Chapter Text
“I don’t understand,” Merlin said as he stood in a forest. A nice forest. It was on the outskirts of Camelot. Green and dewy and even a bit of fog. Very mystic. Which was very appropriate for the conversation he found himself in. “You want me to place a love spell... on myself... to fall in love… with you.”
A girl. A nice looking girl. Maybe thirty years of age at most. She had soft, round eyes and plenty of adorable freckles. Easily classified as good looking. No need for a spell to find her someone to love. That was if you could get over the horns growing from the top of her head. Bone white and smooth, they sprung out of her hair and took the shape of young buck antlers. To be honest, they were kind of cute.
“Yes,” she said, pleasantly enough, teasing and bold with an accent from a faraway land.
Merlin waited, arms open, palms up. When she simply stared at him with her wide, brown eyes, he sighed and asked, “Am I not good enough to woo? Why?”
She cocked her head to the side and pushed her golden hair back. “Because I don’t have magic and you do.”
Merlin looked up at the horns and back down again. “Alright. But that still doesn’t explain why.”
She pursed her lips and asked as kindly as she could, “Are you thick?”
Merlin sighed. “People keep asking me that.”
She nodded, as if agreeing with the lot of them. “I need your complete and utter devotion.”
“So I can spy on Camelot,” Merlin finished for her. This would not be the first nor the last time someone approached him with offers of jewels or freedom if he spied on his kingdom.
She smiled at him and clapped as if it were a great achievement that he guessed her plan. “The Prince specifically.”
“So I can tell you everything I know and you can take over,” Merlin added. He really was not that thick.
“I don’t understand what’s so hard about this.” She shrugged her shoulders and batted her lashes at him.
Merlin looked around the greenery surrounding them. He had hoped someone would have realized his kidnapping by now. Sure, he was a servant, but he was the Prince’s servant. In many ways that made him very important... in the serving quarters.
Arthur would not notice him gone for another three days probably. Someone would make sure he was fed and that would be enough for Arthur. It would only take until the knight had no one to practice beating up during training that he would notice his punching bag was gone. Stolen in the middle of the night because a girl was lost and wounded and claimed she needed Merlin’s help.
“No?” Merlin said.
“Yes,” she corrected politely and held out a piece of parchment. “Here’s the spell.”
Merlin stared at the parchment, then at her. This exchange was far too pleasant and calm. Usually there was a lot more fighting and pain and magic involved when Merlin defended Arthur. “I’m not going to put a love spell on myself.”
She smiled and jiggled the parchment. “You are.”
Merlin looked around again, this time hoping for at least a witness to this lunacy. A squirrel would do. “I’m not.”
“You are.” She smiled the same idyllic smile. “Or I’ll kill your mum.”
Anger flashed like lightning. Merlin’s jaw clenched as the heat of it swelled. His fingers flexed as his magic itched to smother this creature into the ground. Never again would his mother's life be threatened. He swore it. This creature’s pleasantries would do nothing to stop him destroying her. “You’ll regret that threat.”
“I will not,” she continued serenely, as if Merlin were not on the verge of ripping her limbs off with a flick of his wrist. “I really don’t want to kill your mum, Emrys. Hunith, right?”
Muscles taught, jaw clenched, magic coiled. How much did she know?
The creature continued, “Mortal woman. Lovely lady, really. She offered me nettle tea the moment I met her. Said I looked properly run down. I think I slept in your old bed, Emrys. It wobbles. Had me seasick by morning.”
Merlin’s eyes flashed gold. He quickly spun toward the treeline surrounding their patch of dirt and ripped a perfectly healthy branch from the trunk. Gold sparked as it burst into thousands of shards with a crack of thunder. “If you so much as touched a hair on her head I’ll have you regretting the first breath you took as a babe.”
The woman laughed with all charm, the sound of wooden bells and false sunlight. “Such violence, Emrys!” She shook her head and held out the parchment again. “She is in Ealdor and remains untouched. For now.”
The threat coiled around Merlin’s chest like a snake, squeezing the air from his lungs. If he killed her, would his mother live? Was there someone watching his mother now, waiting to strike? Was she lying? Was his mother already dead? Could he take the risk?
The paper was near enough that Merlin could read the words etched onto the page. A simple spell. Only a few lines.
“I mean it,” she said. “I don’t want to kill her. I’d much rather you do the spell.”
Merlin glared at the black ink dripping down the page. “Why? Why make me? Why can’t you do it yourself? A potion or something.”
“Because, Emrys,” she clicked her tongue and shook her head gently. “Spells are stronger than potions and magic is illegal in Camelot.” She scoffed, “I’m not about to be found doing something illegal.”
Merlin glared at her deceptive doe eyes. “Prince Arthur will have your head for this.”
“Will he? Does he know of your magic then?” She waited for his response. When he had none to give she pouted at him in mock sympathy. “Seems like he’d have your head over mine.”
Merlin’s hands shook as he ripped the parchment from her. He stared at the words without really reading them. Even though the spell was not meant for Arthur directly, it was still an attack against him and Camelot. A threat to Albion.
Memories of his mother dragging herself into Camelot while covered in the boils of a magical plague of his own creation had his knees knocking. He could not do that to her again. He would not make that mistake twice.
“You can’t do this,” Merlin hissed.
“I can.” She nodded him on. “Well, you can.”
Arthur would probably think nothing of it. Think Merlin ran off with a girl and fell head over heels. Gaius would be happy for him. Gwen would encourage him. Mum would be ecstatic. No one would know. No one would blink twice.
Will would know. Will was dead.
“Don’t worry,” she said gently, as if calming a toddler on the brink of a tantrum. “When I help rule Camelot you will love it. You won’t have much choice, because you’ll love me, but I promise I am fair and just. One tiny war and then it’ll all be over. If you do your part, there won’t even be any bloodshed.” She shrugged and held up her fingers, pinching them in the air and gritting her teeth playfully. “Maybe. Minor bloodshed.”
The parchment crinkled in Merlin’s fist. “You’re a horrendous witch.”
“No, Emrys, you’re the witch.” She pushed the fist with the parchment up and shoved it towards his chest. Her fingers were as cold as a dead frostbitten toe. “My name is Prisca. It’s very important you say my name clearly and look at me at the end of the spell. We don’t want you falling in love with a rock by accident.”
Prisca laughed at her own joke.
Merlin glared.
“Say my name so I know you have it,” Prisca demanded. The kind twinkle in her eyes faded. A small sliver of inky black emptiness slithered through the facade. “Say it.”
Merlin’s jaw hurt from clenching so hard. Tears prickled behind his eyes. His magic flared at his fingers, ready to tear the entire forest down, but he forced himself to stay in control. He ground out the name as if it could curse her. “Prisca.”
“Good,” she smiled and winked at him. “Read on then. You’ll have plenty of time to groan my name in future.”
Merlin closed his eyes and a sudden tear escaped.
Love had been a rare visitor in his life. He had never done more than steal a kiss. His own magic was about to force him to feel more, to do more, against his will.
No. Not his magic.
Prisca.
Merlin would remember the name for her grave marker.
Merlin slowly opened the parchment. His magic knew what he intended and rejected its misuse like a man willingly swallowing poison. Again. Magic burned like acid as it struggled to spiral up from the hole it hated to hide in. He choked on the fresh air. The words blurred. He forced himself to wipe his eyes and focus. His voice shook all the same.
“Ic i déore ánum ðú. Getenge. Mærse. No leódhete ādǣleþ. Williewilliġe beclyppe-”
Merlin looked up. The last thing to do was stare into her eyes and commit her face to memory so some part of him could wake up and remember what she had done this day. Remember to rip the life straight out of her via a blade impaling her chest.
The beginning of her name was pursing his lips when a sudden crash tore through the forest.
Merlin spun.
Arthur galloped through the brush atop his stead with his sword brandished forward. He was in full fighting garb, prepared for battle. Alone.
Merlin gasped, “Arthur?!” He laughed and gleefully shouted, “You found me!”
Arthur rolled his eyes dramatically enough to be seen from far away while circling his horse to a stop. “You’re not a lost puppy, Merlin!”
Magic tingled. The air crackled. Merlin’s magic flashed and he gasped as it surged from within his chest. The parchment burst into flames. He dropped it and backed away quickly.
“Oh no,” Merlin whispered. Had Arthur seen that?
Prisca ran to Merlin, grabbed him around the shoulder, and looked into his eyes. Pure rage flashed over her delicate features, banishing any trace of the gentile mask she wore as a disguise. “You idiot!” A moment later the rage was gone and she doubled over, laughing.
Arthur stopped his horse and dismounted. He stared directly at Prisca’s horns but seemed unsure if he should be holding his sword aloft or not. There was no sign of any other shock or rage. He must not have seen the magic.
“Why are you laughing?” Merlin hissed at Prisca, his breaths coming in quick pants. She threw all of her weight against him and made it impossible to get to Arthur. He tried to urge Arthur towards the attack with his jaw.
“Why are you not laughing?” She looked back up at him and her chuckles turned obnoxious.
“What’s going on here?” Arthur asked harshly.
Normally, that authoritative princely prat of a voice would irritate Merlin, but he really needed Arthur to get a hold of the situation. Merlin took a rough step back, nearly causing Prisca to fall on her face. “She’s a witch.”
Prisca looked up harshly, her laughter suddenly cut short. “I am not!” She turned to Arthur with her mouth wide open. “He is an idiot. I am not the witch here.” She turned her leer towards Merlin and dared him with her eyes.
Merlin pinched his mouth shut. His head was full of cotton, his body beaded with sweat, and every breath felt like a battle, but he refused to look away from her. This was no simple accusation. Anyone accused of witchcraft was as good as dead. A simple peasant boy could see Merlin flick a fire to life and one accusation later they would be building Merlin’s pyre for the morning. He never outright accused someone like this before. To Arthur no less. His throat clicked and he swallowed around the pain in his chest. “She threatened Camelot.”
Arthur’s sword gleamed as it turned towards her.
Merlin smiled in relief. He wanted to acknowledge the trust Arthur had in him with a grateful nod, but there was no telling what this vixen would do if he so much as blinked.
Prisca sighed and turned to Arthur, doing her very best curtsy and bowing her head. “I curse the witch that put this curse on me and that alone, Your Highness. Surely Merlin knows that is what I meant. I only wish to remove these devil horns from my head. No physician has yet been able to help me. I had only heard great things about Camelot’s physicians. Gaius is known for great work.” She blinked her eyes towards Merlin.
Prisca knew of Gaius as well then. The threat was received.
“I wish to travel to Camelot,” Prisca continued. “Merlin was helping me but misunderstood my frustrations. He seems a bit thick, Sire.”
Merlin tore his eyes from her to look at Arthur. There was no chance he was falling for this dreadful lie. He would run her through any second.
The moment Merlin landed his gaze on Arthur a glow started to throb. It pulsed around Arthur’s golden hair and radiated outwards. The light grew too bright. The world spun. Merlin swayed one way, then the other.
“Merlin?” Arthur asked. Sword down.
“Merlin?” Prisca called, hiding her giant grin from Arthur.
“Damn.” Merlin fell backward, slamming his head onto the earth. He nearly hit the rock.
Prisca was above him a moment later, patting his cheek harshly. Arthur was somewhere above her but the blur from the light was too great to see his face.
“Don’t worry,” Prisca said. She bared her teeth at Merlin and brushed his temple with her cold fingers. “I’ll help you carry him back to Camelot. Sweet dreams, Merlin.”
Merlin opened his mouth to scream but the world turned to black.
~~\\v.v//~~
It took Merlin multiple attempts to wake up. He pinched his brows down and blinked through the heavy fog that seemed to swirl above him. When he could finally open his eyes he saw his room. The floor of his room. His neck ached. His head was hanging off the edge of his cot.
The groan that rolled out of him was pathetic. He pushed off the floor and flopped onto his pillows, cradling his aching neck. That dream had been horrible. Tear tracks made his eyes ache and his face sticky. He wiped at his brows with his fingers until the world came into focus.
Nightmares like those were too real. The anguish still pulled deep within his chest. The memory of the spell, magic taking all choice from him. Sending someone who might not have magic to the stake and the mercy of Uther Pendragon. Not knowing if his mum would be safe or suffer if he killed his enemy. It was enough to have him tearing up again. Did Morgana feel this way after her visions? Hopefully that was not a glimpse into his future.
Merlin looked to the window in his room. It was still night but the blue light of dawn was ebbing into the sky. There would be no sleeping after that dream and he needed to tend to Arthur anyway.
Merlin got up, snuck past Gaius, and entered the kitchens early. Cook eyed him briefly and Merlin nodded at her. He stayed in the corner of the room by the flour while she prepared meats. He poked at the sack and watched the powder puff into the air over and over until Cook returned. She shook him out of his self-pity with a smack on his shoulder. He quickly gathered Arthur’s breakfast and ran from the room, or else face her morning ire.
The castle was peaceful. The other servants were being quiet out of respect and the guards were silently watching their every move. Merlin had never woken so early or been so on time for his duties. It made him feel like a proper servant. Arthur would be proud.
Merlin carefully opened the door to Arthur’s rooms and placed the tray of food gently on the table. Arthur left a mess! Clothes and weapons and mud everywhere! Merlin got to work silently picking up. By the time he was done, the sun was starting to peak.
Normally, Merlin would wake Arthur by throwing one of the pots against the door and shouting. Maybe he would throw a hunk of bread at Arthur’s face and claim breakfast in bed was exactly what he wanted -half hoping Arthur would throw it right back so he could claim it as his own.
Today was a day for training. Arthur would not appreciate being woken harshly when he had to be up and ready to fight. Even though Merlin would usually scare him, preparing him for sneak attacks, Arthur did deserve a good night's rest. Besides, Arthur would be grateful Merlin did his job on time and woke him respectfully. Maybe a feast would be thrown in Merlin's honor? Stranger things had happened.
Merlin approached the bed slowly. Arthur had his head fully under the pillows. Half of the blankets were off his body. He always did that when the nights grew warmer. His shirt was off and his back was open to the air in the room. Toned muscles carved from hard work arched into the air and swooped under the red threads.
Merlin quickly opened the window to allow a gentle breeze to flow inside. He watched Arthur shift as goosebumps formed over his spine. Arthur hummed and Merlin smiled.
“Arthur?” Merlin whispered. “It’s time to get up.”
Merlin crept toward the bed and took the pillows away, one by one, gently stacking them on the floor. Arthur was still fast asleep, mouth open, head pillowed against his arms, hair falling into his face. Merlin smiled and ran his fingers over Arthur’s forehead, pushing that hair out of his eyes.
“Arthur?” He whispered again.
Arthur’s eyes slowly blinked open. He moaned and nuzzled into his bed once more before bursting awake. He grabbed Merlin by the wrist and jolted upright, slamming Merlin’s middle into the bed and dragging him down.
Merlin gaped as he found himself face to face with a very confused and drowsy prince.
“What are you doing?” Arthur asked, for all the world looking as though Merlin was attempting to paint his face with Morgana’s pigments and not simply waking him from sleep.
Merlin’s eyes fell to where Arthur’s fingers were pressed against his pulse and watched the power of his beating heart move the pads of Arthur’s thumb. “Um. Waking you?” Merlin said automatically.
Arthur was always warm blooded. A warmth that radiated out of him in everything he did. Even his smile was full of the warmth of a thousand candles. His hair, a golden sunset. His eyes, the same shade as a summer sky.
Arthur squinted at Merlin’s gaze shifting to each of his features and thrust him away, letting him go. “I’m up.”
Merlin shook his head and nodded in the same breath. “Yes, I’ve brought you breakfast.”
Arthur was still squinting as he looked to Merlin, to the sky, and then to the table. “Merlin.”
Merlin's heart thumped in his chest.
“Are you ill?” Arthur asked.
Merlin laughed briefly. “No. Why?”
Arthur scanned his body from afar and quickly rose, marching into Merlin’s space and eyeing his cheeks closely. “You are never this competent.”
Merlin felt himself blush.
Arthur leaned back. He tilted his head and his neck pulled taught on a yawn, veins bulging towards his exposed pecks. “Are you sure? You were in the woods for some time. You might have caught a cold.” He frowned. “You look flush.”
Merlin’s brow pinched, still staring down at the patches of hair that spiraled from Arthur’s chest. Had he? He could barely remember the day before or the day before that. The haze of his dream had yet to leave him. When did he go into the woods? He had to grab something for Gaius, surely.
“I’m fine-” Merlin sputtered.
“You better be. I don’t want to catch whatever diseases you have.” Arthur spun away and the warmth of him drifted too.
Merlin breathed in a full breath for the first time all morning and closed his eyes. Perhaps he was a bit faint. The world was spinning and his neck still ached.
Arthur looked out the window and into the courtyard. He shook his head as another bout of breeze swirled into the room. The fresh air caught Arthur’s hair and his golden locks danced over his head. His fingers tangled in their length as he shoved it back. His hair was growing long. He would be due to have it cut soon.
Arthur smiled briefly. “Only you would catch a cold in the warmth of spring.”
Merlin smiled at his smile. “I am one of a kind.”
Arthur swept away from the window and collapsed into his chair, pulling his breakfast close. “One of a kind doesn’t begin to cover it.”
Merlin’s heart thumped again.
Perhaps it was an illness.
There was a part of Merlin that found joy in Arthur’s enjoyment over his food. The way he licked the fat of the meat off his lips and hummed at the cheese on his bread. Merlin quickly grabbed the jug to pour him some wine when a smell hit him.
The smell must have swept in from the window. It was more delicious than the meat and more fragrant than the flowers outside. It was like woodsmoke and rain or bulrush and hay. It was enticing and altogether strange to drive Merlin’s stomach to rumble. The aroma enveloped him from every angle and he closed his eyes to focus solely on the peculiar complexity. His body swayed and when he opened his eyes, his nose was in Arthur’s hair.
Merlin froze.
Arthur froze
Merlin breathed in again and his eyes fluttered. His body melted and his blood ran hot. He tripped backwards.
Arthur’s eyes bulged from his skull.
Merlin clutched the cool water jug to his chest.
He sniffed Arthur.
He sniffed Arthur and he liked it.
He sniffed Arthur and he wanted to do it again.
“I’m going to see Gaius!” Merlin squeaked.
“You do that!” Arthur commanded, terror still evident on his face.
Merlin ran for the hall, still clutching the jug.
He stared at Arthur while he slept. He pet his temple. He compared his smile to a thousand candles. He watched his flowing locks. He compared his smell to woodsmoke and hay. Something was wrong. Very wrong.
Merlin crashed into Gaius’ workshop. The door slammed into the wall.
Gaius spun and chastised, “Merlin!”
A girl sat at the table opposite him, a spoonful of porridge nearing her mouth, unaffected by the sudden outburst. Her bright brown eyes twinkled. Her hair was shrouded by a Pendragon red wrap that twisted upon her head. One of Merlin’s larger shirts swallowed her body. She waved happily. “Merlin!”
Merlin dropped the jug. “Prisca.”
~~``>o<``~~
Saying her name felt like a curse. Water soaked his trousers as he picked up the shards of clay. Gaius grabbed the broom. Merlin glared at Prisca from the floor.
Prisca was real and she was in his home wearing his clothes and eating his breakfast. She was smiling as she did it.
Merlin had been in those woods. Prisca had lured him out and forced him to do a love spell. Only he felt no love for her. His heart pounded with the need to grab her by the horns and hold her head under water. She threatened his family, threatened Camelot, and she threatened his Arthur.
Merlin mopped the water with a rag, grinding the fabric into the stone.
Prisca wore a smug smirk on her face as she ate at his table.
Merlin had not said Prisca’s name and looked at her at the spell’s end. He had seen Arthur, said Arthur’s name, and looked at him as he rode in on his horse.
Merlin supposed he should be grateful he had not looked at the horse.
Merlin hissed. A shard of clay sliced his palm. A small red ribbon of blood beaded into his hand.
“Careful!” Prisca reproached, her face full of forced concern. “You don’t want to stain this floor in blood.” Her eyes flickered to Gaius, as if Merlin needed the reminder that she threatened his life too.
Gaius was there in a moment. “Let me see.”
Merlin gave his hand over willingly and allowed Gaius to twist it around and see it was nothing more than a scratch. He announced as much and asked Merlin if he was alright but Merlin could barely hear him.
“Fine,” Merlin ground out, still glaring at Prisca. “I slipped.”
“So clumsy, Merlin!” Prisca teased jovially. “Come sit and eat before you knock yourself out!”
Gaius agreed with her and watched Merlin carefully as he sat. Gaius then announced he was needed in the lower town to prepare.
The annual Beltane celebration was a three day festival scheduled that week. It was a grand event meant for only the residents of Camelot. It was a chance to celebrate living through winter and the fertility of the land and its people. With food aplenty, alcohol flowing freely, and love in the air, people often paired up at this time of year, damn the consequences or any witnesses. It was a perfect time for love spells.
Gaius was going to have his own booth this year, selling his ointments and medicines to those that may not have access to them or the care of a physician readily available. He needed to meet with other sellers, gather supplies, and keep his normal rounds.
Merlin sat, never taking his eyes off Prisca. She did him the honor of returning his stare until Gaius left the room.
Merlin grabbed the knife on the table.
Prisca slammed her hand on top of his. “You don’t want to do that.”
“I don’t?” Merlin asked, his teeth bared, a scowl making his vision blur red.
“No.” She squeezed his hand hard.
It stung his cut but he did not remove his hand from the hilt of the very dull knife.
Prisca smiled sweetly. “I am here on the Crowned Prince’s authority. He has personally offered me safe passage and promised to help me with my cause.” She smirked and tilted her head. “You cannot kill me or you will face Arthur’s wrath and no doubt Uther’s as well.”
Merlin clung to the blade harder. “He will listen to me.”
“Will he?” She pouted at him and scooped another spoonful of porridge into her mouth, talking around her bite. “Has he believed you in the past then? Did you not accuse me of being a witch and yet here I sit, alive and well? Are you willing to risk your life to bet that he would believe the word of his servant? After he already told his king to trust me? Would he go back on his own word for you?”
Merlin’s jaw clenched. “Yes.”
Prisca rolled her eyes. “Of course you would say that now, you besotted beast. But before, if you were thinking clearly and were not in love with him. Would you?”
Merlin squinted his eyes shut. The very idea that he was in love with Arthur was as ridiculous as it got. But he could not help remembering the way his heart leapt every time Arthur said his name. He was sure he had always trusted Arthur like this, that Arthur would protect and believe in him as he would any one of his people. He was sure of it. He was sure.
Prisca took advantage of his silence. “You present no proof, Emrys. Would you force Arthur to go to his father with no proof of my wrongdoing? Do you know what that would do to him? To his reputation?”
Merlin shook his head. He could not think straight. The haze of the morning was clinging to his every thought.
“I have won their favour,” Prisca said. “You have not. I have done nothing wrong in their eyes.”
“You put a spell on me,” Merlin growled.
“I did no such thing!” Prisca gasped. “I have no magic.”
Merlin clung to his temple with his free hand.
Prisca was relentless. “Uther was very sympathetic when I told him what that witch did to me. If he were to find out a witch lived in his very castle, I can only imagine what he would do. What Arthur would do.”
“I am not a witch!” Merlin yelped.
“Warlock!” Prisca yelped back. “Same result, Emrys. I am under Camelot’s protection thanks to you. Arthur even said he was impressed by you having rescued me.”
Merlin could not stop his heart thumping at hearing those words, lies they were.
“If you were to kill me,” Prisca said, “You would make them all look a fool and you would die for the crime.” She shrugged. “Not to mention I am the only one that knows the antidote to your love spell.”
Merlin’s breaths were sharp and hard. The room began to spin once again. His palm stung as the blade trembled between his fingers. He willed Gaius to return. Gaius would believe him. Gaius would help him solve this.
Prisca sighed and squeezed his hand, as if comforting him. “This should go without me needing to say so, Emrys, but, as you are a bit thick, I will say it anyway.” She waited patiently until Merlin was glaring up at her once again. “If you tell anyone about me, I will tell everyone about your magic and you will die. If you tell anyone about me, Hunith and Gaius will die. Better yet, if you tell anyone about me and why I am truly here, Arthur will die as well, but only after learning about your magic and your betrayal. I give you my word. I am no fool, Emrys. I will not go back on mine.”
Prisca let go of his hand.
Merlin pulled the blade from the table and held it against her throat.
Prisca grabbed another spoonful of porridge and shoved it into her mouth.
Merlin’s hand shook violently.
The silver of the knife bumped against her flesh.
Prisca chewed her food.
The blade crashed onto the table top.
Merlin fell forward and heaved in breaths of air.
“You should eat,” she said calmly. “It’s getting cold.”