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Title: “Pour la galerie”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Timeline: post-series 3 [spoilers for all aired episodes]; loose sequel to After the Fires.
Summary: Merlin gets himself a stalker. Arthur pays the price. [Arthur & Merlin bromance/pre-slash/whatever they have in canon; hints of Merlin/semi-OFC]
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to Shine and BBC. The Sword in the Stone belongs to T. H. White & Disney.
A/N: I’ve recently rewatched Disney’s The Sword in the Stone… and the crazy awesomeness of a certain lovely lady inspired me to write this piece of weirdness. I do realise it has sort of a Lila/Dexter vibe in places. Ahem.
Dedication: For e.nara who is all kinds of awesome and generates as many insane ideas as I do, because YES!
POUR LA GALERIE
She comes along, a mash of purple and violet garments, a shock of dark hair and an attitude to build a whole new kingdom on, and Merlin instantly knows it is a bad thing to let her stick around. It’s just that kind of a gut feeling that should never be ignored; yet somehow, when her eyes light up golden and she winks at him, causing the pebbles under his feet to turn into flower petals, he forgets everything. She has him at these flower petals – and it’s final.
* * *
It was obvious that Arthur didn’t like Mim. True, she was a mere shopkeeper who succeeded Gaius’s oldtime supplier of herbs and took it upon herself to deliver the goods personally; she had neither many chances, nor reasons to cross paths with Prince Arthur. And it wasn’t that Merlin cared much what Arthur thought of her. Arthur called her Merlin’s “sweetheart”; a seemingly innocuous word sounded like an insult the way he said it. Maybe dry worms that she had once – surely accidentally – spilt over Arthur’s dinner were the reason. Herbal decoction stains all over Arthur’s cape may have also done the job. Or the fact that Arthur’s favourite sword nearly snapped in two right after Mim kept Merlin company while he polished it. Come to think of it, it hadn’t been the best idea to let her help him out with his chores.
“She’s not doing it on purpose, you know,” said Merlin as he walked into Arthur’s bedchamber, carrying the prince’s breakfast on a tray. “She’s just a bit clumsy, that’s all. And she wants to help. She’s very enthusiastic about helping. It doesn’t always turn out right, but…”
He shrugged and set the tray on the table. The silence in the room weighed down on him, laced with wordless disapproval.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Merlin observed, and looked up. The room was empty. He looked around and called out Arthur’s name, hesitantly.
A lanky, shabby sparrow was sitting at the window-sill, and at some point, when the bird opened its beak and said in a rather familiar voice: “Merlin, I have news for you. Your sweetheart is a sorceress!” – Merlin was so busy struggling to keep from letting his amusement show that he very nearly forgot to be surprised. His facial expression froze pathetically somewhere mid-guh. He chewed on his lower lip and then fired in Mim’s defence:
“Is not.”
“Is too!” The sparrow ruffled up sullenly. “Why are we even having this conversation? My legs are so thin I fear they might break! Do something about it!”
Merlin scratched the back of his head. The solution was decidedly not coming to him.
“I suppose we could have Gwen kiss you.”
“Whatever for?”
“Well, in fairytales–.”
“This is not a fairytale, Merlin!” Arthur snapped. “And I’m not a frog. Do I look like one to you?”
Merlin regarded him thoughtfully. Arthur made quite a pitiable sparrow. He was a great deal thinner than his congeners pecking bread crumbs in the market square, and somewhat oblong. The feathers on top of his head stuck up, disheveled, and appeared to be somewhat lighter than those that covered the rest of his body.
The sparrow managed a frown. Things were getting very eerie.
“I’ll–” Merlin imitated a cough to disguise laughter that was dangerously close to bursting out of him. “I’ll go do something about this. Why don’t you wait over there?” He pointed at the wardrobe.
“I’m comfortable where I am, thank you very much,” said Arthur.
It didn’t really look that way, and curiosity had always been a vice Merlin was willing to give in to. He approached the sparrow cautiously and before the bird could react, Merlin’s fingers were wrapped around his fragile body. Arthur demanded that his “dimwit of a servant” let him go, and broke into irritable chirping.
Merlin opened his palm so that Arthur could stand on it and raised it over his head.
“It’s dangerous by the window,” he said amiably. “There might be pigeons. They’re bigger and scarier than you are. And you never know who might come into the chambers. They might shoo you away.”
“Who in their right mind would simply barge into the prince’s chambers?” Arthur blurted out.
Merlin wisely kept his mouth shut. Mind you, about intruders only. That was where his wisdom ran out.
“You can’t fly, can you?” he grinned, bringing his hand up to his face. The sparrow glared daggers at him.
“Of course I can fly! It goes like this.”
He started flapping his wings, looking determined. He tucked up his legs and attempted to keep in the air – and then he dropped haplessly onto Merlin’s palm. Merlin swallowed a snicker, judging it to be insensitive at the moment, and carefully placed Arthur on the table next to a fruit bowl.
“Arthur,” he called, softly. The sparrow folded his wings. The sulk made him look somewhat rounder, like a small, moody ball of feathers. “Are you all right?”
“I most certainly am not!” Arthur retorted. “I’m a bird who can’t fly. Scratch that: I’m a bird! Fix this!”
Merlin gritted his teeth. Mim had some serious explaining to do.
* * *
She is more threatening than Nimueh or Morgause because he does not see the danger in her. Not even when she flashes her toothy, catlike grin at him and declares them soulmates. I was in love once, he ruminates. I still am. Darling, she laughs, love has nothing to do with it. She tells him that what he feels for the Lady of the Lake is not love, but regret. Soft pining for something that could have been, but was not. She has a point, he thinks dimly before it even occurs to him to ask how she knows about Freya. He is almost accustomed to her knowing all kinds of things.
* * *
“You turned Arthur into a sparrow.”
Mim rounded her eyes. “Good gracious, did I? Yes, I suppose I did.” A slow, satisfied smirk spilt over her lips. “He makes a cute bird, doesn’t he?”
“Well, turn him back!” Merlin demanded. “He’s a royal heir. You can’t do this.” Besides, he didn’t think Arthur looked cute as a sparrow. Ragged, yes. Hungry and incapable of looking after himself, yes. But not cute. Not to mention, he could hardly train his knights while in that form.
“He was going to kick me out of my shop,” said Mim.
“Nah, it’s just how Arthur is. It was the worms talking. He’s short-tempered, but he doesn’t go around abusing honest traders.”
Mim arched her eyebrows. For a moment she pretended to consider his words; then a high-pitched giggle escaped her lips.
“Why are you doing this?”
She leaned into him, planted a quick, light kiss on the tip of his nose, and breathed:
“Because I’m the magnificent, marvelous, mad Madam Mim!”
* * *
Merlin is not smitten. That’s not a proper word. But even Gaius makes jokes about it. It’s just that more often than not Merlin feels too alone in his skin. To have another one like him, so close, so willing is a temptation even if most of the time he is at his wit’s end about her antics. This place is turning you into something that you’re not, Mim purrs in his ear. A commoner. She works her magic right under Uther’s nose. He watches her and, despite himself, he agrees with her.
* * *
Merlin cleared his throat, having spent a little too much time calling the Great Dragon who appeared unwilling to show up. When the thunderous flapping of wings finally announced the Dragon’s arrival, Merlin stood up and hastily recomposed his features from a mask of tragic exasperation into a semblance of a greeting smile.
“Do not tell me you need a ride, young warlock,” the Dragon said as he lowered himself on the ground.
“Some other time,” Merlin chuckled. It felt embarrassing all of a sudden to discuss the nature of Arthur’s predicament. Merlin attempted to begin from afar. “What do you know of magic transformations?”
“A dangerous thing if handled incorrectly. I would not advise you to attempt it.”
“How do I break a spell that’s already been cast over someone?”
The Dragon eyed him for a few long, awkwardly silent moments, then snorted. “I suggest you give me a bigger picture, Merlin. I cannot help you if you are hiding details from me.”
Five seconds into the story Merlin remembered why exactly he wanted to keep the “details” from Kilgarrah. The Dragon was shaking with laughter. He tended to display his sense of humour at the strangest of times; mostly when Merlin did not feel like sharing his merriment.
“The magic of this kind is exceptionally strong,” the Dragon said finally, still cackling under his breath, short of blowing smoke through his nostrils. “The enchantment usually breaks when the enchanted has learnt his lesson.”
Merlin knitted his eyebrows. That was not something Arthur was going to enjoy. “What kind of a lesson?”
“That I cannot tell you, young warlock. I doubt even the sorcerer that cast it knows that.”
At that, he took off in flight, leaving Merlin aghast at the very thought of having to break the news to Arthur.
* * *
He cannot explain why she has seized his attention. She is – unwilling to use the word “mad”, he fumbles for a milder definition – eccentric, and she has the same air of loneliness about her that Morgana did. That Merlin himself does. Even though Arthur knows, it feels like he does not want to know. There is a chasm within him that grows deeper every time Merlin brings up the M-word. There is a twin chasm within Merlin. Mim works on closing it bit by bit.
* * *
Upon returning to the castle Merlin found the prince on top of the wardrobe, right where he had left him. Arthur peered down on him, his small black eyes reflecting a lot more misery than Merlin thought was possible.
“The good news is,” said Merlin, feigning cheer, “the spell will eventually break. The bad news is that it’ll hold until you’ve learnt your lesson.”
“The only lesson I’m learning here,” Arthur muttered, “is that magic is evil. And that’s the one my father’s been teaching me my whole life!”
Merlin sighed. Transformations certainly did not do Arthur any good, personality-wise. The one thing to be glad of was that the king still would not receive any visitors, so perhaps they could keep the incident undisclosed for the time being.
Merlin removed Arthur from the wardrobe and placed him on his shoulder. It would be safer if the prince spent the night in Merlin’s room. The sparrow clutched at the fabric of Merlin’s shirt with his claws and kept proud silence on the way to Gaius’s chambers. Fortunately, the physician was out. Merlin put the bird on the table and poured some bread crumbs in front of him, which earned him yet another glum look. They did not say a word to each other all evening, and Merlin went to bed, feeling like all of it was somehow his fault.
He did not know how long he had been asleep before something sharp started poking him on the nosebridge. A demanding voice droned monotonously, “Merlin! Me-e-erlin!” He blinked his eyes, still half-asleep, and received another sensitive jab on the face, this time closer to his cheekbone.
“Arthur?” Merlin couldn’t say why he was whispering. Perhaps because he sounded angrier this way and he wanted Arthur to notice it. “You nearly plucked my eye out.”
“Nonsense,” said Arthur in an authoritative voice. “My beak’s not that big. I’ve been thinking about this lesson I need to learn. I think I know what it is.”
Merlin yawned. He was certain it could wait till morning, but seeing as Arthur had started clambering on top of him to prevent him from turning around and falling asleep again, the prince would disagree.
“I need to learn to fly!” Arthur declared. “There are no birds that cannot do it. Unfortunately, they can’t help me. I’ve discovered I don’t speak sparrow. It’s up to you then.”
“But I’ve never been a bird.”
Arthur stomped his foot, prodding Merlin’s skin with his claws. “You’re the magic man here. Think of something!”
“Uhm, so, just flap your wings and–.”
“Really, Merlin? And here I was wondering what these things were for!”
Merlin sat up. He lit a candle and saw that Arthur had rolled off of him and was glaring at him with an all too familiar mix of irritation and determination. He spread his wings and fanned his tail, looking much more professional than he did during his previous attempt. Merlin watched him rise a few inches above the bed – and topple down like a miniature feathery comet. The feat repeated several times more.
“Maybe you should try a higher ground,” Merlin suggested. He climbed out of bed, opened his cupboard and seated Arthur onto the threshold. “Here. Why don’t you glide down from here? It might be easier to hold your balance this way.”
Arthur did as he was told – and for some time he was indeed soaring in the air, wings stretched and feet tucked in. Merlin failed to see exactly where things went wrong. The flight ended much the same way every other attempt had done: Arthur smashed into the wall, slid down and collapsed on the floor.
“I think I’ve broken my beak,” he coughed out in a strangled voice.
Merlin picked him up. “Looks fine to me. I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t be able to fly. You’re scrawny. You’re much heavier in human form, but you pull all kinds of amazing stunts. So why not flying?”
“If that’s supposed to make me feel better, there must have been a forked road somewhere in that comforting speech, and you’ve taken the wrong turn,” Arthur pouted. “If I only had someone to show me what to do.” He fell quiet and then suddenly jumped up. “Wait a minute! You have someone to show me what to do!”
Before Merlin could voice his objections, Arthur was nodding energetically like it was the brightest idea in the world. Which Merlin was sure it was not.
* * *
Uther is getting worse by the hour, Gaius tells him when he returns from the king’s chambers one evening. For some reason, he is the only person the king will consent to seeing. What Morgana did, really destroyed him. Why do you care? Mim asks. She touches his face in the way that makes Merlin shift uncomfortably. He remembers their first meeting. The strong smell of herbs in her basket nipping at his nostrils. Crushed flowers under his feet. She had a reference from Master William, an old friend of Gaius, the previous owner of the shop. Merlin starts piecing the story together.
* * *
Arthur watched him, black eyes unreadable, as Merlin lowered his head, having just called out to Kilgarrah. The aftereffects of the call still rumbled in his throat.
“Will he come?” Arthur asked after a long, sleep-inducing period of silence.
Merlin shrugged. “He has to. He’s not going to like it, though.”
“It’s about time I met him,” Arthur muttered. For some reason Merlin felt like smiling.
The wait seemed to last for ages. When the sound of the Dragon’s mighty wings came rolling through the sky, Arthur looked up and then tilted his head to the side in a very birdlike manner. His feathers stood on end. Having undoubtedly recognised the sound, he tensed, apprehensive, but it was hard to tell what was really going on in his head.
The Dragon landed before Merlin and simply stared at him for a moment or two. Merlin searched his muzzle for traces of anger, but found none.
“Young Prince Arthur, I assume,” the Dragon rumbled finally, his lips stretched thinly over his jaws as if he was going to break out laughing any minute.
Arthur swung forth on Merlin’s shoulder, a little shakily, spread his wings and managed a semblance of a bow. All things considered, he looked exceptionally regal.
“The time is not right,” Kilgarrah said, “but let us not waste more of it. We have much to discuss.” He leaned forward and lowered his head. “Merlin.”
Merlin helped the sparrow move on top of the Dragon’s head and watched them leave, marveling vaguely at how natural they looked together. Last time they met, they were enemies. What they were now, nobody could say. Merlin smiled wearily and sat down under a tree, waiting for them to return.
Time passed slowly. The wind brushing gently through the tree-tops had almost lulled Merlin to sleep when he heard Arthur crying out his name. The sparrow whooshed above him like a downy missile. Merlin couldn’t recall the last time he had seen the prince so genuinely happy about anything.
“You’re flying!” laughed Merlin.
“I’m flying!” echoed Arthur, somersaulted in the air and flopped down on Merlin’s head. “Need to work on my landing, though.”
Merlin grinned and started walking towards the castle, looking back briefly, just in time to spot a large shadow diving into the low-hanging veil of clouds. A dragon teaching a sparrow to fly. Merlin swallowed a chuckle and decided not to concentrate on the absurdity of this.
“What did you two talk about?” he wanted to know.
Arthur shifted, pulling Merlin’s hair while trying to untangle his foot. “Me becoming a great king. You being a dolt.”
“Really?”
“No. I can’t tell you.” Having freed himself, he flew down on Merlin’s shoulder and perched there, clinging fast to Merlin’s shirt. “I could make a nest on your head, did you know? Your hair is horrible.”
Merlin rolled his eyes and said nothing. The silence was somehow getting warmer.
* * *
Madam Mim is harmless, the Dragon tells him. She knows not true magic. Hers are frivolous tricks and nothing more. But your paths are entwined, young warlock. Good entwined or bad entwined? Merlin asks, hope building up. It splashes just below the surface, just enough to reflect upon his face like the last, dying rays of sunlight over the water. You know the answer to your question. Somehow, Merlin does not like the sound of that.
* * *
Along came sunrise, and Arthur was still a bird. A rather hyperactive bird whose endless pirouettes under the ceiling of Merlin’s little room bore a striking resemblance to the convulsions of a fly caught in a spiderweb.
“I’m starting to think you’re enjoying it,” Merlin noted. He was sprawled on the bed, watching Arthur with a grin of amusement. It was still too early for Gaius to require his help, and he didn’t think Arthur would be needing his clothes, armour or breakfast any time soon.
Arthur threw himself onto the pillow beside Merlin’s head, a rare sight of a laughing bird.
“I’d rather be a hawk or a falcon, you know,” he said nonchalantly and mimicked a shrug. “Still, I cannot begin to describe how amazing flying is.” He clicked his beak, which Merlin knew was his way of smiling now. “A lesson learnt. But… I thought I would have turned back by now.”
“Maybe we should have Gwen kiss you after all.”
As difficult as it was to interpret the sparrow’s facial expressions, the look Arthur flashed him spelled nothing but irritation.
“What is it with you and your obsession with Gwen and kissing? Trust me, I would kiss half the court starting with you here if I knew it would help. But it won’t!” Arthur shook his head. “Besides, I don’t want her to see me like this.”
Merlin snorted. “She saw you with donkey ears! What could be worse?”
“Yes, but everything else was mine!”
Merlin chose not to pursue the matter. Instead, he leaned into Arthur and planted a quick, clumsy kiss on top of his head. Arthur leapt back, flailing his wings, and nearly tumbled off the pillow.
“Wh-what do you think you are doing!?”
“Testing your theory,” Merlin said blithely.
“Keep your big, toothy mouth away from me,” said Arthur, desperately trying to regain his more or less composed demeanour.
Merlin grinned. The morning was shaping up to be entertaining.
“Maybe Mim should kiss you.” Naturally, he could not miss one final gibe.
“I am not kissing that… woman even for all the magic in the world!” Arthur flared up. “I hope you washed your mouth after you did.”
“My personal life is none of your concern,” Merlin laughed.
“That’s because you don’t have any,” the sparrow muttered and promptly flew up before Merlin could execute his vengeance in the form of tossing him off the bed.
Arthur hovered over Merlin, chirping gleefully, sounding a lot like he was laughing. Merlin almost expected him to stick out his tongue; it would be silly, but true to the atmosphere they had built up with their joking around.
“Seriously, though,” Merlin pointed out, “you’re still a bird.”
Arthur landed on his knee and said, for some reason skipping the usual snappy comeback the likes of, “your observation skills are extraordinary!”:
“I’m telling you, evil magic is way better. It’s predictable. There has to be something evil about this.”
“Too bad I’m not evil, eh? It would have given us some insight.”
“No, Merlin, you’re predictably an idiot. That is no help at all.”
Here goes the snappy comeback, Merlin thought – and decided to ask the next evil sorcerer who came their way to turn Arthur into something more characteristic of his nasty personality. Like a fat, wart-covered toad.
“I may be a sparrow,” Arthur said, throwing out his chest, “but I am still a prince. So I command you: go to that Madam Mim and find out what I have to do to regain my own form.” Merlin hopped off the bed, unable to contain a snort of laughter. As he made it out of the room, he heard Arthur add strictly in his wake, “Kiss her if you must!”
* * *
Things are easier now that Arthur has been made aware of his manservant’s secret. It makes them partners in crime from a certain point of view, and Merlin cannot but enjoy it. Yet Arthur’s mood swings come in waves: one minute he is smiling at the sight of a simplest trick, the other a frown comes up, and there is that distance between them again, growing, growing, growing. He will never understand you, Mim whispers, brushing her fingers through Merlin’s hair. Even if he pretends to. He is not like his father, Merlin tells her because that is the best argument in Arthur’s defence he can come up with right now. No, she answers. But he is not like us either.
* * *
When Merlin knocked on the door of Mim’s cottage, it was still too early for customers, but he felt that she was awake. She made him wait for a little while and then opened the door, her eyes instantly meeting his.
“Merlin,” she beamed at him, the smile if only a little too strained. “What a nice surprise. How’s dear Prince Arthur?”
“He has learnt to fly,” Merlin said; it was the best thing that came to mind.
He was still unsure how to act, but he knew that he had to keep her distracted long enough to find out anything about the spell she had cast upon Arthur. That called for some unorthodox measures. Merlin took her by the hand. She glanced warily at his fingers interlaced with hers.
“Mim,” he began. “I thought about what you said. About us being soulmates. And I think you are right. And I–.”
After that, everything went down really quickly. Her cheeks flushed. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him inside the house, knocking the door shut without touching it. She pushed Merlin against the wall, fitting herself snugly against him, and clamped her lips over his in the most aggressive (and to be perfectly honest, a little terrifying) kiss he had ever experienced. Merlin allowed himself to slide one hand down to the small of her back while he was prompting a small stone pestle to jump up on the window-sill and smash the window. Mim had her eyes closed, so she missed the flash of golden in his. The glass shattered. Mim pulled away and looked around so abruptly that her hair lashed Merlin across the face.
“I’ll be right back.” She smiled coquettishly and moved to the door to have a look outside.
As soon as she was out of sight, Merlin darted across the room and dug behind the counter in search of anything that could help Arthur and him find a solution. The floor was specked by shriveled remnants of herbs. A heady, spicy smell curled off of the floorboards. Merlin discovered some disorderly paperwork piled up beneath the counter, but nothing that was remotely like records of any magic.
Merlin craned out his neck. The front door was half-open; he could hear Mim’s voice coming from the street. Uncertain of how much time he had, Merlin withdrew into the back room where Mim kept her stock. She lived in a small room upstairs, but Merlin suspected she would not keep any incriminating evidence there since that would be the first place where the king’s men would conduct a search. He rummaged through wisps of fragrant herbs, dinned with vials full of scented oils, fumbled between the rows of small jars of medical ointments. Finally, when it seemed to him that he was running out of time, he extended his hand and whispered the words of a searching spell. He had not wanted to use it because such methods would often leave a mess behind.
A shiver ran through a line of clay jars. One of them balanced precariously on the edge of the shelf, but Merlin pushed it back, eyes screwed up tentatively. A book in a leather binding, about half the size of his own magic folio, shot from behind the jars and into his hand. With a soft downturn of his lips, he shoved it into the folds of his jacket and hurried back to the shop. Just before Mim entered, he remembered a pebble that he had collected prior to coming here. He tossed it on the floor, right in the middle of the shards of broken glass, to complete the scene. Mim’s gaze slid across the floor, tripping vaguely over the pebble. Merlin smiled and licked his kiss-swollen lips.
Mim wrapped her arms around him, ready to resume the interrupted activities. The door was once again safely shut. She did not say a word.
“You should leave Camelot,” Merlin blurted out, commencing Stage Two of his cunning plan.
At the moment, Mim was busy nipping at his neck. His words caught her by surprise. She closed her teeth around his skin a little too tight, and Merlin yelped, unprepared. She pulled away and regarded him apprehensively, a slight frown of discontent running down the smoothness of her forehead.
“What I mean,” Merlin took a deep breath, “is that they’ll never understand us here. They’ll never approve.” His voice dropped to a confidential whisper, growing hotter by the minute. “What do they know about us? Arthur. He will be a problem. We cannot let them tear us apart. We are soulmates, aren’t we?”
“Arthur is but a bird,” Mim smirked. “What can he do?”
Merlin shook his head. “There is Gaius, too. It’s not safe here. Go. Go now!” He took a dramatic step away from her, hands held out as if unable to let go. “I’ll take care of Arthur and then catch up with you.” A hint of darkness in his voice. “Without its crown prince, Camelot will surely fall. Then we shall return–.”
A pause designed to let her interject. She took the bait.
“And reap the fruit of our victory!” Eyes dark, languorous; lips alien, taut over her face in a twisted smile. Merlin forgot he had seen beauty in her.
He ebbed back. She clutched at his shirt and pulled herself up to him and kissed him hard. He responded, tasting bitterness and mania. He felt profoundly sad for her and he wondered how he had come to be different from her, from Nimueh, from Morgana. Why hadn’t his magic corrupted him? Why hadn’t it feasted on him like it did on all of them?
* * *
He shifts, lest Mim should feel the book, a hard, rectangular shape between their bodies, and breaks off the kiss. Offers her a tentative smile. Her face lights up. He realises with a start that she has real feelings for him, rooted deeper than desires of the flesh or a longing for an equally gifted companion. Perhaps she loves him. Perhaps she thinks she does. Thoughts of love, they still hurt. He puts on the façade.
* * *
When Merlin returned home, Arthur was hopping across the table, pecking at bread crumbs, like it was a steeplechase. His mirth catching, Merlin found himself chuckling and grinning with amusement. Arthur’s head snapped up. He clicked his beak, looking, as far as Merlin could tell, rather amazed.
“What is that?”
“Mim’s book of magic.” Merlin slumped on the chair, laid the book on the table and opened it. “More like a journal, but there still might be something of use to us.”
“No, I mean, what’s that on your neck?” Arthur quipped. If he were human, he would probably be smiling that nasty knowing smile of his.
Merlin’s hand flew up to the bitemark, a parting souvenir from Mim. He pulled his neckerchief up and flashed Arthur a moody look.
“Let us not discuss the lengths I’ve gone to to obtain this information.”
Arthur looked a little too pleased with himself but, fortunately, refrained from further questioning. He settled somewhere between Merlin’s elbow and the frayed edge of the book and surveyed the open page. His black, glistening eyes gave nothing away. Merlin felt a strange sense of peace descending upon him.
“Found anything?” Arthur asked what seemed to be hours later.
Merlin shook himself, as if he, too, were a bird waking from a dream.
“Not as such. It confirms my suspicions though.”
“What suspicions?”
Merlin licked his lips.
“The spell has nothing to do with her, just as it has nothing to do with your form of the sparrow. The lesson you need to learn… She doesn’t know what it is. It’s not her condition, it’s the magic’s. So until you learn something that is of use to you as Prince Arthur, you’re not going to be Prince Arthur.”
He wavered at the very end when he glanced at Arthur and saw that he had drawn himself together, his feathers puckered, wings folded carefully. Merlin drew in a breath.
“How long do sparrows live by the way?” Arthur asked in a tone of a person trying and failing to keep despondency at bay.
“Oh, come on! We’ll find a solution.”
“We? Last time I checked you were not Prince Arthur.” Unexpected warmth seeped into his voice.
Merlin averted his eyes.
“I’ll keep looking.”
He held his hand over the book, the shade of spread fingers crawling over the messy writing and brisk sketches. The pages rustled quietly as he leafed through the book without touching it. The margins were dotted with Mim’s own commentaries, which had nothing to do with magical transformations, but a lot to do with medical brews. In spite of her casual demeanour, Mim was actually very meticulous when it came to her work.
“You like her, don’t you?” Arthur cocked his head, scrutinizing him.
Merlin shrugged. “I did. Before I found out that she wanted what everyone else wanted. To bring about the fall of Camelot.”
He snickered at how bitter and sarcastic it sounded. Arthur’s intense look unsettled him.
“Not everyone is like that,” Arthur murmured. “You’re not like that.” He looked away and then made a rapid clicking noise with his beak that reminded Merlin so much of a chuckle. “Then again, it’s probably because you’re such an oaf.”
Merlin snorted, a treacherous stinging sensation in his eyes.
“You suspected something, didn’t you? She told me you were going to kick out of the shop.”
“No, I just didn’t like her.”
This time, Merlin allowed himself a burst of full-fledged laughter. Arthur hopped closer. The human Arthur would most likely give Merlin an awkward nudge meant to cheer him up. The sparrow Arthur had no means for that, so he simply poked Merlin’s hand with his beak. The gesture was oddly touching.
“Must be lonely,” he said quietly. “But at the same time it’s unavoidable.” Merlin frowned slightly. “It is in you,” Arthur went on. “When I couldn’t fly, I felt as if a huge chunk of me was missing. It was almost physical. It must be the same for you if you renounce your magic.”
Not knowing what to say, Merlin nodded slowly and reminded himself to ask Gaius how long sparrows lived.
* * *
Merlin has been offered power more than once. By Nimueh, by Sigan; now, indirectly, by Mim. At times he wondered if he had been right to reject it. Now he knows. No power, no amount of violence would have given him this strange, understanding look in Arthur’s eyes.
* * *
Sunlight crept in surreptitiously through the window. Merlin winced without opening his eyes, and rolled to his side. He had studied Mim’s book from cover to cover and found nothing that would provide a solution. He had gone to bed just a few hours before sunrise, Arthur nesting nonchalantly on his pillow (even as a sparrow, the prince would not relinquish his regal ways).
Merlin yawned and stretched himself – and his hand met an unexpected obstacle. Merlin wrinkled his forehead. The obstacle was shoulder-shaped and appeared to rest in the close proximity of him. He opened his eyes and, with a sharp intake of breath, discovered a very human Arthur lying next to him.
Merlin shook him energetically and called his name. The prince wrinkled his face.
“Merlin, for the love of–!”
Instinctively, he pressed his hand to his eyes to drive away the sunlight – and then his eyes snapped open. He stared at his hand like it was the most miraculous thing he had ever seen. Merlin grinned. Arthur jumped off the bed with a start, eyes blazing, all the blackness drained away from them now.
“I’m back! I am myself!” He laughed and threw his hands up, looking overwhelmed and a little disbelieving.
Merlin chuckled and unwittingly mimicked his gesture. They looked at each other.
“Nah.” Merlin began to lower his hands. “We’ve been there once.”
Arthur grinned and closed the distance between them and pulled Merlin into a fast embrace. Merlin couldn’t hold back laughter that spilled over Arthur’s shoulder and rang across the room.
“But I don’t understand,” said Arthur as he pulled away. “What have I learnt?”
If he were completely honest, Merlin himself was not entirely sure what the lesson had been. He had his guesses, ambitious as they were, but now was not the time to share them with Arthur, whose mind was already far away from the little bedroom in the court physician’s chambers.
“I shall go see my father,” Arthur enumerated rapidly, “and the knights, and Gwen. They must be wondering–!” He rushed to the door, threw it open and flashed past Gaius, smiling like an idiot, dropping a hasty, “Good morning, Gaius!” in his wake.
The old physician raised his eyebrows quizzically and glanced at Merlin who responded with a non-committal, sort of a don’t-ask shrug.
* * *
Gaius had once pointed out that Merlin’s life would have been much easier if Uther had been dead. True. So true that sometimes Merlin wonders if he would have done things differently, given the chance. Only for a moment.
* * *
The feather was light-brown and weightless. It swirled in the air like an oversized snowflake on a winter night. Merlin held up his hand and let it swing slowly onto his palm. It was a sparrow feather. For one sickening moment Merlin imagined it was Arthur’s.
He managed to remember that Arthur was no longer a bird before all sorts of brutal images flooded his mind. He shook his head, trying to ignore the violent pang in his heart, and then he saw many more feathers lying in a string on the floor, as if leading somewhere. Frowning, he followed them, half-expecting to end up by Arthur’s door. But the final destination did not happen to be Arthur’s bedchamber.
It was Uther’s.
Merlin halted. He debated whether he should knock. After all, this could mean nothing. All right, it certainly did mean that a bird had suffered to produce so many feathers, but apart from that–. He drew in a sharp breath and pushed the door open and poked his head inside.
Silence.
It reminded him surreally of the day he had found Arthur the scrawny sparrow sitting on the window-sill, glaring daggers at him.
“Your Majesty?” Merlin called, hesitantly.
Great. Uther would be extremely pleased to see an insolent servant in the grip of catastrophic paranoia invade his chambers when he had explicitly stated he did not want to see anyone.
Merlin gave himself a mental slap – and slid inside the room. Draught slithered in through a half-open window. Merlin shivered from crypt-like chill.
“Hello, darling,” said Mim’s voice.
Merlin compressed his lips. Why did evil sorcerers always have to be so dramatic? Arthur was right: evil equaled predictable. Merlin turned to face her.
All right, maybe not so predictable. Mim stood by the chair, and in the chair was Uther, face blank, hand clutching a goblet frozen on the way to his mouth. He appeared entranced, old and vulnerable. Mim was smiling, fingers resting on the king’s shoulder.
“Did you really think it would be so easy to get rid of me?” she spoke, voice higher than usual, charged with malicious sweetness. “The things you’ve done for poor silly Prince Arthur!” She narrowed her eyes, looked at the king. “And for him, I suppose. What has he done to deserve it? Do you think he’d thank you if he knew?”
Merlin shot a glance at Uther. The king continued sitting there, motionless, the same vacant expression on his face.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Mim giggled. “He can’t hear us. Or rather, he’s not listening. All he cares about right now is his beloved Morgana who betrayed him. Sad stories are the best, don’t you think?”
“What have you done to him?”
A curt laugh, almost a gasp. Mim’s purple-and-violet garment had never looked more out of place.
“The things you’ve done to get to where you are!” Merlin mocked her tone. “You even took the shop. Did you kill Master William?”
“Master William retired,” she answered briskly. “That part is true. His successor, however…”
She trailed off, wearily. Merlin’s stomach lurched. He thought about kissing her – and was barely able to keep his balance at the onslaught of pity mixed with disgust and disappointment.
“How did Gaius not know?” he wondered.
Mim appeared insulted by the assumption. “I’m very crafty,” she whispered, darkly, “when it comes to the gruesome and grim.”
Perhaps she would tell him the rest of the story if he asked. But he was not interested. His emotions drained away, leaving boredom and emptiness behind.
“Leave Camelot,” he offered. Last chance.
“Merlin, we are soulmates,” Mim said ardently, taking a step towards him. He did not move. “We belong together! Come away with me. We are meant for each other.”
His heart skipped a beat. He said:
“I am meant for Arthur.”
Simple, clean-cut.
Her cheeks flushed in anger, red blots spreading over the porcelain-white skin.
“You chose your destiny,” she spat off. “But you didn’t choose it well!”
Her hand shot up, and Merlin mimicked her move without hesitation. She was faster. She hurled him against the wall. Pain jolted down his spine. He rose and attacked, conjuring up fire. It singed her dress and her hair, but overall it left her unharmed. Mim snarled at him.
His eyes flashed golden as he sent another jet of fire in her direction. It emblazoned a black scorchmark into the wall.
Mim swung backwards, body shrinking, feathers springing from her skin, a growing beak splitting her face. Merlin darted to the window. A small jackdaw was flying away. A jolt of magical energy pulsing hot in his hand, Merlin watched her until she became a barely visible dot in the sky and ultimately vanished beyond the clouds. Then he squeezed his fist, taking a shaky breath, and let the magic dissipate.
Slowly, he turned to Uther. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. He approached the silent king and looked into his eyes. Called his name softly. Covered the goblet with his palm and forced Uther to lower his hand. Finally, Uther looked at him, a bare hint of recognition in his eyes, still veiled with whatever disease Mim had planted in him. Merlin unclasped his fingers gently and took the goblet away from him.
Arthur, he thought dimly – and stalked off to fetch the prince.
* * *
Gaius marvels at Merlin’s uncanny luck. To do magic under the king’s nose is one thing; to withstand a magical duel right in front of him is something entirely different. The most reckless thing he has ever done; not that he had a choice. Gaius does not say anything, but he is glad that Mim is gone. And a little bit sympathetic. Merlin does not feel lucky at all.
* * *
Gaius had taken Mim’s journal to try and brew a potion to reverse the effect of Mim’s poison. Now that it was announced that the king was ill, everybody was fussing around, hoping that once Uther got better, things in the castle would finally go back to normal. Pre-Morgana normal. Pre-Mim normal.
Merlin stared at the floor, past the corner of his book of magic peeking from under the blanket. He did not feel like reading and he did not feel like sleeping. He did not feel like being, but that could hardly be helped.
“Father is well.” Arthur’s voice. Merlin glanced up to see him standing on the doorstep, hands folded across his chest. He forced a tiny smile. “So what happened?”
“I told her to leave Camelot. She didn’t take it well.”
“Do you suppose we’re ever going to see her again?”
“I’m sure of that. The question is when.”
Arthur pursed his lips. “Never is too soon for me.”
He looked strange, indecisive. He came closer, eyes wandering aimlessly over the setting.
Merlin stood up. “I’ll go… do something, sire.” He felt the weight of Arthur’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him back on the bed. Arthur sat down as well, pulled the book from beneath himself, awkwardly.
“What’s that?”
“My book of magic.”
Arthur shifted uncomfortably, holding the book like it could bite him any second, then placed it on his lap.
“So, uh… tell me something.” He turned the pages at random, stopped at the one depicting a blossom with dark-blue, arrow-shaped petals. “What’s this for?”
Merlin searched his face for traces of… He couldn’t say what he was looking for. But he was glad he did not find it.
He chuckled and shifted closer to Arthur and, for the first time since Arthur had discovered his secret, started telling him about magic.
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: PG
Timeline: post-series 3 [spoilers for all aired episodes]; loose sequel to After the Fires.
Summary: Merlin gets himself a stalker. Arthur pays the price. [Arthur & Merlin bromance/pre-slash/whatever they have in canon; hints of Merlin/semi-OFC]
Disclaimer: Merlin belongs to Shine and BBC. The Sword in the Stone belongs to T. H. White & Disney.
A/N: I’ve recently rewatched Disney’s The Sword in the Stone… and the crazy awesomeness of a certain lovely lady inspired me to write this piece of weirdness. I do realise it has sort of a Lila/Dexter vibe in places. Ahem.
Dedication: For e.nara who is all kinds of awesome and generates as many insane ideas as I do, because YES!
She comes along, a mash of purple and violet garments, a shock of dark hair and an attitude to build a whole new kingdom on, and Merlin instantly knows it is a bad thing to let her stick around. It’s just that kind of a gut feeling that should never be ignored; yet somehow, when her eyes light up golden and she winks at him, causing the pebbles under his feet to turn into flower petals, he forgets everything. She has him at these flower petals – and it’s final.
* * *
It was obvious that Arthur didn’t like Mim. True, she was a mere shopkeeper who succeeded Gaius’s oldtime supplier of herbs and took it upon herself to deliver the goods personally; she had neither many chances, nor reasons to cross paths with Prince Arthur. And it wasn’t that Merlin cared much what Arthur thought of her. Arthur called her Merlin’s “sweetheart”; a seemingly innocuous word sounded like an insult the way he said it. Maybe dry worms that she had once – surely accidentally – spilt over Arthur’s dinner were the reason. Herbal decoction stains all over Arthur’s cape may have also done the job. Or the fact that Arthur’s favourite sword nearly snapped in two right after Mim kept Merlin company while he polished it. Come to think of it, it hadn’t been the best idea to let her help him out with his chores.
“She’s not doing it on purpose, you know,” said Merlin as he walked into Arthur’s bedchamber, carrying the prince’s breakfast on a tray. “She’s just a bit clumsy, that’s all. And she wants to help. She’s very enthusiastic about helping. It doesn’t always turn out right, but…”
He shrugged and set the tray on the table. The silence in the room weighed down on him, laced with wordless disapproval.
“You’re awfully quiet today,” Merlin observed, and looked up. The room was empty. He looked around and called out Arthur’s name, hesitantly.
A lanky, shabby sparrow was sitting at the window-sill, and at some point, when the bird opened its beak and said in a rather familiar voice: “Merlin, I have news for you. Your sweetheart is a sorceress!” – Merlin was so busy struggling to keep from letting his amusement show that he very nearly forgot to be surprised. His facial expression froze pathetically somewhere mid-guh. He chewed on his lower lip and then fired in Mim’s defence:
“Is not.”
“Is too!” The sparrow ruffled up sullenly. “Why are we even having this conversation? My legs are so thin I fear they might break! Do something about it!”
Merlin scratched the back of his head. The solution was decidedly not coming to him.
“I suppose we could have Gwen kiss you.”
“Whatever for?”
“Well, in fairytales–.”
“This is not a fairytale, Merlin!” Arthur snapped. “And I’m not a frog. Do I look like one to you?”
Merlin regarded him thoughtfully. Arthur made quite a pitiable sparrow. He was a great deal thinner than his congeners pecking bread crumbs in the market square, and somewhat oblong. The feathers on top of his head stuck up, disheveled, and appeared to be somewhat lighter than those that covered the rest of his body.
The sparrow managed a frown. Things were getting very eerie.
“I’ll–” Merlin imitated a cough to disguise laughter that was dangerously close to bursting out of him. “I’ll go do something about this. Why don’t you wait over there?” He pointed at the wardrobe.
“I’m comfortable where I am, thank you very much,” said Arthur.
It didn’t really look that way, and curiosity had always been a vice Merlin was willing to give in to. He approached the sparrow cautiously and before the bird could react, Merlin’s fingers were wrapped around his fragile body. Arthur demanded that his “dimwit of a servant” let him go, and broke into irritable chirping.
Merlin opened his palm so that Arthur could stand on it and raised it over his head.
“It’s dangerous by the window,” he said amiably. “There might be pigeons. They’re bigger and scarier than you are. And you never know who might come into the chambers. They might shoo you away.”
“Who in their right mind would simply barge into the prince’s chambers?” Arthur blurted out.
Merlin wisely kept his mouth shut. Mind you, about intruders only. That was where his wisdom ran out.
“You can’t fly, can you?” he grinned, bringing his hand up to his face. The sparrow glared daggers at him.
“Of course I can fly! It goes like this.”
He started flapping his wings, looking determined. He tucked up his legs and attempted to keep in the air – and then he dropped haplessly onto Merlin’s palm. Merlin swallowed a snicker, judging it to be insensitive at the moment, and carefully placed Arthur on the table next to a fruit bowl.
“Arthur,” he called, softly. The sparrow folded his wings. The sulk made him look somewhat rounder, like a small, moody ball of feathers. “Are you all right?”
“I most certainly am not!” Arthur retorted. “I’m a bird who can’t fly. Scratch that: I’m a bird! Fix this!”
Merlin gritted his teeth. Mim had some serious explaining to do.
* * *
She is more threatening than Nimueh or Morgause because he does not see the danger in her. Not even when she flashes her toothy, catlike grin at him and declares them soulmates. I was in love once, he ruminates. I still am. Darling, she laughs, love has nothing to do with it. She tells him that what he feels for the Lady of the Lake is not love, but regret. Soft pining for something that could have been, but was not. She has a point, he thinks dimly before it even occurs to him to ask how she knows about Freya. He is almost accustomed to her knowing all kinds of things.
* * *
“You turned Arthur into a sparrow.”
Mim rounded her eyes. “Good gracious, did I? Yes, I suppose I did.” A slow, satisfied smirk spilt over her lips. “He makes a cute bird, doesn’t he?”
“Well, turn him back!” Merlin demanded. “He’s a royal heir. You can’t do this.” Besides, he didn’t think Arthur looked cute as a sparrow. Ragged, yes. Hungry and incapable of looking after himself, yes. But not cute. Not to mention, he could hardly train his knights while in that form.
“He was going to kick me out of my shop,” said Mim.
“Nah, it’s just how Arthur is. It was the worms talking. He’s short-tempered, but he doesn’t go around abusing honest traders.”
Mim arched her eyebrows. For a moment she pretended to consider his words; then a high-pitched giggle escaped her lips.
“Why are you doing this?”
She leaned into him, planted a quick, light kiss on the tip of his nose, and breathed:
“Because I’m the magnificent, marvelous, mad Madam Mim!”
* * *
Merlin is not smitten. That’s not a proper word. But even Gaius makes jokes about it. It’s just that more often than not Merlin feels too alone in his skin. To have another one like him, so close, so willing is a temptation even if most of the time he is at his wit’s end about her antics. This place is turning you into something that you’re not, Mim purrs in his ear. A commoner. She works her magic right under Uther’s nose. He watches her and, despite himself, he agrees with her.
* * *
Merlin cleared his throat, having spent a little too much time calling the Great Dragon who appeared unwilling to show up. When the thunderous flapping of wings finally announced the Dragon’s arrival, Merlin stood up and hastily recomposed his features from a mask of tragic exasperation into a semblance of a greeting smile.
“Do not tell me you need a ride, young warlock,” the Dragon said as he lowered himself on the ground.
“Some other time,” Merlin chuckled. It felt embarrassing all of a sudden to discuss the nature of Arthur’s predicament. Merlin attempted to begin from afar. “What do you know of magic transformations?”
“A dangerous thing if handled incorrectly. I would not advise you to attempt it.”
“How do I break a spell that’s already been cast over someone?”
The Dragon eyed him for a few long, awkwardly silent moments, then snorted. “I suggest you give me a bigger picture, Merlin. I cannot help you if you are hiding details from me.”
Five seconds into the story Merlin remembered why exactly he wanted to keep the “details” from Kilgarrah. The Dragon was shaking with laughter. He tended to display his sense of humour at the strangest of times; mostly when Merlin did not feel like sharing his merriment.
“The magic of this kind is exceptionally strong,” the Dragon said finally, still cackling under his breath, short of blowing smoke through his nostrils. “The enchantment usually breaks when the enchanted has learnt his lesson.”
Merlin knitted his eyebrows. That was not something Arthur was going to enjoy. “What kind of a lesson?”
“That I cannot tell you, young warlock. I doubt even the sorcerer that cast it knows that.”
At that, he took off in flight, leaving Merlin aghast at the very thought of having to break the news to Arthur.
* * *
He cannot explain why she has seized his attention. She is – unwilling to use the word “mad”, he fumbles for a milder definition – eccentric, and she has the same air of loneliness about her that Morgana did. That Merlin himself does. Even though Arthur knows, it feels like he does not want to know. There is a chasm within him that grows deeper every time Merlin brings up the M-word. There is a twin chasm within Merlin. Mim works on closing it bit by bit.
* * *
Upon returning to the castle Merlin found the prince on top of the wardrobe, right where he had left him. Arthur peered down on him, his small black eyes reflecting a lot more misery than Merlin thought was possible.
“The good news is,” said Merlin, feigning cheer, “the spell will eventually break. The bad news is that it’ll hold until you’ve learnt your lesson.”
“The only lesson I’m learning here,” Arthur muttered, “is that magic is evil. And that’s the one my father’s been teaching me my whole life!”
Merlin sighed. Transformations certainly did not do Arthur any good, personality-wise. The one thing to be glad of was that the king still would not receive any visitors, so perhaps they could keep the incident undisclosed for the time being.
Merlin removed Arthur from the wardrobe and placed him on his shoulder. It would be safer if the prince spent the night in Merlin’s room. The sparrow clutched at the fabric of Merlin’s shirt with his claws and kept proud silence on the way to Gaius’s chambers. Fortunately, the physician was out. Merlin put the bird on the table and poured some bread crumbs in front of him, which earned him yet another glum look. They did not say a word to each other all evening, and Merlin went to bed, feeling like all of it was somehow his fault.
He did not know how long he had been asleep before something sharp started poking him on the nosebridge. A demanding voice droned monotonously, “Merlin! Me-e-erlin!” He blinked his eyes, still half-asleep, and received another sensitive jab on the face, this time closer to his cheekbone.
“Arthur?” Merlin couldn’t say why he was whispering. Perhaps because he sounded angrier this way and he wanted Arthur to notice it. “You nearly plucked my eye out.”
“Nonsense,” said Arthur in an authoritative voice. “My beak’s not that big. I’ve been thinking about this lesson I need to learn. I think I know what it is.”
Merlin yawned. He was certain it could wait till morning, but seeing as Arthur had started clambering on top of him to prevent him from turning around and falling asleep again, the prince would disagree.
“I need to learn to fly!” Arthur declared. “There are no birds that cannot do it. Unfortunately, they can’t help me. I’ve discovered I don’t speak sparrow. It’s up to you then.”
“But I’ve never been a bird.”
Arthur stomped his foot, prodding Merlin’s skin with his claws. “You’re the magic man here. Think of something!”
“Uhm, so, just flap your wings and–.”
“Really, Merlin? And here I was wondering what these things were for!”
Merlin sat up. He lit a candle and saw that Arthur had rolled off of him and was glaring at him with an all too familiar mix of irritation and determination. He spread his wings and fanned his tail, looking much more professional than he did during his previous attempt. Merlin watched him rise a few inches above the bed – and topple down like a miniature feathery comet. The feat repeated several times more.
“Maybe you should try a higher ground,” Merlin suggested. He climbed out of bed, opened his cupboard and seated Arthur onto the threshold. “Here. Why don’t you glide down from here? It might be easier to hold your balance this way.”
Arthur did as he was told – and for some time he was indeed soaring in the air, wings stretched and feet tucked in. Merlin failed to see exactly where things went wrong. The flight ended much the same way every other attempt had done: Arthur smashed into the wall, slid down and collapsed on the floor.
“I think I’ve broken my beak,” he coughed out in a strangled voice.
Merlin picked him up. “Looks fine to me. I can’t imagine why you wouldn’t be able to fly. You’re scrawny. You’re much heavier in human form, but you pull all kinds of amazing stunts. So why not flying?”
“If that’s supposed to make me feel better, there must have been a forked road somewhere in that comforting speech, and you’ve taken the wrong turn,” Arthur pouted. “If I only had someone to show me what to do.” He fell quiet and then suddenly jumped up. “Wait a minute! You have someone to show me what to do!”
Before Merlin could voice his objections, Arthur was nodding energetically like it was the brightest idea in the world. Which Merlin was sure it was not.
* * *
Uther is getting worse by the hour, Gaius tells him when he returns from the king’s chambers one evening. For some reason, he is the only person the king will consent to seeing. What Morgana did, really destroyed him. Why do you care? Mim asks. She touches his face in the way that makes Merlin shift uncomfortably. He remembers their first meeting. The strong smell of herbs in her basket nipping at his nostrils. Crushed flowers under his feet. She had a reference from Master William, an old friend of Gaius, the previous owner of the shop. Merlin starts piecing the story together.
* * *
Arthur watched him, black eyes unreadable, as Merlin lowered his head, having just called out to Kilgarrah. The aftereffects of the call still rumbled in his throat.
“Will he come?” Arthur asked after a long, sleep-inducing period of silence.
Merlin shrugged. “He has to. He’s not going to like it, though.”
“It’s about time I met him,” Arthur muttered. For some reason Merlin felt like smiling.
The wait seemed to last for ages. When the sound of the Dragon’s mighty wings came rolling through the sky, Arthur looked up and then tilted his head to the side in a very birdlike manner. His feathers stood on end. Having undoubtedly recognised the sound, he tensed, apprehensive, but it was hard to tell what was really going on in his head.
The Dragon landed before Merlin and simply stared at him for a moment or two. Merlin searched his muzzle for traces of anger, but found none.
“Young Prince Arthur, I assume,” the Dragon rumbled finally, his lips stretched thinly over his jaws as if he was going to break out laughing any minute.
Arthur swung forth on Merlin’s shoulder, a little shakily, spread his wings and managed a semblance of a bow. All things considered, he looked exceptionally regal.
“The time is not right,” Kilgarrah said, “but let us not waste more of it. We have much to discuss.” He leaned forward and lowered his head. “Merlin.”
Merlin helped the sparrow move on top of the Dragon’s head and watched them leave, marveling vaguely at how natural they looked together. Last time they met, they were enemies. What they were now, nobody could say. Merlin smiled wearily and sat down under a tree, waiting for them to return.
Time passed slowly. The wind brushing gently through the tree-tops had almost lulled Merlin to sleep when he heard Arthur crying out his name. The sparrow whooshed above him like a downy missile. Merlin couldn’t recall the last time he had seen the prince so genuinely happy about anything.
“You’re flying!” laughed Merlin.
“I’m flying!” echoed Arthur, somersaulted in the air and flopped down on Merlin’s head. “Need to work on my landing, though.”
Merlin grinned and started walking towards the castle, looking back briefly, just in time to spot a large shadow diving into the low-hanging veil of clouds. A dragon teaching a sparrow to fly. Merlin swallowed a chuckle and decided not to concentrate on the absurdity of this.
“What did you two talk about?” he wanted to know.
Arthur shifted, pulling Merlin’s hair while trying to untangle his foot. “Me becoming a great king. You being a dolt.”
“Really?”
“No. I can’t tell you.” Having freed himself, he flew down on Merlin’s shoulder and perched there, clinging fast to Merlin’s shirt. “I could make a nest on your head, did you know? Your hair is horrible.”
Merlin rolled his eyes and said nothing. The silence was somehow getting warmer.
* * *
Madam Mim is harmless, the Dragon tells him. She knows not true magic. Hers are frivolous tricks and nothing more. But your paths are entwined, young warlock. Good entwined or bad entwined? Merlin asks, hope building up. It splashes just below the surface, just enough to reflect upon his face like the last, dying rays of sunlight over the water. You know the answer to your question. Somehow, Merlin does not like the sound of that.
* * *
Along came sunrise, and Arthur was still a bird. A rather hyperactive bird whose endless pirouettes under the ceiling of Merlin’s little room bore a striking resemblance to the convulsions of a fly caught in a spiderweb.
“I’m starting to think you’re enjoying it,” Merlin noted. He was sprawled on the bed, watching Arthur with a grin of amusement. It was still too early for Gaius to require his help, and he didn’t think Arthur would be needing his clothes, armour or breakfast any time soon.
Arthur threw himself onto the pillow beside Merlin’s head, a rare sight of a laughing bird.
“I’d rather be a hawk or a falcon, you know,” he said nonchalantly and mimicked a shrug. “Still, I cannot begin to describe how amazing flying is.” He clicked his beak, which Merlin knew was his way of smiling now. “A lesson learnt. But… I thought I would have turned back by now.”
“Maybe we should have Gwen kiss you after all.”
As difficult as it was to interpret the sparrow’s facial expressions, the look Arthur flashed him spelled nothing but irritation.
“What is it with you and your obsession with Gwen and kissing? Trust me, I would kiss half the court starting with you here if I knew it would help. But it won’t!” Arthur shook his head. “Besides, I don’t want her to see me like this.”
Merlin snorted. “She saw you with donkey ears! What could be worse?”
“Yes, but everything else was mine!”
Merlin chose not to pursue the matter. Instead, he leaned into Arthur and planted a quick, clumsy kiss on top of his head. Arthur leapt back, flailing his wings, and nearly tumbled off the pillow.
“Wh-what do you think you are doing!?”
“Testing your theory,” Merlin said blithely.
“Keep your big, toothy mouth away from me,” said Arthur, desperately trying to regain his more or less composed demeanour.
Merlin grinned. The morning was shaping up to be entertaining.
“Maybe Mim should kiss you.” Naturally, he could not miss one final gibe.
“I am not kissing that… woman even for all the magic in the world!” Arthur flared up. “I hope you washed your mouth after you did.”
“My personal life is none of your concern,” Merlin laughed.
“That’s because you don’t have any,” the sparrow muttered and promptly flew up before Merlin could execute his vengeance in the form of tossing him off the bed.
Arthur hovered over Merlin, chirping gleefully, sounding a lot like he was laughing. Merlin almost expected him to stick out his tongue; it would be silly, but true to the atmosphere they had built up with their joking around.
“Seriously, though,” Merlin pointed out, “you’re still a bird.”
Arthur landed on his knee and said, for some reason skipping the usual snappy comeback the likes of, “your observation skills are extraordinary!”:
“I’m telling you, evil magic is way better. It’s predictable. There has to be something evil about this.”
“Too bad I’m not evil, eh? It would have given us some insight.”
“No, Merlin, you’re predictably an idiot. That is no help at all.”
Here goes the snappy comeback, Merlin thought – and decided to ask the next evil sorcerer who came their way to turn Arthur into something more characteristic of his nasty personality. Like a fat, wart-covered toad.
“I may be a sparrow,” Arthur said, throwing out his chest, “but I am still a prince. So I command you: go to that Madam Mim and find out what I have to do to regain my own form.” Merlin hopped off the bed, unable to contain a snort of laughter. As he made it out of the room, he heard Arthur add strictly in his wake, “Kiss her if you must!”
* * *
Things are easier now that Arthur has been made aware of his manservant’s secret. It makes them partners in crime from a certain point of view, and Merlin cannot but enjoy it. Yet Arthur’s mood swings come in waves: one minute he is smiling at the sight of a simplest trick, the other a frown comes up, and there is that distance between them again, growing, growing, growing. He will never understand you, Mim whispers, brushing her fingers through Merlin’s hair. Even if he pretends to. He is not like his father, Merlin tells her because that is the best argument in Arthur’s defence he can come up with right now. No, she answers. But he is not like us either.
* * *
When Merlin knocked on the door of Mim’s cottage, it was still too early for customers, but he felt that she was awake. She made him wait for a little while and then opened the door, her eyes instantly meeting his.
“Merlin,” she beamed at him, the smile if only a little too strained. “What a nice surprise. How’s dear Prince Arthur?”
“He has learnt to fly,” Merlin said; it was the best thing that came to mind.
He was still unsure how to act, but he knew that he had to keep her distracted long enough to find out anything about the spell she had cast upon Arthur. That called for some unorthodox measures. Merlin took her by the hand. She glanced warily at his fingers interlaced with hers.
“Mim,” he began. “I thought about what you said. About us being soulmates. And I think you are right. And I–.”
After that, everything went down really quickly. Her cheeks flushed. She grabbed the front of his shirt and pulled him inside the house, knocking the door shut without touching it. She pushed Merlin against the wall, fitting herself snugly against him, and clamped her lips over his in the most aggressive (and to be perfectly honest, a little terrifying) kiss he had ever experienced. Merlin allowed himself to slide one hand down to the small of her back while he was prompting a small stone pestle to jump up on the window-sill and smash the window. Mim had her eyes closed, so she missed the flash of golden in his. The glass shattered. Mim pulled away and looked around so abruptly that her hair lashed Merlin across the face.
“I’ll be right back.” She smiled coquettishly and moved to the door to have a look outside.
As soon as she was out of sight, Merlin darted across the room and dug behind the counter in search of anything that could help Arthur and him find a solution. The floor was specked by shriveled remnants of herbs. A heady, spicy smell curled off of the floorboards. Merlin discovered some disorderly paperwork piled up beneath the counter, but nothing that was remotely like records of any magic.
Merlin craned out his neck. The front door was half-open; he could hear Mim’s voice coming from the street. Uncertain of how much time he had, Merlin withdrew into the back room where Mim kept her stock. She lived in a small room upstairs, but Merlin suspected she would not keep any incriminating evidence there since that would be the first place where the king’s men would conduct a search. He rummaged through wisps of fragrant herbs, dinned with vials full of scented oils, fumbled between the rows of small jars of medical ointments. Finally, when it seemed to him that he was running out of time, he extended his hand and whispered the words of a searching spell. He had not wanted to use it because such methods would often leave a mess behind.
A shiver ran through a line of clay jars. One of them balanced precariously on the edge of the shelf, but Merlin pushed it back, eyes screwed up tentatively. A book in a leather binding, about half the size of his own magic folio, shot from behind the jars and into his hand. With a soft downturn of his lips, he shoved it into the folds of his jacket and hurried back to the shop. Just before Mim entered, he remembered a pebble that he had collected prior to coming here. He tossed it on the floor, right in the middle of the shards of broken glass, to complete the scene. Mim’s gaze slid across the floor, tripping vaguely over the pebble. Merlin smiled and licked his kiss-swollen lips.
Mim wrapped her arms around him, ready to resume the interrupted activities. The door was once again safely shut. She did not say a word.
“You should leave Camelot,” Merlin blurted out, commencing Stage Two of his cunning plan.
At the moment, Mim was busy nipping at his neck. His words caught her by surprise. She closed her teeth around his skin a little too tight, and Merlin yelped, unprepared. She pulled away and regarded him apprehensively, a slight frown of discontent running down the smoothness of her forehead.
“What I mean,” Merlin took a deep breath, “is that they’ll never understand us here. They’ll never approve.” His voice dropped to a confidential whisper, growing hotter by the minute. “What do they know about us? Arthur. He will be a problem. We cannot let them tear us apart. We are soulmates, aren’t we?”
“Arthur is but a bird,” Mim smirked. “What can he do?”
Merlin shook his head. “There is Gaius, too. It’s not safe here. Go. Go now!” He took a dramatic step away from her, hands held out as if unable to let go. “I’ll take care of Arthur and then catch up with you.” A hint of darkness in his voice. “Without its crown prince, Camelot will surely fall. Then we shall return–.”
A pause designed to let her interject. She took the bait.
“And reap the fruit of our victory!” Eyes dark, languorous; lips alien, taut over her face in a twisted smile. Merlin forgot he had seen beauty in her.
He ebbed back. She clutched at his shirt and pulled herself up to him and kissed him hard. He responded, tasting bitterness and mania. He felt profoundly sad for her and he wondered how he had come to be different from her, from Nimueh, from Morgana. Why hadn’t his magic corrupted him? Why hadn’t it feasted on him like it did on all of them?
* * *
He shifts, lest Mim should feel the book, a hard, rectangular shape between their bodies, and breaks off the kiss. Offers her a tentative smile. Her face lights up. He realises with a start that she has real feelings for him, rooted deeper than desires of the flesh or a longing for an equally gifted companion. Perhaps she loves him. Perhaps she thinks she does. Thoughts of love, they still hurt. He puts on the façade.
* * *
When Merlin returned home, Arthur was hopping across the table, pecking at bread crumbs, like it was a steeplechase. His mirth catching, Merlin found himself chuckling and grinning with amusement. Arthur’s head snapped up. He clicked his beak, looking, as far as Merlin could tell, rather amazed.
“What is that?”
“Mim’s book of magic.” Merlin slumped on the chair, laid the book on the table and opened it. “More like a journal, but there still might be something of use to us.”
“No, I mean, what’s that on your neck?” Arthur quipped. If he were human, he would probably be smiling that nasty knowing smile of his.
Merlin’s hand flew up to the bitemark, a parting souvenir from Mim. He pulled his neckerchief up and flashed Arthur a moody look.
“Let us not discuss the lengths I’ve gone to to obtain this information.”
Arthur looked a little too pleased with himself but, fortunately, refrained from further questioning. He settled somewhere between Merlin’s elbow and the frayed edge of the book and surveyed the open page. His black, glistening eyes gave nothing away. Merlin felt a strange sense of peace descending upon him.
“Found anything?” Arthur asked what seemed to be hours later.
Merlin shook himself, as if he, too, were a bird waking from a dream.
“Not as such. It confirms my suspicions though.”
“What suspicions?”
Merlin licked his lips.
“The spell has nothing to do with her, just as it has nothing to do with your form of the sparrow. The lesson you need to learn… She doesn’t know what it is. It’s not her condition, it’s the magic’s. So until you learn something that is of use to you as Prince Arthur, you’re not going to be Prince Arthur.”
He wavered at the very end when he glanced at Arthur and saw that he had drawn himself together, his feathers puckered, wings folded carefully. Merlin drew in a breath.
“How long do sparrows live by the way?” Arthur asked in a tone of a person trying and failing to keep despondency at bay.
“Oh, come on! We’ll find a solution.”
“We? Last time I checked you were not Prince Arthur.” Unexpected warmth seeped into his voice.
Merlin averted his eyes.
“I’ll keep looking.”
He held his hand over the book, the shade of spread fingers crawling over the messy writing and brisk sketches. The pages rustled quietly as he leafed through the book without touching it. The margins were dotted with Mim’s own commentaries, which had nothing to do with magical transformations, but a lot to do with medical brews. In spite of her casual demeanour, Mim was actually very meticulous when it came to her work.
“You like her, don’t you?” Arthur cocked his head, scrutinizing him.
Merlin shrugged. “I did. Before I found out that she wanted what everyone else wanted. To bring about the fall of Camelot.”
He snickered at how bitter and sarcastic it sounded. Arthur’s intense look unsettled him.
“Not everyone is like that,” Arthur murmured. “You’re not like that.” He looked away and then made a rapid clicking noise with his beak that reminded Merlin so much of a chuckle. “Then again, it’s probably because you’re such an oaf.”
Merlin snorted, a treacherous stinging sensation in his eyes.
“You suspected something, didn’t you? She told me you were going to kick out of the shop.”
“No, I just didn’t like her.”
This time, Merlin allowed himself a burst of full-fledged laughter. Arthur hopped closer. The human Arthur would most likely give Merlin an awkward nudge meant to cheer him up. The sparrow Arthur had no means for that, so he simply poked Merlin’s hand with his beak. The gesture was oddly touching.
“Must be lonely,” he said quietly. “But at the same time it’s unavoidable.” Merlin frowned slightly. “It is in you,” Arthur went on. “When I couldn’t fly, I felt as if a huge chunk of me was missing. It was almost physical. It must be the same for you if you renounce your magic.”
Not knowing what to say, Merlin nodded slowly and reminded himself to ask Gaius how long sparrows lived.
* * *
Merlin has been offered power more than once. By Nimueh, by Sigan; now, indirectly, by Mim. At times he wondered if he had been right to reject it. Now he knows. No power, no amount of violence would have given him this strange, understanding look in Arthur’s eyes.
* * *
Sunlight crept in surreptitiously through the window. Merlin winced without opening his eyes, and rolled to his side. He had studied Mim’s book from cover to cover and found nothing that would provide a solution. He had gone to bed just a few hours before sunrise, Arthur nesting nonchalantly on his pillow (even as a sparrow, the prince would not relinquish his regal ways).
Merlin yawned and stretched himself – and his hand met an unexpected obstacle. Merlin wrinkled his forehead. The obstacle was shoulder-shaped and appeared to rest in the close proximity of him. He opened his eyes and, with a sharp intake of breath, discovered a very human Arthur lying next to him.
Merlin shook him energetically and called his name. The prince wrinkled his face.
“Merlin, for the love of–!”
Instinctively, he pressed his hand to his eyes to drive away the sunlight – and then his eyes snapped open. He stared at his hand like it was the most miraculous thing he had ever seen. Merlin grinned. Arthur jumped off the bed with a start, eyes blazing, all the blackness drained away from them now.
“I’m back! I am myself!” He laughed and threw his hands up, looking overwhelmed and a little disbelieving.
Merlin chuckled and unwittingly mimicked his gesture. They looked at each other.
“Nah.” Merlin began to lower his hands. “We’ve been there once.”
Arthur grinned and closed the distance between them and pulled Merlin into a fast embrace. Merlin couldn’t hold back laughter that spilled over Arthur’s shoulder and rang across the room.
“But I don’t understand,” said Arthur as he pulled away. “What have I learnt?”
If he were completely honest, Merlin himself was not entirely sure what the lesson had been. He had his guesses, ambitious as they were, but now was not the time to share them with Arthur, whose mind was already far away from the little bedroom in the court physician’s chambers.
“I shall go see my father,” Arthur enumerated rapidly, “and the knights, and Gwen. They must be wondering–!” He rushed to the door, threw it open and flashed past Gaius, smiling like an idiot, dropping a hasty, “Good morning, Gaius!” in his wake.
The old physician raised his eyebrows quizzically and glanced at Merlin who responded with a non-committal, sort of a don’t-ask shrug.
* * *
Gaius had once pointed out that Merlin’s life would have been much easier if Uther had been dead. True. So true that sometimes Merlin wonders if he would have done things differently, given the chance. Only for a moment.
* * *
The feather was light-brown and weightless. It swirled in the air like an oversized snowflake on a winter night. Merlin held up his hand and let it swing slowly onto his palm. It was a sparrow feather. For one sickening moment Merlin imagined it was Arthur’s.
He managed to remember that Arthur was no longer a bird before all sorts of brutal images flooded his mind. He shook his head, trying to ignore the violent pang in his heart, and then he saw many more feathers lying in a string on the floor, as if leading somewhere. Frowning, he followed them, half-expecting to end up by Arthur’s door. But the final destination did not happen to be Arthur’s bedchamber.
It was Uther’s.
Merlin halted. He debated whether he should knock. After all, this could mean nothing. All right, it certainly did mean that a bird had suffered to produce so many feathers, but apart from that–. He drew in a sharp breath and pushed the door open and poked his head inside.
Silence.
It reminded him surreally of the day he had found Arthur the scrawny sparrow sitting on the window-sill, glaring daggers at him.
“Your Majesty?” Merlin called, hesitantly.
Great. Uther would be extremely pleased to see an insolent servant in the grip of catastrophic paranoia invade his chambers when he had explicitly stated he did not want to see anyone.
Merlin gave himself a mental slap – and slid inside the room. Draught slithered in through a half-open window. Merlin shivered from crypt-like chill.
“Hello, darling,” said Mim’s voice.
Merlin compressed his lips. Why did evil sorcerers always have to be so dramatic? Arthur was right: evil equaled predictable. Merlin turned to face her.
All right, maybe not so predictable. Mim stood by the chair, and in the chair was Uther, face blank, hand clutching a goblet frozen on the way to his mouth. He appeared entranced, old and vulnerable. Mim was smiling, fingers resting on the king’s shoulder.
“Did you really think it would be so easy to get rid of me?” she spoke, voice higher than usual, charged with malicious sweetness. “The things you’ve done for poor silly Prince Arthur!” She narrowed her eyes, looked at the king. “And for him, I suppose. What has he done to deserve it? Do you think he’d thank you if he knew?”
Merlin shot a glance at Uther. The king continued sitting there, motionless, the same vacant expression on his face.
“Oh, don’t worry,” Mim giggled. “He can’t hear us. Or rather, he’s not listening. All he cares about right now is his beloved Morgana who betrayed him. Sad stories are the best, don’t you think?”
“What have you done to him?”
A curt laugh, almost a gasp. Mim’s purple-and-violet garment had never looked more out of place.
“The things you’ve done to get to where you are!” Merlin mocked her tone. “You even took the shop. Did you kill Master William?”
“Master William retired,” she answered briskly. “That part is true. His successor, however…”
She trailed off, wearily. Merlin’s stomach lurched. He thought about kissing her – and was barely able to keep his balance at the onslaught of pity mixed with disgust and disappointment.
“How did Gaius not know?” he wondered.
Mim appeared insulted by the assumption. “I’m very crafty,” she whispered, darkly, “when it comes to the gruesome and grim.”
Perhaps she would tell him the rest of the story if he asked. But he was not interested. His emotions drained away, leaving boredom and emptiness behind.
“Leave Camelot,” he offered. Last chance.
“Merlin, we are soulmates,” Mim said ardently, taking a step towards him. He did not move. “We belong together! Come away with me. We are meant for each other.”
His heart skipped a beat. He said:
“I am meant for Arthur.”
Simple, clean-cut.
Her cheeks flushed in anger, red blots spreading over the porcelain-white skin.
“You chose your destiny,” she spat off. “But you didn’t choose it well!”
Her hand shot up, and Merlin mimicked her move without hesitation. She was faster. She hurled him against the wall. Pain jolted down his spine. He rose and attacked, conjuring up fire. It singed her dress and her hair, but overall it left her unharmed. Mim snarled at him.
His eyes flashed golden as he sent another jet of fire in her direction. It emblazoned a black scorchmark into the wall.
Mim swung backwards, body shrinking, feathers springing from her skin, a growing beak splitting her face. Merlin darted to the window. A small jackdaw was flying away. A jolt of magical energy pulsing hot in his hand, Merlin watched her until she became a barely visible dot in the sky and ultimately vanished beyond the clouds. Then he squeezed his fist, taking a shaky breath, and let the magic dissipate.
Slowly, he turned to Uther. The hairs at the back of his neck stood on end. He approached the silent king and looked into his eyes. Called his name softly. Covered the goblet with his palm and forced Uther to lower his hand. Finally, Uther looked at him, a bare hint of recognition in his eyes, still veiled with whatever disease Mim had planted in him. Merlin unclasped his fingers gently and took the goblet away from him.
Arthur, he thought dimly – and stalked off to fetch the prince.
* * *
Gaius marvels at Merlin’s uncanny luck. To do magic under the king’s nose is one thing; to withstand a magical duel right in front of him is something entirely different. The most reckless thing he has ever done; not that he had a choice. Gaius does not say anything, but he is glad that Mim is gone. And a little bit sympathetic. Merlin does not feel lucky at all.
* * *
Gaius had taken Mim’s journal to try and brew a potion to reverse the effect of Mim’s poison. Now that it was announced that the king was ill, everybody was fussing around, hoping that once Uther got better, things in the castle would finally go back to normal. Pre-Morgana normal. Pre-Mim normal.
Merlin stared at the floor, past the corner of his book of magic peeking from under the blanket. He did not feel like reading and he did not feel like sleeping. He did not feel like being, but that could hardly be helped.
“Father is well.” Arthur’s voice. Merlin glanced up to see him standing on the doorstep, hands folded across his chest. He forced a tiny smile. “So what happened?”
“I told her to leave Camelot. She didn’t take it well.”
“Do you suppose we’re ever going to see her again?”
“I’m sure of that. The question is when.”
Arthur pursed his lips. “Never is too soon for me.”
He looked strange, indecisive. He came closer, eyes wandering aimlessly over the setting.
Merlin stood up. “I’ll go… do something, sire.” He felt the weight of Arthur’s hand on his shoulder, pushing him back on the bed. Arthur sat down as well, pulled the book from beneath himself, awkwardly.
“What’s that?”
“My book of magic.”
Arthur shifted uncomfortably, holding the book like it could bite him any second, then placed it on his lap.
“So, uh… tell me something.” He turned the pages at random, stopped at the one depicting a blossom with dark-blue, arrow-shaped petals. “What’s this for?”
Merlin searched his face for traces of… He couldn’t say what he was looking for. But he was glad he did not find it.
He chuckled and shifted closer to Arthur and, for the first time since Arthur had discovered his secret, started telling him about magic.
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