Work Text:
1. Hunith
The floor was hard against Arthur’s back, despite the soft blankets Hunith had given him. She had insisted on giving him her bed, but Arthur had refused. She was kind enough to shelter him and Leon. And if he proved to be too much of an inconvenience, she might come back on her decision and send them on their way. Arthur had nowhere to go. He wasn’t a prince anymore. His father hated him and Leon was the only person he could trust to keep him safe. Arthur had to be good. More than that, even; he had to be perfect. Otherwise, Leon might conclude that Arthur wasn’t worth it and leave him all alone.
The night was full of strange noises. It was so different from the heavy silence that fell on the castle at night. Without heavy curtains on the window, the moon bathed the single room of Hunith and Merlin’s home in wan light. Arthur couldn’t sleep. Each time he closed his eyes, he was assaulted by images of his father’s face, distorted by rage and disgust. Arthur was a sorcerer. The one thing his father hated more than anything else in the whole world. His father hated him. He had wanted Arthur dead. He might have killed Arthur with his own sword, had Leon not intervened.
Arthur had always known the King would never be proud of him. There had always been disappointment in the King’s face whenever he looked at Arthur. Arthur was a prince, the heir to the throne. He had never been just a boy, just his father’s son. Arthur was the child who killed his mother at birth. He was a curse, a monster, a demon.
Before he could do anything to stop them, tears started spilling from his eyes. He bit on his fist to muffle his pathetic sobs. He couldn’t let anyone see him so weak. He couldn’t inconvenience anyone with his stupid emotions. They were all tired. Surely, they’d hate Arthur for waking them up. He struggled to remain silent as he shook on the ground, wincing each time a whimper escaped him.
Suddenly, there was a hand on his head, soothingly stroking his hair. Arthur couldn’t remember the last time someone touched him so gently. Even his nursemaids hadn’t been so attentive. Hunith moved to lie beside him, her calloused fingers still stroking Arthur’s hair.
“Oh, my little darling,” she said, bringing Arthur closer to her, until his face was buried in her shoulder. “It’s alright, let it all out,” she whispered.
And Arthur did, he cried and cried and cried. His small hands were fisted in the coarse fabric of Hunith’s blouse.
“You’re safe here, we won’t let anything happen to you,” Hunith said as Arthur’s tears kept flooding.
“I’m a monster, father hates me,” Arthur whispered brokenly between the sobs that kept tearing their way out of his chest.
Hunith’s arms tightened around Arthur. The fingers of one of her hands kept brushing his hair, her short nails gently scratched his scalp. Arthur had never felt so safe, so loved. It didn’t chase the images of his father’s angry face away, though. But it grounded him, reminded him that his father was still back in the castle.
“You’re not a monster, sweetheart. Never think that. You’re a very brave boy, and you’re safe now.”
Hunith kept whispering soothingly in Arthur’s ear, her lips brushing the top of his head. Even when he stopped crying and his whole body had stopped shaking, she still held him tight. Arthur ended up falling asleep in Hunith’s motherly embrace.
2. Leon
Arthur woke up with a gasp, his whole body was tense with fear. The phantom sting of his father’s sword piercing his stomach was still present, even as he realised none of it had been true. Even with his eyes wide open, the images of his father’s face, his lips downturned in disgust and his eyes burning with hatred as he plunged his sword into Arthur’s belly kept replaying. Arthur muffled a whimper, curling into a tight ball on the hard floor of Hunith’s house. He was no longer in Camelot. He was in Ealdor, in Hunith’s and Merlin’s home, he was safe. He repeated the words like a mantra, but they did little to comfort him. Tears started pouring from his eyes, dripping down his cheeks. He was shaking. His chest felt too tight, as if a heavy weight kept him from fully filling his lungs with air.
There was movement somewhere in the room. Arthur heard faint footsteps. He tried to lie still, tried to stop breathing. Tried to disappear.
He failed.
Someone came to lie behind him. A broad chest pressed against his back as a sturdy arm was draped over his flank, the hand resting on his chest.
Leon.
“Arthur, you need to breathe. Come on, breathe with me,” Leon said, his voice low and calm.
Arthur tried to focus on the steady rise and fall of Leon’s chest behind him. He tried to imitate the knight. At first, he could only take shallow inhales that were immediately pushed out of his lungs. Leon kept breathing behind him, whispering quiet encouragements. It took a long time before Arthur was able to truly fill his lungs with air.
“You won’t let my father kill me, Leon, will you?” Arthur asked, hating the uncertainty in his voice.
He was a prince. Princes were supposed to be strong and sure. Never scared, never weak. Arthur was such a disappointment. Even without his magic, it was no wonder that his father never loved him. How could the King be proud of such a pathetic son. He was too soft, weeping like a baby just because of a stupid nightmare. His father would surely punish him for that. He had done it before. Arthur tried to keep the tears that welled up in his eyes from falling, but he failed again. He was such a failure.
His thoughts were interrupted by Leon’s gentle voice. Leon had heard him cry, and he wasn’t yelling at Arthur because of it. He was still kind and protective.
“Never. As long as I live, I won’t let Uther or anyone else hurt you, I swear. It doesn’t matter if they’re a King or a God, I’ll always protect you from anything or anyone.”
“Don’t leave me, Leon. I promise I’ll be good, I’ll do everything I can to make you proud, just don’t leave me.”
“You don’t need to do anything, Arthur. I’ll never leave you, no matter what happens, I’ll stay by your side. You’re not only my prince, you’re my little brother too. I’ll always love you, and I’ll always be proud of you.”
Arthur clutched Leon’s big, strong hand in his much smaller one, relishing the comfort of feeling Leon’s warm skin under his fingers. Leon was real. He was there. He would protect Arthur. Uther only existed in Arthur’s mind, he couldn’t hurt him.
Behind him, Leon shifted, and for a moment, Arthur held his breath, preparing himself to be left along again. But Leon didn’t leave. He moved so he was lying in a more comfortable position, keeping Arthur safely held against his chest.
Arthur felt himself slipping into unconsciousness. Just before sleep claimed him, he heard Leon say, “Good night, little brother.”
3. Merlin
The full moon illuminated the single room of the house in pale light. Everything felt unreal. Arthur sat in front of the small window with his arms wrapped around his legs and his chin resting on his knees. He wished he could stop crying. The tears came down slowly down his cheeks, leaving salty tracks behind them. He sniffled pathetically. Leon and Hunith were sleeping soundly. Arthur was glad no one was awake to witness the pitiful spectacle he made.
He should have known better.
A small hand landed on his back, clumsily patting his shoulder blades. Merlin’s wide blue eyes looked at him with gentle care. Arthur wanted to push him away. To insult him, to hit him. He didn’t want Merlin’s pity. He did none of it. If Arthur hurt her son, Hunith would surely demand that he and Leon left, and rightly so. And Merlin was kind, he didn’t deserve Arthur’s violence.
Merlin sat more comfortably beside Arthur, looking up at the window. He was almost as tall as Arthur, but much thinner. His sleeping shirt was too large, exposing a bony shoulder. Yet, Merlin didn’t feel weak. Naïve, yes, but not weak. It wasn’t the same strength as the knights, but something quieter, gentler.
“Want to see something?” Merlin asked out of the blue.
Arthur looked at him for a long time, before nodding, receiving a blindingly bright smile from the other boy in return.
Merlin brought his clasped hands in front of his lips and whispered two words. His eyes turned gold for a second, and when Merlin opened his hands, a butterfly was resting on his palm. Its luminescent blue wings fluttered a few times before it took flight, swirling around the room. Arthur was mesmerised. He followed the butterfly with his eyes, gaping at the simple beauty of it. If magic could create such pretty, harmless things, then it couldn’t be evil like his father said. And if magic wasn’t evil, perhaps Arthur wasn’t a monster. Merlin certainly didn’t look like a monster.
“Can you teach me?” Arthur asked, his quiet voice filled with wonder.
Merlin’s face brightened even more, as if he had received the best gift he had ever been given. He resumed his earlier position, with his hands clasped in front of his mouth, waiting until Arthur mimicked him. Then, he slowly repeated the spell, carefully enunciating each syllable.
“Gewyrcan lif,” Merlin said, infusing his words with intent.
Arthur tried to do the same, but whereas a shiny blue butterfly appeared in the crux of Merlin’s hands, Arthur’s were empty. He deflated, his shoulders slumping.
Merlin wasn’t discouraged, though. Letting the pretty insect fly away, he took Arthur’s hands in his. “You need to picture it in your head. Just saying the spell isn’t enough, you have to direct your magic with intent. That’s what Gaius said when he taught me,” Merlin explained.
“You know Gaius?” Arthur asked, temporarily distracted from the impromptu magic lesson.
“He’s my great-uncle. You know him too?”
“Yes, he’s the Court Physician in Camelot. He taught me to read in his dusty old books when I ran away from my tutors. And he let me grind herbs for him!” Arthur was smiling now, his tears long forgotten. But then he frowned. “He never taught me about magic, though.”
Merlin shrugged. “Maybe he was scared for you. Magic is dangerous in Camelot.”
Arthur was still a little miffed that Merlin had received magic lessons from Gaius when he hadn’t, but Merlin’s reasoning made sense. Gaius couldn’t have just given Arthur magic lessons right under Uther’s nose. He was already taking a risk when he stood up to the King when he thought he was too hard on Arthur.
“Show me again,” Arthur asked. Or maybe it was more a demand. Merlin didn’t seem to mind.
The younger boy kept giving Arthur instructions on how to perform the spell. He tried to explain to Arthur how to feel his magic, through breathing exercises that were less tedious than Arthur had originally thought. When Arthur felt the strangely familiar warmth of his magic nestled between his ribs, he smiled victoriously.
“Now that you found the centre of your magic, you can direct it more easily. You have to focus on the feeling when you say a spell. And you have to think about the intent of the spell when you direct your magic.”
Arthur failed a few more times, but at least, he felt his magic stirring inside of him. It didn’t jump to obey him like Merlin’s did, however, which was frustrating. Merlin said it would become easier with practice. It was almost dawn when Arthur decided to give it one last try. He carefully articulated the spell, wishing with all he had for a butterfly to appear between his palms. He felt his magic react, stronger than before. The power coursed through his veins, spreading down his arms towards his palms. When he opened them, a red butterfly with golden flecks on its wings had appeared. Its wings fluttered tentatively for a few seconds before it took off to join the other fragile insects Merlin had created. The boys opened the window, muffling a laugh when it creaked loudly. They watched the butterflies fly away into the rising sun.
Arthur was tired but happy. For the first time in days, Uther was relegated to a dark corner in the back of the young prince’s mind.