Chapter Text
~~ Arthur ~~
Arthur potentially should have expected Gaius to be a little hesitant when he asked to borrow a book on herbs. He wasn’t what anybody would have called studious in his youth, so why would that be any different in adulthood?
Still, he was more than a little miffed when Gaius narrowed his eyes and asked, “Whatever for?”
“Is it really so unusual that I’m taking an interest?” Arthur asked in return. Gaius raised a deeply judgemental eyebrow which told Arthur that, yes, it was very unusual.
The truth of the matter was a little embarrassing; he’d refrained from telling Merlin to be quiet once and found himself unexpectedly fascinated by the story he told about a particular salve he’d concocted that had, by no small measure, saved a number of the townsfolk from a severe strain of pox. Arthur had listened, really listened, and he’d grown terribly frustrated.
Not for his normal reasons, mind, but because he didn’t understand nearly enough of what Merlin had been talking about. He didn’t understand, and he wanted to understand.
“It’s definitely out of character,” Gaius hazarded. “You didn’t seem all that interested when I tried to teach it to you when you were a boy.”
That was because there were more important things to think about when he was a boy, like learning how to be a warrior (something that was still pivotal), and the prospect of marrying a princess someday (this had become significantly less pivotal).
It was clear that Gaius was waiting on an explanation as to why he had taken an interest on a random Thursday, a good decade after the lesson he’d referred to, and that left Arthur with a conundrum of lies.
He could tell Gaius that he wanted to start being more hands-on with the medical treatment of his people, in particular his knights. As soon as the fib surfaced in his mind, he discarded it. Not because it was a bad lie, but because maybe he should be doing that anyway. Besides, he hardly thought Gaius considered him to be the selfless type, so it probably wouldn’t be believed.
Or he could spin it on Merlin, and tell the old man that he was sick of his servant acting like he was smarter than him. So, that’s exactly what he did.
“Merlin’s a know-it-all,” Arthur griped. “I’m sick of him talking to me like a child about,” he pointed at the book he wanted to take with a frustrated finger, “herbs, of all things.”
The suspicious edge to Gaius’ expression softened, so he must have found it believable. “I see,” Gaius mumbled as he retrieved the book from the shelf and handed it to Arthur. “You mustn’t resent Merlin for his knowledge; he’d always been scholarly.”
Arthur fixed him with a harsh look. “I’m scholarly,” he defended. Gaius held up his hands in defence.
“I’m not saying you aren’t, Sire. But surely even you can appreciate that it is his job to understand these things on a deeper level,” he said, as level and controlled as ever. “As much as you are not a master of tailoring or pottery. And as much as the tailors and potters are not masters of the sword.” Arthur couldn’t very well argue with that, so he just huffed indignantly instead.
After a stretch of silence between them, Gaius said, “Well, I hope this one has the information you need, Sire.” It was as close to a dismissal as anybody could give the King.
“Thank you,” he said. “I’ll bring it back to you in a week’s time.”
“Take it for two,” Gaius offered, then he hesitated as if something had occurred to him. “Actually, maybe we can find you something a little less dense—”
Arthur held up a hand, effectively cutting him off. “I’m sure I can handle it, Gaius,” he asserted and left before Gaius could suggest he take a picture book instead.
He made no stops between Gaius’ and the castle, more than a little embarrassed by his own motives (not that anyone could have known). To research a subject so that he could better understand the ramblings of his dim-witted servant, gods. He could practically feel his father rolling in his grave. Merlin probably wouldn’t notice his interest, either.
The heavy door to his rooms closed with a decisive click, and he rested the tome on his desk. He’d read it later, perhaps before bed, he decided and made to turn away. But a loose sliver of parchment peeked out from the pages, it jutted out just barely, but enough to catch Arthur’s eye.
He reached for it and pulled it out. Carefully, in case it was something delicate that Gaius had misplaced, he unfolded the paper and inspected it. In a messy hand, a short passage followed by a handful of jumbled thoughts were inked on the page. Arthur took a seat and frowned as he read them.
One cannot hate that which makes it whole. The Once and Future King and the sorcerer Emrys will unite to restore magic to Albion.
He read and reread the first passage a few times over. Those titles, Once and Future King, and Emrys, were familiar, but he couldn’t recall when he’d heard them. His attempt to remember brought with it the bitter impression of adversary.
Below it was a list with a dozen points, but most of them had been crossed out to the point of illegibility. Through the ink, he glimpsed pieces; destiny, and prophecy, and sword, and dragon. What he could make out, though, was this;
Arthur is Once and Future King???
Emrys (thrice underlined) – most powerful sorcerer to ever live.
Arthur smoothed the parchment on his desk and considered the note.
Despite the actions of his late father (and his own; it would be amiss to ignore his own mistakes), Arthur had reflected on his opinions of sorcery. His father had always claimed that the very touch of magic corrupts and that everyone who used it fell to its evil vices, but Arthur had seen with his own eyes that that wasn’t entirely the truth.
Sure, he’d witnessed the damage that magic could do, but he’d also seen it cure illness and prosper crops. He’d begun to regard it much like he did his own sword; in the wrong hands, a sharp blade can do a lot of harm.
Still, sorcery was outlawed in Camelot. There was a blackened patch on the cobblestones outside that he didn’t think could ever be erased; decades of pyres that marred the ground underfoot. There hadn't been one lit in over a year.
He wondered how his advisors would take it if he moved to repeal the ban, and then scoffed at the fancy. What could they do to stop him? He was King.
Arthur’s thoughts were quite abruptly interrupted as Merlin crashed through his doors, thoroughly out of breath.
“Merlin,” he greeted blandly. “You're late.” He didn’t care, but it had to be said. He pointedly ignored the uptick in his heart rate as he turned to face him. “But I’ll let it slide, only because I’d like your advice on something.”
Merlin took a couple of long, hard breaths, and gasped, “Huh?” Ever-daft and not at all endearing. Arthur tossed him a half-full waterskin which he caught (surprisingly). “Thanks,” he choked and downed it.
“Are you alright?” Arthur asked. As much as he wanted to question him for his own reasons, Merlin’s wheezing was a genuine concern.
“Fine,” he dismissed with a wave of his hand, and he did sound better. He cast the waterskin back to Arthur, empty. “Why do you want my advice?”
Arthur sighed and levelled him with a patient look. Merlin was one of his most trusted advisors, regardless of his titles (or lack thereof), and he doubted that there was a soul in the citadel that didn’t know that.
“About what?” Merlin relented as if he’d heard Arthur’s inner musings loud and clear. He narrowed his eyes just slightly and thought, what if he did.
“Well,” Arthur started and tapped the papers on his desk into an even pile, and considered exactly how to phrase his statement. He recalled the phrasing of the parchment in Gaius’ book; unite, it had said. Vague enough that it could mean anything from allyship to marriage.
It escaped neither of them that Arthur had been silent for some time. “Well?” Merlin prompted.
“Have you heard the name, Emrys?”