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It had been harmless at first. Embarrassing, yes, but harmless.
“Merlin.”
“Yes Sire?”
“Why are there roses decorating the entirety of my chambers?”
Merlin peered over Arthur’s shoulder to see into the Prince’s chambers, only to find the room, and each item of furniture within it, covered in a multitude of red roses. Each surface had more than a dozen of the flowers scattered across them, and Merlin blanched at the sight of it all, feeling his magic curl within him, seeking Arthur’s approval at the romantic gesture.
It had been harmless at first; Merlin’s magic had simply developed a crush on Arthur, the Crown Prince of Camelot, and his magic was trying to impress him into liking Merlin. Which, really, wouldn’t have been so bad, except-
“Perhaps you have a secret admirer, Sire?”
Arthur spun on his heel so quickly that Merlin had to take a step back for fear of being knocked over. He looked up at Arthur and winced at the unamused expression that donned the Prince’s face.
“I don’t know why you thought this would be funny Merlin,” Arthur began, his voice hard and almost a whisper as he spoke through clenched teeth, “but I expect my room to be rose clear by the time I return from training. Do I make myself clear?”
Merlin could feel his magic wilt within him at Arthur’s lack of appreciation for his magic’s efforts, but he simply nodded in response as he watched the future king march angrily away from his quarters. Turning back to look within the room, Merlin sighed to himself, mentally scolding his magic for such a gesture, and walked into Arthur’s chambers to begin clearing away each and every token of his magic’s affection.
-
The roses, it seemed, had only been the beginning of his torment.
“Is there a special occasion I’m unaware of today, Merlin?”
“Sire?”
Placing the now neatly folded garment upon the shelf in the wardrobe, Merlin turned to where Arthur was standing, hands on his hips, in front of his dinner table. His expression was pinched in confusion and curiosity, his mouth puckered into his signature pout and his eyes squinted at the plate of food that was laid in front of him upon the table.
“This is spiced cake Merlin.”
Merlin paused for a moment; he hadn’t brought any cake up with him when he went to fetch Arthur’s dinner for the evening. He looked towards the dessert on the table and scowled when his magic began to rush through his veins, surging up to the surface as if it were waiting for Arthur’s response, preening under his attention to its offered gift.
“Merlin.”
“Yes Sire?”
“Why have you brought me spiced cake?”
Merlin turned, looking away from Arthur as he willed his magic to recede along with the embarrassed flush that had risen to his cheeks. “I simply thought you may enjoy some dessert with your dinner tonight, My Lord.”
It was an obvious lie; Merlin could be thoughtful at times, but rarely would it come in the form of bringing Arthur his favourite pudding. Especially since even Merlin knew Cook wouldn’t make the dessert for Arthur, regardless of the fact that he was the Prince of Camelot, unless it was a special occasion such as his birthday. Even then, Arthur would have to practically beg her to make it for him.
“Merlin.”
He winced at the emphasis on his name and turned once more to face Arthur. He instantly regretted it as his magic waited anxiously for some sort of appraisal for its efforts, licking at his nerves and curling round his bones with baited breath.
“I can’t get Cook to make this for me, and I’m the Prince. What the hell did you do to the poor woman to get her to make this for you?”
With a lack of anything to say, aside from the true explanation of “my magic has a crush on you and is trying to impress you”, Merlin shrugged and went back to his previous task of folding Arthur’s clothes. He tried not to pay attention to how Arthur sighed and pulled out his chair, practically throwing himself into the seat as he began to tuck into his dinner for the night.
He especially tried not to notice how his magic seemed to sigh as well, upset once again from the lack of attention from the Prince.
-
He supposed this was where the real trouble began.
“Merlin!”
If Merlin had had the option to hide in that very moment, he would have been tempted to take it. Unfortunately, he was not privileged with that option, and so instead had to face his future king as he came barrelling through his chamber doors, face red with barely contained frustration and anger.
“If you have time,” Arthur began, marching towards Merlin’s position by the foot of Arthur’s bed, where he was polishing a pair of Arthur’s boots, “to sew foppish little gold fringes all over my riding tack and make me look a fool in front of the knights, I’m obviously not giving you enough to do. Stables, laundry, firewood.”
Merlin’s mouth practically hung agape at the orders. “But–”
“By midday,” Arthur stated with finality, practically glowering at Merlin. He shook his head with frustration and let out a sigh. “Really Merlin, I wouldn’t have thought you’d be so ridiculous as to waste time making my riding gear look pretty.”
Merlin scowled at the boot he held in his hand, cursing the day he came to Camelot and discovered that Arthur was his destiny. His magic flickered within him like a candle’s flame against a soft breeze, shying away from Arthur’s obvious rejection to yet another token of affection. Merlin scowled even harder.
Arthur spared Merlin one last look before he turned to leave the room, seeming to roll his eyes at his manservant as he commented, “Do try and hurry up Merlin, your chores won’t get finished by midday if you simply stare at them and will them into action.” He shook his head, “Even a less competent man than you could do the job faster.”
As Arthur strode out of his chambers, Merlin curled in on himself just that bit tighter, feeling particularly sour after Arthur’s final comment. It wasn’t unusual for him to say mean and thoughtless things, especially about his manservant, but considering it was Merlin’s own magic’s fault for Arthur’s bad mood, Merlin was exceptionally bitter. He hunched his shoulders further in on himself and continued to scrub the cloth across the boot he was cleaning, trying to ignore how his magic was shifting restlessly beneath his skin.
-
It wasn’t abnormal for Arthur to unthinkingly throw an insult Merlin’s way, but it was the first time Merlin’s magic had tried to fix whatever it was that offended Arthur.
“Do you even own a comb Merlin? Have you even heard of one before? Really Merlin, your hair looks like someone used a mop to clean the fireplace.”
It was instantaneous; the moment the comment fell from Arthur’s lips, Merlin felt his hair somehow recede and lay flat, almost as if he had cut his hair as close to his scalp as possible. He froze from the task he was doing and tried not to panic, hoping Arthur hadn’t seen his magic take effect. Glancing Arthur’s way, the Prince wasn’t even looking at him, and so Merlin quickly breathed a spell he hoped would work and was thankful that when he touched his fingers to his head, his hair was once again long and curled.
It hadn’t ended there; any comment made towards Merlin, be it his appearance or performance, his magic tried to change, tried to fix for him. Anything Arthur found offensive about Merlin, from his “too big ears” (which had shrunk almost immediately, the skin growing taunt as pain echoed in Merlin’s skull) to his “lacklustre performance of one’s duties” (Merlin had never been so productive in one day; he had had every chore finished within three hours and time to spare. Arthur had never looked so shocked) and Merlin’s magic would fix it for him.
It was a desperate cry for attention on his magic’s part, and Merlin wished he could silence it. He had known Arthur’s affinity for insulting him, but he hadn’t realised just how often he did it until his magic had responded to each and every slight thrown his way.
“Has anyone ever told you that your lips are rather plump for a man?” Merlin had held back a whimper as his lips grew smaller, skin stretching and pulling to reform into something different, something new, something better.
“I could use your shirt to guide me through mountains, how do you even manage to get it so wrinkled this early in the morning?” His spine had stiffened in the same manner his shirt did at the comment, the material no longer wrinkled, no longer able to.
“You bumbling fool, Merlin! How is it that you can be so ridiculously clumsy!?” Every step after that was careful, mapped out for him so that he could not put a foot out of place, nor move a hand carelessly from his side. He was as delicate as a puppet being moved by invisible strings.
“Was it really that funny to warrant such a boisterous laugh, Merlin?” His laugh had felt strangled in his throat, the comment snuffing his voice out entirely until the only noise he could make was small, inoffensive, his laugh barely a breath of amusement. He didn’t bother to laugh anymore because of it.
At first, Merlin had tried to fight his magic; he may be a tall, lanky, bumbling idiot, who had less control of his limbs than a newborn fawn, but he liked himself that way. He liked his bright blue eyes, his plump lips, his too big ears, and foppish dark hair. He may not have been the picture of elegance and beauty, as a royal would be, but he was himself. And he liked himself.
Except, after a while, he didn’t.
With each new insult that came his way, whether it was meant cruelly or not, Merlin couldn’t help but begin to believe what Arthur was saying. After all, Merlin’s magic was made for Arthur; perhaps his magic was truly doing him a favour and, well, fixing him.
Perhaps it wasn’t his magic that was wrong; perhaps it was him.
After weeks upon weeks of careless comments thrown his way, after countless nights of restructuring himself to look like himself again, Merlin just... gave up. What was the point in fighting against his magic if it was so desperate to change him each and every time Arthur mentioned yet another trait or aspect of Merlin that was unsatisfactory? Why fight against it when he could simply let it happen?
Arthur, somewhat unsurprisingly, didn’t notice a thing. Merlin hardly expected him to; why would Arthur notice something different about him, something wrong? If he was already so repulsive to look at, why would Arthur bother noticing him now?
Still, despite how many times Merlin began to change, the comments continued to flow freely. His eyes were still too bright, his smile too wide, ears too large, laugh too loud, and countless other things. A comment about how useless he was at his job left Merlin busy throughout the entire day as his magic sprung him into action; by the time evening fell he had caught up on every chore he had been given, until he was bone weary and covered in grime from the various tasks. He had been on his feet all day, not a moment spared to sit down and rest, and so when he tended to Arthur that evening, he was wearier than usual, tiredness seeped into his very bones.
In all, he hadn’t stood a chance against anything Arthur would say.
By the time Merlin reached Arthur’s chambers, the fire was already alight with dancing flames, and Arthur was sprawled in one of his dining chairs, one leg dangling over the armrest. An empty goblet was held loosely in his grasp as he unconsciously tapped a rhythm against the rim of the cup, his eyes watching the fire that turned the logs to nothing but ash and cinders.
Upon Merlin’s entry, Arthur turned slightly to see his manservant from the corner of his gaze.
“Ah, Merlin, you’ve decided to grace me with your presence today, at last.” Arthur seemed to smile, although Merlin assumed it was as sarcastic as his comment. He didn’t reply, simply stepped forward to place Arthur’s dinner before him on the table, arranging the plates accordingly and reaching for the wineskin to fill Arthur’s cup.
He was silent as he worked, efficient and useful, his magic coursing through him in a desperate attempt to please the future king. He kept his gaze lowered, focusing on the task at hand and trying not to notice how he could feel Arthur watching him quizzically.
“You’re awfully filthy Merlin, what have you been up to? Have you not had a moment to at least wash the dirt from your skin before this evening?”
Merlin bit his lip in an attempt to keep back an honest remark, something his magic was trying desperately to force past his teeth. He swallowed the words and replaced the wineskin upon the table, ignoring Arthur as best he could as he turned to move towards the fire and attend to the flames.
It was Arthur’s hand reaching out to grab his wrist that stopped him, pinning him to the spot as Arthur spoke again.
“Merlin, did you not hear me?” He said, a challenge in his voice that was dismissed with his next words, “What have you been doing to make yourself so filthy?”
Merlin held very still when he answered, not turning to face his Prince. “I was completing my chores, Sire.”
Arthur still didn’t let go of Merlin’s wrist when he replied, “Really? How unlike you Merlin.” He seemed to sound almost genuinely surprised and Merlin wished he would let go of him so he could put some distance between them. He could feel his magic racing through his veins to meet at his wrist where Arthur’s strong hand held fast to his bones.
Glancing down toward Arthur, Merlin almost thought to ask him to let go, but it seemed the Prince wasn’t finished speaking.
“That wasn’t so difficult to answer Merlin. Though one would think that with ears like yours, you’d hear me the first time around so I wouldn’t have to repeat myself.”
The remark was hardly a criticism, yet the familiar sensation of his ears growing smaller caused Merlin to close his eyes against the pain. He had lost count by now how many times his ears had shrunk, only a small grimace any sign that he could feel them shrinking again at all. He had grown accustomed to the pain of his face, his body, reconstructing itself to fit Arthur’s desires and had become numb to the sensation of the changes that took place.
The grip upon his wrist tightened; Merlin opened his eyes to see Arthur staring up at him in shock, his expression barely controlled as he tried to speak.
“Merlin,” he began, his name spoken slowly as Arthur continued to gawk at him, “did your ears just...”
If given the option to flee, Merlin would have taken it and ran. The air shifted as Arthur rose to stand beside his manservant, and Merlin shuffled uncomfortably, wanting to yank his wrist from Arthur’s grip and put as much distance between him and the Prince as possible. He didn’t dare to look at Arthur, continuing to keep his head bowed and his gaze upon the floor. Unfortunately, Arthur disliked this and reached up to grab Merlin’s chin with his other hand, turning Merlin to face him.
Peering more closely, Arthur’s eyes darted across Merlin’s face as if cataloguing each and every change that had taken place. His brow furrowed as he squinted in confusion, and Merlin moved to free his face from Arthur’s grasp. He still couldn’t bring himself to look directly at him and instead turned his attention towards the dwindling fire, even as Arthur spoke beside him.
“You- you don’t quite look like yourself, Merlin.” He managed, sounding perplexed, as though he knew something was wrong but couldn’t place his finger on what it was that was troubling him, “What’s going on?”
If Merlin could have managed to sound bitter as he laughed in response to Arthur’s query, he would have. Instead his laugh was soft and quiet, barely a breath past his lips. Arthur had already made sure that it could not be any louder than that weeks ago when he declared Merlin’s laugh insolent.
“Isn’t this what you wanted?”
Even now his voice was soft, though Arthur seemed to recoil against his words as if he’d been slapped. His expression shifted and twisted into confused concern and something within Merlin ached to think he could draw such an expression from the Prince.
“What, I- Merlin. What have you done?”
Glancing towards Arthur, Merlin wished that he were able to lie to him in that moment, yet his magic refused him that as it had refused him most things recently.
“I don’t think I meant to,” Merlin said, gaze dropping, unsure anymore as to whether he had had any conscious part in this, “It just-? Sort of happened, I suppose.”
Arthur was still staring at him quizzically and Merlin sighed, feeling both frustrated and defeated, “It wants- every time you point something out that’s wrong with me, it tries to fix it. It wants to- it wants to make me better for you, I think, and changes me to try and please you, but-”
He broke off then, his brow furrowing. His magic was soaring within him, twisting itself into a tornado trapped behind the cage of Merlin’s ribs. Arthur still had yet to let go of his wrist and his magic hummed beneath his skin, warm and tingling, until Merlin finally broke the contact and pulled away, stepping back, his gaze still kept to the floor.
“You’re not making any sense,” Arthur said, only the slightest trace of his usual impatience wrapping around his words, “What is ‘it’? A spell? Merlin, are you under some kind of enchantment?”
Shaking his head, he closed his eyes and tensed as if preparing for a blow, “Magic, Arthur, my magic. I... I’m magic.”
There was a moment of silence as the words hung between them, sinking in slowly. Despite the many times Merlin had worried about this day, the day he would reveal his magic to Arthur, his thoughts were eerily quiet and a sense of calm had draped itself over him like a cloak. Whatever it was that Arthur was to say or do, Merlin was frighteningly prepared for it.
“You’re-” Arthur started before breaking off, an almost frustrated sigh leaving him, “Merlin, if you have magic you shouldn’t be anywhere near Camelot, much less living within its walls, within the castle itself, where my father could find you at any moment!”
The tingling sensation began in his fingertips as his magic surged through him, ready to obey any words that fell from Arthur’s lips regardless of whether or not he meant them. Try as he might to push his magic down, Merlin’s magic welled within him and he raised his shaking hands before his eyes, fully expecting to see them fading into nothing until he all but disappeared.
Arthur must have read the panic on his face, or possibly seen the gold flash of his eyes, because he reached out and grabbed hold of Merlin’s hands, holding them tight and drawing Merlin closer to him. When Merlin chanced a glance up at Arthur he could see his own panic mirrored on Arthur’s face.
“I didn’t mean it like that,” he said quickly, his hands squeezing Merlin’s, “Stay. I want you to stay.”
Feeling his magic fizzle out, Merlin took in a shaky breath and released it slowly. He held Arthur’s gaze with his own and, slowly, he began to relax. Arthur must have sensed it because his lips quirked up into a small smile and he squeezed Merlin’s hands, which he still held in a firm yet gentle grasp.
“I want you to stay Merlin. And I want you to be yourself again. Your magic is just as incompetent as you are if it has other ideas.”
Merlin almost thought to duck his head to hide the flush rushing up to spread across his cheeks, but Arthur intervened as he reached up and cupped Merlin’s chin, his other hand still holding Merlin’s. His thumb swiped gently across Merlin’s chin and it sent a spark straight to his core, causing his magic to hum with delight.
“Yes, you have many countless distracting qualities,” Arthur continued, voice low and dropping to nothing but a murmur, “but as it turns out, I’m actually rather fond of them.”
Merlin felt his cheeks grow hot as he stared at Arthur, unsure of what to say. He opened his mouth as if to speak and instead bit his bottom lip, at a loss for words. Arthur only smirked at this, seeming smug that he had managed to leave Merlin speechless for once, but his expression quickly shifted into something softer as he gazed down at Merlin, his eyes travelling down to where Merlin was biting at his lip.
“Merlin,” he murmured, leaning forward, and Merlin held his breath as Arthur came closer. He closed his eyes, expecting to feel Arthur’s lips on his almost instantly, but when nothing happened he blinked his eyes open slowly to find Arthur watching him through hooded eyes.
“May I?” he murmured, the question practically a whisper, and Merlin answered him by closing the distance between them and sealing their lips with a kiss.
Arthur’s lips were surprisingly soft against Merlin’s own, and for a fleeting moment he worried how his lips may be chapped and unpleasant to kiss. His worries subsided to the back of his mind when Arthur applied a firmer pressure though, causing Merlin to sigh and relax into their kiss, his magic practically singing as it swept through him, curling around his bones and soaring through his bloodstream, making his toes curl with the sensation of it all.
When Arthur pulled away he gave Merlin’s lips one final quick peck before he leaned back to look at him. Merlin was thankful to see a flush had risen to Arthur’s cheeks but it was Arthur’s gentle smile, eyes filled with blatant adoration, that caused Merlin’s insides to do somersaults.
“You look more like yourself now,” Arthur said, catching Merlin by surprise. He reached up with his free hand to feel at his face, probing his plump lips, the sharp curve of his cheekbones. His fingers reached to touch his ears, back to their regular, slightly large size and he felt relief flood through him with a force that almost knocked him back. He looked at Arthur and couldn't help but smile wide, glad that, at last, his magic wasn't trying to change him.
Arthur was smiling at him in turn, though as he leaned back to perch upon the corner of the dining table his expression shifted to something more serious. He reached out to take Merlin’s hands in his again and when he looked up at Merlin, his eyes were incredibly blue, bright and enchanting.
“Merlin, I... I want to apologize. I know that... I know that I may say a great deal of things, not always things that I mean, and I realise now that some of the things I may say are... unnecessarily hurtful.”
He seemed to pause, watching Merlin’s face for a possible reaction. Merlin held his breath as he stared at his Prince.
“I don’t want you to change, Merlin,” he said, voice dipping low once more as he spoke, “I want you to always be you.”
It was Arthur’s turn to sigh into their kiss this time as Merlin leaned down to recapture his lips, and he smiled as he felt his magic soar.