the eyebrow on him, in fact, and he sat up straight, his own brows rising high,

"Witch hunt?" he repeated incredulously and he wasn't sure if he should be mildly insulted by the implications, "Gaius - I'm not about to misuse my abilities. Wouldn't know what to misuse them on anyways."

He rose from the seat then, gathering up a few glass vials from around the table and tucking them into a satchel,

"I've been taking care of it Gaius," Merlin said, and he placed a hand on the older man's shoulder briefly, "Really, I'm just fine. Everything is fine."

He followed it up with one of his characteristic bright smiles as though to say 'see? look how fine everything is', before he headed for the door.
 
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