Chapter Text
Camelot was beautiful, Merlin could attest to that and more. Ealdor, a small village in Essetir, was where she had been born, but she was always at odds with the people there, never quite fitting in. Part of her had hoped, on her long and tiring journey, if Camelot could one day be a place she called home.
She had watered that seed of hope with drops of desperation, feeling it grow the further she strayed from her mother and Will. She missed them fiercely. Merlin wondered if she could keep the ruse with Gaius, if she wouldn't mess up too badly as he trained her to one day be a physician like him. And surely she could find some other form of work if her clumsiness turned too impairing, in a city as vast as Camelot.
The seed had bloomed when she entered the city. Merlin had pushed her way through a road jammed by carts and people pouring in and out of the thoroughfare. Soaring spires and turrets welcomed her sight, her ears were immediately cocooned in music ; lute, tambours, and loud voices filled her ears, combined with the smells of roasted meat and vegetables—everything in Camelot was so big and intense, Merlin had never felt this full of wonder.
She couldn't contain her smile, excited at the prospect of living and learning here.
And finally, the seed had quietly died when she watched the king, Uther Pendragon, order a man be killed.
Let this serve as a lesson to you all.
A brutal wake up call, though not her first.
She got that same sinking feeling that had etched herself the moment she had understood how different she was to everyone else. But this time neither nor Will nor her mother had been there to try and mask the awful truth. Merlin knew what awaited her if she was found out, and part of her wondered if being so close to Uther Pendragon was such a good idea after all, if staying in dull Ealdor might have been better for her prospects, but she knew she wouldn't make a different choice. I can’t run from myself.
Merlin had heard the condemned man’s mother scream, and she had seen for the first time magic not by her doing, something controlled and with purpose, she had heard the spell and wondered if she could do something similar to that. Disappear in dust and wind.
She pushed it all down, deep down, and went seeking Gaius.
Her secret had been kept for less than a minute from Gaius, something Merlin was not particularly proud of. Some would describe her bed as tiny and uncomfortable, the room was shabby and the air a little oppressing, and she had spied cobwebs and grit on most surfaces. But Merlin couldn't quite help herself from smiling.
She opened the shutter above her bed, revealing a small window which, when opened, allowed her to take in Camelot as dusk set over. Flickering torches light the city aglow, as if giving her a personal light show for welcome.
That night she fell asleep without brushing her hair, something that will surely result in hard tangles on the morrow. Will had once thrown japs at her for still having her mother do her hair while being a woman grown, some habits die hard, and that was one she had not wanted to die at all. Merlin knew how to plait her hair, thank you very much, she just preferred the way her mother did it, the way her long fingers would slightly brush against her scalp, sending warm shivers while they sat in low fire light. The shadow of her mother combing through her dark strands, slowly, as if every session could be the last.
The next day, Gaius gives her a warning and a mission. She left the parameters wearing clothes Will had lent her for her travel, it being safer to travel alone as a man and all. She had slipped into a tunic, black trousers, brown boots, a brown jacket, and her red neckerchief that she slightly favored over her blue one. The clothes almost dwarfed her as Will had always been a stocky youth, whereas she was frequently described as scrawny, but it was not the least unusual for folks of her station to wear hand-me-downs. Merlin, for once, was glad her tall height, long face, meager breasts, and cut through bone structure had proved themselves useful in fooling the few travelling men she had encountered on her journey to Camelot.
They had all been nice, sharing meat and bread, and stories. Merlin truly did not think any harm would have come to her, but she remembered the way her mother’s hand clutched her arm, nails digging into her flesh and leaving half moon marks, all but telling her to perish the thought of travelling as a girl.
Her features had served their purpose in protecting her, and they shall for a while longer until Merlin earns her keep and more to buy some simple dresses, the ones she had, she didn't anymore, her bag was too small to carry more than a few breeches and tunics. The hat Will had given her proved itself double useful as it hid her long raven hair, and perhaps a little less importantly, it’s unkept state.
Merlin's eyes widened in horror, Ser Owain had drunk the potion in full, she hoped that no true harm would come of it.
With her errand of the day done, she skipped her way back, taking a small detour to roam the castle in, in no hurry at all.
It’s by the courtyard that she stumbled upon an unhonorable scene. Some prat in training gear, a noble or rich merchant’s son she guessed, putting on a quite humiliating show for his row of equally prattish friends. Merlin watched with unease as the bullied man stumbled, making the target fly across the courtyard and at Merlin’s feet.
The man goes to pick it up, laughter pouring out of the courtyard idiots hurrying him to put on the farce again, Merlin prevents him from lifting it by pressing her foot down.
“Hey...Come on, that’s enough.”
“What?” The prat draws closer and Merlin remarks that he is cursedly handsome. So annoying.
She tries to make her voice resonate deeper, “You’ve had your fun, my friend.” She’s not sure if it's making her sound more manly or just more stupid. Well, most men are stupid so she’s definitely getting somewhere.
He sizes her up and down, “Do I know you?”
“I’m Merlin.” She reaches out for a handshake that never comes.
“So I don’t know you.”
Her palm hangs useless for a heartbeat, she lets her outstretched hand fall unceremoniously to her side, “No.”
“Yet, you called me friend.”
Merlin relinquishes, “That was my mistake.”
“Yes, I think so.”
“Yeah ... I’d never have a friend who could be such an arse.”
Merlin smiles and turns away as she hears him scoff in disbelief.
“Or I, one who could be so stupid. Tell me, Merlin,” He says her name as if it was the lowest of all insults. “Do you know how to walk on your knees?”
He has now reached for the hilt of his sword, and Merlin is feeling less brave each step he takes towards her, she hopes it doesn't show.
Merlin spins to face him once again. “No,” she answers.
“Would you like me to help you?”
“I wouldn’t if I were you.”
“Why, what are you going to do to me?”
“You’ve no idea…”
He opens his arms, egging her on in a mocking gesture, “Be my guest. Come on, come on. Come oooon.”
Merlin sees time slow down, ready to give the crowd a show, and the arse in front of her a lesson. Then she remembers Gaius’s warning, Uther’s display. It’s not worth it. She takes a step back.
“Oh, is that it?”
She swings a fist—but he’s faster. Swiftly parried, he catches her wrist, twists it behind her back.
“I’ll have you in the dung—Gaius?.” Merlin is released and a slightly delayed shiver of realisation courses through her body. This was bad.
“Sire, I apologise on behalf of my niece.” The words come out with difficulty, he is out of breath, surely he must have run to come to her rescue, and Merlin feels bad. “She just arrived in Camelot, and is from a very small village, she is not familiar with the common courtesy.” Merlin feels less bad.
The look on the man’s face was incredulous. “Niece?” Merlin tried to not roll her eyes at that being the part he was stuck on.
The blonde man took his sword out of its sheath, and Merlin’s life flashed before her eyes. Maybe she should've done a last eyeroll for the road because it looked like she might not have a head for very long.
“Sire!” Gaius sounded like a man on the brink of death. She worried he might follow her and have a heart attack.
Thankfully, he did not behead her publicly, she had closed her eyes, face pinched in fear, but there was no cold blade at her throat. Only the feel of her hat being pushed, falling, and exposing her long tresses.
When she opened her eyes, the sight that greeted her was the pommel of the sword slowly retreating. Replacing it was sky blue eyes and furrowed brows. “You’re a woman?”
“So?” The rebuttal sounds weak to her own ears. Merlin dust herself off nothing just to not have to look at anyone and feel even more embarrassment plunge through her skin and damp her bones.
Though, it seems she was not the only one embarrassed. “I didn't—I wouldn't have..Why are you wearing that?” He points at her outfit, looks positively disturbed.
“I had to travel far to come here and it’s safer disguised as a man. That’s all.” She retorted feeling the tides of power in their very public display shift. “Why are you throwing knives at a serving boy?”
“We were just playing.” He said in such a dismissive way Merlin wonders if she had met the most annoying person in the world. He passesµd a hand through his blond strands, not quite, “No one was getting hurt.”
“Is that how you all play in Camelot or do you have games only reserved for asses?”
“Merlin!” Gaius hissed. She had almost forgotten he was there.
The man turned more stern, lowering his voice and grabbing her arm, trying to drag her away from the crowd, “No, these are games reserved for people with a sense of humour, you should buy one when you go dress shopping and maybe buy some manners too?”
She was not going to take any of it, extracting herself from his hold, his grip was strong and mean, and she felt the ghost of his touch even after wrenching herself free. “Before or after you teach me to walk on knees? Are you the king to require so much doing over?” she spat out loudly.
He looked at her with unbridled disdain, as if he hadmet the most annoying person in the world. “No, I’m his son, Arthur.” The words come through gritted teeth and Merlin knows she is thoroughly fucked.
Maybe a visit to the dungeon would do her some good.
“The one thing someone like you should do is keep your head down, and what do you do?”
She’s back in Gaius’s quarters, being scolded at the kitchen table like a child over something that was not entirely her fault.
“I’m sorry.”
“You behave like an idiot!”
“I said I was sorry!”
Gaius sighed long and deep, as if his soul was truly pained. Maybe he could tell she didn't truly mean it.
He had forced her to bow and mutter an apology in front of everyone before dragging her to the bowels of the castle. The last thing she had seen was that idiot prince’s smiling face, and every part of her itched to scratch it bloody.
“Your mother asked me to look after you. What d’you think she would have said?”
It was Merlin’s turn to sigh. She missed her mother, and as of now Camelot’s beauty felt like a well-laid trap. And soon, he would say the words and send her back.
But those words never came. Instead, Gais pulled out an old chair, and sat down next to her.
“What did she say to you about your gifts?”
That night they finally talked about her magic. He told her about warlocks and dragons, and how they were once common. He told her about magic, and how it had been practiced at nefarious ends, and how Uther had purged it. She learned that she was not like the other magic wielders Gaius knew, it had taken her a while to convince the man she had never studied magic, in any way, shape, or form, she used it instinctively, without thought.
“But what’s the point if I can’t use it?” she complained.
Her gaze darted to the myriad of dusty old books in Gaius' possession. Merlin knew he was an advisor to Uther but his living space was shabby and dusty. She envied him. At least he was given the opportunity to learn, however long ago. Furthermore, he had a purpose. She saw it in every nook and cranny of the Court Physician’s quarters ; potions, vials, and books. Merlin had been born 20 years too late to achieve anything.
And she would've been fine with it if it wasn't about her uncontested self. He told her that magic had thrown the natural order into chaos but there had been nothing more natural to Merlin than magic itself.
Merlin wondered, not for the first time, if she had been born wrong, a monster, evil made flesh. Her mother used to braid her hair each night and whisper prayers in her ear—for the harvest, for the winters, for the butcher and his boys. Prayers for Will and his family. Prayers for Merlin.
Hunith couldn't have given birth to a monster, she told herself. But Merlin wasn't good. She was trouble.
“You don’t know why I was born like this, do you?” she asked.
Gaius seemed unsure, and wanting of a new conversation topic.
“Perhaps someone with more knowledge than me…”
“But this is what I came to you for, answers. If you can’t tell me, then no one can.” Her heart was caught in her throat and her voice was feeble, weak. She could tell Gaius pitied her and she couldn't blame him. There was no salve that Gaius could administer to help with her magic or her heartache.
“Answers aren’t like that. They don’t sit there on shelves getting dusty waiting for you to come along. I believe there is an answer. But it may well arise out of events that we cannot yet know. You must be patient.”
She had waited all her life. What difference could another day make?
She slept restlessly, tossing and turning every which way, at some point she had jolted from her sleep, hearing a voice call out her name. But when she checked on Gaius he was soundly asleep. Well perhaps not without sound. The man snored like a bear.
The next day, Gaius sent her on an errand away from the castle. In hope of evading a similar happenstance, he gave her a few addresses of women he knows who might be able to lend Merlin some clothing, and some coin to buy the necessary products to deliver adjustments herself if needed. Merlin does so begrudgingly
Merlin was on the doorsteps of the first address, when she knocked the door opened on the lovely face of a brown haired girl with tan skin, and brown curly hair.
“Hi. I’m Merlin,“ she tried tentatively. “I just arrived in Camelot and I don’t have any clothes well except the ones I’m wearing right now,” she trailed off. “Which as you’ve surely noticed are boy's clothes but I’m a girl so I need girl’s clothes that I don't have…Gaius sent me.”
“I’m Guinevere,” The girl smiled whereas most would've cringed at her tirade, and offered her a handshake. Merlin found that her palm was warm and peppered with calluses. “But most people call me Gwen.”
Gwen opened the door to her home, allowing Merlin entry while she, Merlin assumed, went to fetch the needed garments from her room.
“I think I may have a few garments your size,” She threw over her shoulder. “Or close enough at least.”
Merlin snorted at that, Gwen was shorter with a womanly figure, and while Merlin believes they’re close in age, Merlin is taller than most women and some men too, she probably wouldn't be able to fill out the hips and bust of Gwen’s dresses, and her ankles might get cold sometimes due to her height, but that’s what adjustments were for.
Gwen came back with a heap of fabric in her arms, three dresses made of warm wool, a black cape, and what Merlin guessed were underclothing, shifts and stays. “Please don't beggar yourself out for me, I’m sure Gaius will serve you herbs and tonics just the same,” she joked.
“Oh be reassured, I’m not. I'm the lady Morgana's maid, and my salary is generous enough to afford replacements.” She disclosed with a cheeky grin. They put the secondhand gifts in a bag, it doesn't take long and would've taken less time if Gwen hadn't insisted on folding them neatly, whereas Merlin had always favored the throw it and go method.
“I saw what you did, in the courtyard. It was brave.” Gwen confessed when Merlin is packed, at the door and ready to leave.
Merlin felt her cheeks redden, she had wanted to make a good first impression on Gwen, turns out the girl was there to see her make a complete fool of herself. “I think most people would describe it as stupid.”
Gwen gave her a look of cheer encouragement, it made Merlin feel as if she had slayed a mighty dragon and had now earned the love of a pure maiden. “It was great you stood up to him. Arthur’s a bully. It was time someone knocked him down a peg.”
Merlin’s not sure which one between her and Arthur was the most humiliated by the interaction, but still, Gwen’s words fill her chest with counterfeit pride.
“Well, I’ll agree with you on that. It seems it might be a genetic condition, you’re bound to become a bully if you’re raised by one.”
Gwen’s face did something between a grin and a wince, she bid Merlin farewell.
Merlin, after all, was grateful for Gaius, it seems she has found herself a friend. She did not have the chance to babble about her encounter to the old man, as he had another chore for her to tackle.
“Now, I’ve got another errand for you to run. There’s a preparation for Dame Helen, she needs it for her voice.” It’s not anything too daunting, something Merlin is perfectly capable of doing without screwing up, probably.
When she arrived at the palace, she asked a guard for directions to Dame Helen’s chambers, still foreign to the castle. She only needed to round a few corners to find out that the door to said chambers had been left open. She entered without shame. The room was befit of a guest of her station, regal, but missing Dame Helen herself.
Merlin crossed towards the dressing table. which had been decorated with blue and purple flowers, and left the concoction there but her eye was caught by what seems to be a doll made of hay. It’s weird. Isn't the singer a bit too old to be playing with dolls? Especially one as ugly as the one she had in hand.
She puts it down, and her brain had supplied no second thought when her hand reached towards an old tome. She was about to open and take a peek inside, when the sound of footsteps had her scrambling to put the book down, and not appear frightened in front of Dame Helen, now present, and her scrutinizing gaze.
“What are you doing here?” Her tone of voice was imperious and commanding, it reminded her a bit of Uther but maybe that’s how all noble sounded like when talking to the likes of her.
“I was asked to deliver this, for your voice my lady.” Merlin blurted out before making a hasty retreat to the corridors, feeling unsettled.
Merlin wanted to go back to Gaius’s quarters. And she would have. She certainly would have done so, if it wasn't for that voice.
That voice in her head that whispered her name. The one from her dream. Calling to her. Deep, older than anything she has ever known. She can feel it vibrate in all her limbs. It’s no good, hearing voices in your head so young.
But it was also not coming from her. It’s a voice that sits below. Beneath the stone and deep in the castle grounds. Sneaking into the dungeon shouldn't be such an easy feat, but it is. Everyone is too busy with the upcoming festivities to take a second look, and the guards are ridiculously distractible.
Merlin’s descent into the tunnel, into darkness, led her to a dragon, the last dragon.
How small you are for such a great destiny.
For a miniscule small pitiful moment, Merlin had felt happy. There was a reason. She had a destiny. The feeling had then turned into grey ash as she was told who was her destiny.
There is no right or wrong. Only what is and what isn’t.
The dragon’s chains rattled as it soared away, high into infinite darkness, ignoring her protest and questions. For what even? It’s not like he had other places to be. Feeling even more jaded and confused, Merlin went back to Gaius’ quarters and made the solemn promise to never ever be in the same vicinity as Arthur Pendragon.
Lady Morgana might be the vessel of every grace—Merlin was sure, even though she hadn't seen her face. She had only witnessed her long unbound hair, her unblemished white skin and heard her melodious voice defile Uther’s heir, and that had been enough for her, she had fallen half in love.
Merlin did not know why she pretended to be Gwen when delivering the sleeping draught, but Merlin also didn't know why she did the things she did. Whatever went on in her own head had never been her concern.
Thank all the heavens and none of the dragons, for Sweet Gwen who had come to her rescue. Merlin had the feeling it wouldn't be the last time. Which was fine by her, she liked Gwen and she was far from opposed to spending more time with her.
The feast was grand, and lavish. With a long banquet table, showing fruit and gobelets to be filled. There was a seat for everyone of noble birth. The air has been sweetly perfumed, the floor mopped, and every corner dusted to perfection. Merlin had seen the servants scurrying hither and thither with food, and wine, for days now, so none of it truly surprised her.
Gaius brought Merlin to the feast, not as his protégé but as a servant. Merlin tried to not be offended. But that task proved itself quite hard when she caught a glimpse of Arthur, prancing with his idiotic friends, not looking any different than the last time she had laid eyes on him. Except perhaps more well dressed.
Gaius had made sure she understood that she couldn't go to the feast if she wasn't properly dressed. Which is why she had slipped into a simple blue gown with long sleeves that showed no more than her collarbone. She had tied her red neckerchief into a head band which draped her large ears and let her hair cascade down her back.
She watched his attention shift to a new figure, and Merlin has trouble picking her jaw off the floor. Lady Morgana looks radiant, dressed in pure silk that hugged body and left her shoulders bare, and—Arthur is making his way to her, smiling. He was tainting the beautiful outerworldly painting that is Morgana, surely that was why Merlin wanted to hurl.
“She looks great, doesn’t she?” Gwen exclaimed, seemingly coming out of smoke and shadow. Merlin agreed wordlessly with a nod. “Some people are just born to be queen.” Gwen continued.
“No?” Merlin tried to not sound too surprised, poor Morgana.
Contrary to Merlin, Gwen was actually doing her job, filling up goblets and handing out drinks. “I hope so. One day.” Though it does not seem to stir her away from partaking in healthy gossip.
“Well, I would hate to be her,” Merlin exclaimed. “Who'd want to marry Arthur?” Gwen snorted at that.
Music wraps the room as Uther makes his grand entrance, Merlin found the whole thing a bit offputting, but chose to keep her tongue and said nothing. She retreated to the shadows next to Gaius as Gwen ran off to Morgana’s side.
Dame Helen has captured everyone's attention with her voice, and Merlin, even if she found the lady suspicious, was herself enraptured in the song. Her voice filled the air, and Merlin felt her limbs relax, her whole body at peace.
Then she watches, wide eyed and horrified as the guests, all one by one, close their eyes and fall into slumber. Merlin would later surmise that her magic had helped buy a few seconds of awareness, which she used to cover her ears. The room that had once been beautifully lit with candles and low fire, had turned to decay and ugly with cobwebs that hugged the guests and furniture. The fruits rotted, and Dame Helen still sung, unaware of Merlin’s consciousness.
She was too focused on something else to notice that Merlin hadn't succumbed to the enchantment. Or rather someone. Arthur. Her eyes were him, as she pulled out a knife, ready to strike. She was aiming for Arthur.
Merlin barely thinks before loosening the chandelier upon her head, Helen never saw her.
Following that, the guests slowly regained color in their faces, and the place became vibrant with life again. Panic and incomprehension fills the air, as everyone has turned their attention to the fallen chandelier, and the person under it.
With her last breath the woman, now wrinkly—and perhaps recognisable only to Merlin and Uther, hurls a knife at Arthur. She’s slowing down the knife and pushing Arthur out of the way before she can let herself think. Think about the witch, the beheading, her son, the promise, and the mortifying implication of it all.
Their bodies collide to the ground and they both live. Her head hurts, and she has no qualms using Arthur’s hard body to propel herself forward, and get up, simultaneously pushing him down.
Uther is one the first to regain his full senses, walking away from where he was seated next to Morgana, sweeping away at cobwebs, and towards Merlin. At the same time, Arthur rose, sending a thunderous glower her way.
“You saved my boy’s life." Uther said. "I am forever in your debt."
"And debts must be repaid.” Lady Morgana's interjected from afar, sending him a pointed look.
“Oh, well…” Merlin fidgeted with the end of her sleeves, it was quite an awkward display.
“Don’t be so modest, you should be rewarded,” Morgana insisted, her voice carried a noble weight. Merlin could not help but feel bashful under the so many stares.
“No honestly, you do not have to, your highness.”
“No, absolutely, this merits something quite special.” Uther said with plainess. Merlin would be a fool to refuse a king, and she did like the sound of reward.
She peered at him through her lashes and shrugged in faux modesty. “Well, if his highness insists.”
Uther smiled, seemingly satisfied at not being refused, even for show. “You shall be awarded a position in the royal household.” He clasped his son on the back back. “You shall be Prince Arthur’s maidservant.”
The crowd clapped. “Father!” Arthur childishly complained. And Merlin came to the terrifying realization that she would serve that child now. Uther ignored his son's complaints and left in triumph, after having done absolutely nothing.
They stood awkwardly in mutual loathing for a while. Merlin felt like a gutted fish, Arthur’s dismissal couldn't come soon enough.
Merlin cannot attest to the feast's delicacy, because before she knew what she was doing, her feet had led her to the guest chamber of someone who was not Dame Helen, surely the real singer was dead.
She passed by a few servants while almost running and not quite walking through the corridor. Sporting carried brooms and dusters, and they had all smiled at her, news spread fast.
The scene she stumbled into was unsightly, guards littered every corner of the place, two of them were dragging out a dead body, others were stuffing whatever they could grab in brown sacks, one had blue and purple flowers peeking out. Probably for burning.
“What are you doing here?” Arthur’s voice came from behind her.
She turned to face him.“I—Gaius sent me to retrieve a poultice. I must have taken a wrong turn.” Merlin tried for a graceful exit but he blocked her body with his.
“There’s something about you, Merlin,” His eyes narrowed.
“I can’t quite put my finger on it.” He said before turning his gaze to the inside of the room.
“Luke!” he called out. “Escort her to Gaius’ quarters, make sure she doesn't get any more lost.” He sounded irritated, though that seemed to be his usual mood. At least when addressing her.
That night, Gaius told her that she could do good, and maybe that was her destiny. Merlin believed him. He gifted her a book of spells, and she loved him for it.
But Merlin couldn't help but dread the life that awaited her as Arthur’s maidservant. She had saved his life, and in the end she had been rewarded with an unwanted position that did not make sense. What use would a prince have of a maidservant, they were separated by sex for a reason, it wasn't proper, even she knew that. But maybe they did things differently in Camelot.
Merlin closed her eyes and forced herself to sleep.