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Chapter Text

↫Chapter One↬

This is an incredibly idiotic idea, and you are going to get yourself killed, you ass.

Arthur has had a suspicion for a good while now that the niggling voice he could hear in the back of his head whenever he was about to do something stupid sounded a bit too much like Merlin, but had also decided to simply dismiss that thought whenever it came up. The last bloody thing he needed was to have to deal with the idea that his thoughts involved Merlin even more than most already seemed to think it did. Ignoring this idea was a lot easier when he could just excuse it by saying that of course his inner monologue sounded too much like Merlin, the damn prat couldn’t shut up for 5 minutes even if his life depended on it. Let anyone else see if the same didn’t happen to them with Merlin constantly at their side. 

Except that Merlin wasn’t at his side right now. No, instead, Merlin had had to get into some damn fight at the damn tavern that somehow landed him in such a bad state that Gaius had refused to let him come, no matter how much he or Arthur had complained about it. But the sheer nerve to complain about getting time because of a stupid bar fight your own stupid big mouth probably caused is just a whole new level of disrespectful Merlin.

Arthur knew even as he thought it that he wasn’t being fair. He knew, in fact had known for some time now, that Merlin didn’t actually go off to the tavern like some alcoholic cad every time he disappeared. Even if the fact that he never came back from his absences smelling of alcohol or looking hungover weren’t a giant enough clue, it was the fact that he would often come back less himself than when he left. He would be quietly angry, or sad, or deeply tense and anxious all the time, or, worst of all, would have some sort of injury that he would try to hide or explain away with his familiar oafish clumsiness. Arthur had seen him assist Gaius, had seen him in battle. He knew that Merlin wasn’t nearly clumsy enough to inflict himself with those serious of injuries. 

Still, Merlin wasn’t here, and Arthur wasn’t in the mood to be particularly fair right now. He’d just been on his way back from peace talks in Mercia (which honestly set his teeth on edge at the best of times, and was made all the worse by the fact that he couldn’t amuse himself by watching Merlin trying (and failing) to hide his disdain at all of it) when his travelling party had been attacked. They dressed like bandits, but both he and Leon strongly suspected that they were more than simply common rogues - they fought too well, they caught them at the perfect moment. 

So when Arthur, pissed off at more politics for show, at having to make the long journey back home, at having been rendered cold and bloody miserable by Albion’s awful weather, and at being fucking attacked by a band of possibly-bandits, decided he needed a moment alone before he actually went insane, he walked until he reached a clearing he felt he could safely release some of his anger in without alarming his knights. And when he saw the cave which, as he walked in, clearly, obviously was magical in some way , he didn’t care much for the voice that sounded too painfully like his missing manservant. 

Fake-Merlin’s caution didn’t matter anyway. All that was in the cavern the cave opened up to was a small mirror, small enough that he could pick it up and pocket it easily. Fake-Merlin felt like he was becoming somewhat apoplectic at that, but Arthur felt that he could confidently ignore this - after all, what danger could a tiny mirror possibly possess?

Chapter Text

↫Chapter Two↬

If Arthur tensed every time Merlin went near the chest, he was close to breaking his jaw when Merlin actually opened it. Resisting the urge to snap at him to step away, he settled for simply watching him out of the corner of his eye; better not to show that anything was unusual or amiss. 

Logically, he knew that Merlin was simply doing his job, and Arthur’d buried the mirror deep in the bottom of his least used storage chest exactly because he knew it was unlikely to be found there. Logically, he also knew that even if Merlin found it, there was no reason for him to suspect that it was anything unusual, let alone a likely (and possibly cursed) magical object. 

Arthur still didn’t understand the hold it had on him. Why he simply didn’t destroy it, or place it safely in Camelot's vaults. Or why he was too scared to look at it for too long despite the urge having never left the edges of his mind since he had picked it up. 

He only half listened as Merlin prattled on. He was looking better than he’d been before Arthur left, even if he tried to hide how stiff his movements still were, and Arthur was torn between trying to speculate further about where the hell Merlin could be going all the damn time and trying to think of an excuse to get him to move away without arousing his suspicions in any way (and by the gods, he should not care about the suspicions of a servant, but he knew that Merlin was both perceptive enough to notice if Arthur tried to outright lie to him, and stubborn enough to prod until he was satisfied he had the answers).

He was saved by a knock on the door. 

“Enter!” he called. Leon poked his head through, his mouth rigid and downturned. 

“Merlin is needed, sire. There seems to be a mild outbreak of some illness in the lower town, and Gaius requires him to assist as he investigates.”

“Of course. If I may be dismissed, sire?” Arthur had noted the way Merlin immediately focuses all of his attention on Leon. He wondered, not for the first time, just how long he had left with Merlin as his servant before he became more serious about pursuing his physicianship career. He would never admit it, but Merlin was nearly good enough by this point that he didn’t even Gaius’ counsel on smaller matters. 

Arthur nodded to the both of them. “Bring me back a comprehensive report as soon as you have it.” 

They nodded their assent, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief the moment the door to his chambers closed behind them. He’d made up his mind. He was taking the mirror to the vaults today, to put it into a forgotten corner for Geoffrey to find and catalogue the next time he went to the vaults, which may not be for many months. Doing this would be a lot easier with half the castle being too preoccupied with the fear of a potential outbreak for anyone to pay him enough attention to question him. 

He waited by his windowsill, watching until Merlin and Gaius, escorted by Leon, crossed the courtyard and were out of his sight before he moved to the chest, rummaging through it until he felt his fingers wrap around the cold metal of the mirror. 

He inspected it curiously, he hadn’t paid too much attention to it before, too focused on hiding it away. It seemed to be made of silver, with golden pattern inlaid into it, wrapping from the bottom of the handle, around the mirror face, all the way back to the tip. Upon closer inspection, it seemed less like random symbols and more like writing. 

“Look into my surface, and speak the reality you wish to see exist.”

Well, that sounds like a lot of rubbish, Arthur thought. Of course, a probably-magical artefact would have nonsense inscribed onto it. “Speak the reality you wish to see exist”? He didn’t need to be a sorcerer to know that there was no magic that could change the fabric of reality.

A smirk found its way onto his lips as he thought of a reality he wouldn’t mind seeing. Ignoring the voice that had decided to wake up once again simply to piss him off, Arthur stared at his reflection and said, “What if Merlin was a girl”, humour and mischief tinting every word. 

Nothing happened for a few seconds, and just as he was about to laugh at the absurdity of “what are you even doing Arthur, talking to a mirror” he felt the hair at the back of his neck stand up. It felt as if the air was being stolen from his lungs, his body felt like like it was being squeezed by an invisible force, strong enough to make his ears pop. Just when he felt as if he would black out by the sheer strength of it, it stopped. 

It took him a moment to recover, and when he did, he seemed to be alone in the throne room. He moved towards the door, to go to his chambers, to go to Geoffrey, to run and find Gaius and demand answers for what the hell this thing might be. As he tried to pull it open, however, his hand passed straight through it. Arthur didn’t know how he might contain his panic then. He was dead, surely he was dead, for what other explanation could there be?

He wasn’t left to this existential horror for very long, for he could hear a commotion from the other side; the sound of a crowd making its ways towards him. The doors opened, and soon the room was filled up with nobles and their servants. He tried to eavesdrop, to get a sense of exactly what the fuck is happening.

“I still can’t believe the King is dead.”

“Good fucking riddance. I swear, I never would have said this when he was alive, but Camelot will be so much better now that he is gone.”

Arthur could scream. He could tear this whole room apart, if only he had a corporeal form. It wasn’t just these two, he could hear this sentiment everywhere he went in the room, meanwhile no one else seemed to be able to see or hear him. He was dead, and apparently his short time as King had been so horrible that no one was sad to see him go. Worry, that he could see. But the relief in the room was palpable, even to a ghost such as he. 

He could feel a billion questions bubbling to the surface of his mind. Who was the new ruler, for surely this was a coronation? How did he die? What did he do to fail his people this severely?

Where was Merlin?

A hush fell over the crowd - the moment of the coronation was upon them. Arthur nearly died a second death as he looked upon the man walking down the isle, for surely that wasn’t himself he could see there?

Except that it was, and Arthur was surprised to see that he didn’t look nearly as anxious as he had felt that day.

Was he seeing his life flash before his eyes then, as a bystander so that he could understand the legacy he had built while he lived? That hardly felt fair.

Arthur watched himself as he was crowned. He knew that he wasn’t nearly as self-assured as he seemed to be, he remembered his worry that he would throw up from the fear and the grief and the pressure of it, with everyone of power in Camelot to witness his humiliation. He remembers the way his eyes had found Merlin first, and then Gwen, when it was over. He remembers the relief he felt at seeing the pride in their eyes as they had chanted “Long live the King!” and actually seemed like they meant it. 

Except that this Arthur didn’t do that . His eyes landed on one person and one person alone, and stayed there, a fierce determination clearly visible in them. Arthur traced the direction of other-Arthur’s eyes, but he didn’t recognise the woman who was meeting his counterpart’s gaze with the same steadiness. She was tall, with pale skin. Clearly a servant, despite the clear strength in her posture. She had high cheekbones, and full lips, and eyes a piercing blue that Arthur had only ever seen on two people. She looked like Hunith. 

The words “what if Merlin was a girl” rang in his ears, as if Arthur could deal with another shock at this moment. 

Because that was the undeniable truth, that Arthur was in a different reality, one in which Merlin was a girl, and one in which, from the way this other Arthur looked at this female Merlin, Arthur had fallen in love with him (her? He didn’t know. He didn’t want to think about it). 

Belatedly, Arthur realised he was still clutching the mirror. 

“Take me back, ” he implored. This was too much. All of it was too much. 

The sensation of being squeezed to within an inch of his life returned, and Arthur was almost grateful. He fell to his knees in the safety of his chambers, and allowed himself to embrace the panic that had been slowly clawing its way up his throat. 

He had just used magic. He didn’t want to think of what that meant, if his soul would already bear the darkness of its corruption. Would it destroy him, even if he hadn’t cast any incantation himself?

He also didn’t want to think what it meant that, despite being a woman,despite being a servant, despite definitely not being his manservant, despite having no reason he knew to be at all close to Arthur, that female Merlin had looked back at him in the exact same way his own Merlin did.

Chapter Text

↫Chapter Three↬

Arthur couldn’t say whether it had been a few minutes or a few hours before he was able to calm himself down enough that it didn’t feel as if he were choking anymore. When he took stock of his surroundings, it was still light out; he wondered how much time he had spent in whatever version of reality that damn mirror had conjured up. He wondered if any time had passed at all. 

Arthur felt torn. On the one hand, he wanted never to touch it again. On the other, he could feel all of the questions burning within him, questions that only the mirror may be able to answer. Wariness filled him at just the thought - he was the King of Camelot, after all, no one knew better than he the deviousness of magic. The way it could trick the mind and the heart, deceiving until its malignant power had enough footing to unleash destruction and ruin upon everything. 

Except that Arthur knew, had known for all his life really, that this couldn’t possibly have been the full picture, for what of the light that had guided him in the caves of the forest of Balor, or of the druids, who had never once risen to violence despite the heavy blows rained against them? 

Still, he’d be a fool to think those anything but exceptions to the norm. No, he should destroy this artefact now, before anyone of a lesser constitution than he found it and was ruined. 

He couldn’t.

The fact should terrify him, but all he felt was the familiar grim determination he felt when he was facing any foe. He was a Pendragon, and a knight before all else. He could face whatever challenge he set his mind to, and right now he wanted all the information he could get. He needed to know whether this mirror showed truth, or was just a way to tempt him to madness. 

He would need a plan, of course. He wasn’t truly fool enough to do this without one. He’d need not to change too much in what he requested; though he’d asked to see Merlin as a girl simply as a joke, it wasn’t a bad idea to only request different versions of the man. Not much of the world could be that different based on the limited life of one servant, surely? And there was no one whose life Arthur knew better. 

What should he change, then?

Arthur wasn’t actually that keen to see Merlin as a girl again. As odd as it had seemed to be in the moment, it did make sense that he and the female Merlin had been involved - Arthur had fallen for a servant in this lifetime after all, hadn’t he? And other than that, it wasn’t as if the world could have been much changed otherwise, for again, what change could be brought about by the life of a servant?

What change indeed…

Satisfied, Arthur marked the edge of where the sunlight fell through his window so he’d know how much time had passed, bolted his door, and took a seat at his desk with the mirror grasped firmly between his hands. 

“What if Merlin never came to Camelot?”

This time he was prepared for the sensation, though it did little to make it more bearable. 

When the world resettled itself around him, he finds himself in the banquet hall, some celebration clearly in full swing around him. He observes the people around him, nobles and their servants, most already making their way into their cups. They look different to the people he knows now, but he can’t place his finger on exactly why. 

Arthur fumbles in a panic for his sword when his eyes land on Morgana, belatedly realising no one seemed to share his distress. This must be the Morgana of old, before the magic took hold of her. She moves through the crowd with ease, stopping on no one person until she arrived where Gwen waited for her. Arthur watches her with a heavy heart, wondering for what feels like the millionth time whether she could have been saved if only he had done something, had noticed something, before Morgause had sunk her wicked talons so deeply into his sister. He wishes he could do anything to save her from what she would become. 

So engrossed was he in his musings that he failed to notice his father until his voice rang through the room. 

“We have enjoyed twenty years of peace and prosperity. It has brought the kingdom and myself many pleasures, but few can compare with the honour of introducing Lady Helen of Mora.”

Lady Helen? Gods, just how far back exactly had he gone this time?

The court took their seats. Arthur very carefully does not look at his father, not yet ready to reopen those wounds that his slow death had inflicted on him. He watches his younger self instead, and is surprised to note the vehemence with which he wants to rid the boy before him of the arrogance that simply oozes off him; the haughtiness in his gaze apparent even from a distance. No wonder Merlin had hated him at first, he really had been a prick, hadn’t he?

Arthur watches as everyone present was lulled to sleep by the incantations sung by the witch wearing the skin of Lady Helen. It makes him feel nauseated, but at least he seems to be impervious to even this in his non-corporeal state. Any second now, the chandelier above the witch would collapse, and the spell would be broken, so Arthur tries not to think too much about how everyone looks more like corpses draped in cobwebs than the living, breathing people he knows them to still be.

Lady Helen lifts a knife as if to throw at his younger self; Arthur stares at the chandelier expectantly. 

Nothing happens. Instead of seeing everyone be brought to life by the Lady Helen’s collapse, Arthur watches himself die. 

“Take me back,” he whispered. “Please.”

The magic in the mirror responded. Arthur felt himself come to just as he’d been before. 

He was stunned. He didn’t know what he could have expected, but it certainly was not to have to bear witness to his premature death. All because Merlin had never come to Camelot?

But of course. That had been how Merlin had come to be his manservant, hadn’t it? He’d saved him from the Lady Helen’s blade. It made sense that his absence at that moment meant Arthur’s death. It seemed the mirror’s magic had at least some kernel of truth in it, after all. 

What didn’t make sense, however, was why the chandelier hadn’t fallen. Arthur filed it away to be pondered on later. He took note of his crude timepiece - the patch of sunlight didn’t seem to have moved at all. Not much time had passed in his world, then. He could do this all day.

He faced the mirror once more, and opened his mouth to speak.

“What if Merlin was born in Camelot?” It seemed perfectly innocent, but this time Arthur knew to be wary.

Chapter Text

↫Chapter Four↬ 

This time, Arthur found himself just outside of the castle. It was pitch dark, and a storm was raging, the likes of which he had seldom seen in his lifetime, and which he knew would mean great suffering for his people until it passed. 

He spotted a lone cloaked figure, walking with difficulty across the courtyard and towards the physician’s tower. They appeared to be doing their best not to be seen, and Arthur wondered what illness could be plaguing this poor soul for them to risk the storm, and what could possibly render them so wary they didn’t want to be seen seeking aid. 

Arthur decided to follow them. As they passed by one of the sconces that lined the tower, Arthur stumbled, for he recognised the person in front of him. She looked exactly like the female Merlin from the first vision, only her belly was visibly swollen with child.

Hunith. 

Good lord, was he going to witness Merlin’s birth?

(Merlin was only barely younger than he was. Arthur wondered just how far back he could go. If he could witness his own birth. If he could see his mother and the life she could have had if it weren’t for him.)

Arthur hadn’t given much thought before as to what circumstances may have occurred to bring about Merlin’s birth in Camelot rather than a tiny border village in Cenred's Kingdom, but he thought on it now. He supposed he thought perhaps Hunith had settled not in Ealdor, but in a similar village in Camelot. He wondered what brought her straight to Gaius.

He was disturbed to realise he didn’t know why Merlin had settled with Gaius either.

Arthur followed a step behind as she entered the physician’s chambers, surprised to note how little it seemed to have changed between this time and his own.

“Hunith?” Gaius sounded as confused as Arthur felt. “What’s wrong, why are you back in Camelot?” His eyes flickered to her stomach, and the kind of horror only understanding could bring filled his eyes. “Hunith... has something happened to-”

“Oh Gaius,” Hunith exclaimed, before she collapsed into his arms, her clothes and her tears soaking him through. 

Arthur turned away, distinctly uncomfortable with Hunith’s distress, ashamed that he was intruding on what was clearly a private moment between the two. He didn’t know where else to go - he definitely did not want to see his father or any of the other knights as they were when they were younger. He went instead to the room that joined this one, the one that would eventually become Merlin’s own. 

He absently noted that it didn’t even have a bed, but was instead a more chaotic version of the physician’s rooms outside. He sat on the table in the centre of the room, pulling strands of his hair between his fingers. It seemed that every such trip that he made ended with him being filled with more questions than answers. 

Gaius had said Hunith was back in Camelot, which obviously had meant she used to live here. Why did she leave? Why did neither she nor Merlin ever mention it, especially when she begged for shelter from the King? He supposed he should have picked up on the accent, the way that she and Merlin didn’t quite sound like everyone else from Ealdor, but still, they didn’t exactly sound like everyone in Camelot either. 

What were Gaius and Hunith to each other, that she could turn to him when she seemingly could not turn to her child’s father, when her son had turned to him when he felt that he didn’t fit in at his home anymore?

And just who was Merlin’s father? Gaius clearly had known him. Merlin hardly ever spoke of the man, and Arthur had never pried because he understood, but now he burned with the curiosity of it. 

Arthur knew he had a good chance of getting answers to his questions if he were to only go back into the main chamber, but the idea of intruding unwanted and unseen in what appeared to be a deeply personal moment left a sour taste in his mouth. There was no honour in eavesdropping, much less over people whom he hoped he could consider friends. If he wanted answers, he’d have to ask Merlin, and hope the man would be willing to give them.

“I want to go back. I don’t want to see this anymore.” Even as he whispered the words, his mind lingered on the two souls in the room beside him, wondering what Gaius had seen in Hunith’s face that had horrified him so.

Chapter Text

↫Chapter Five↬

Arthur sat at his table, his throbbing head cupped in his hands. Earlier, he had been determined to get answers, but now… now he was more confused than he felt he’d been in his entire life. The entire premise of this enterprise was to see if the mirror could hold some trace of truth in the visions it showed him, to test it with the knowledge he had of the man he thought he knew best, but now, faced with just how many things he realised he didn’t know, that premise felt foolish. Of course, that in and off itself could be proof that the mirror was only attempting to deceive and manipulate him.

And yet Arthur knew that there were some things he only now realised he’d never even bothered to question. He knew the best way he had to test this hypothesis would be to actually go in search of the answers himself, in this real world, but right now his heart ached. Reliving his coronation, seeing his father healthy again, seeing the Morgana of old, all in such quick succession, had taken a toll on him. He could do little else for now but think, his body heavy with grief as the hours ticked on.

Arthur started when the doors to his chambers opened. He was surprised to realise that he had been sitting in darkness. 

Merlin walked in, a tray of food in hand, which he nearly dropped when he noticed Arthur. 

“Arthur! Wha- why are you just sitting there brooding like a lovesick teenager?!”

“Shut up, Merlin.”

The shock Merlin wore turned to confusion as he inspected Arthur more closely. “Arthur- are you alright?”

“How are things in the lower town?” Arthur asked instead, hoping to deflect the other man. 

Merlin cocked his head to the side but said nothing otherwise. Arthur raised his eyebrows in response. He must have won this one, for after a pause Merlin said, “The people affected do not seem to be particularly so; Gaius and I think that this isn’t really something to be too concerned over. Still, it doesn’t hurt to be prepared, and we are entering the season for illnesses, so we’ve spent most of the rest of the afternoon preparing remedies - treatments for fevers and such.”

Merlin fixed that calculating stare at Arthur for a moment longer before finally setting the tray down in front of him. Arthur watched him out of the corner of his eye as he moved around, first kindling the fire to life, and then going around the room lighting the candles, before picking up Arthur’s knives and settling himself in front of the fire. Arthur knew he had been watched in turn, and did his best to act perfectly normal. 

The noise of Merlin working the whetstone against his knives loosened some of the tightness that had built up in his chest, and Arthur actually found himself relaxing a bit at the familiarity. At the proximity. 

Of course, that just made the questions bubble back up to the forefront of his mind. 

Feeling bolder for the firelight that filled the room, Arthur asked suddenly, “What made you come and live with Gaius?”

Merlin paused and looked up at Arthur. “I told you, I didn’t fit in in Ealdor. I wanted to find someplace that I did,” he said simply. 

“No, I know that. But why here? And why Gaius? Why not stay at some inn, or travel somewhere outside of Albion?”

“Oh. Well, Gaius and my mother are related. They were basically siblings, for how they were raised. When I left Ealdor, it only made sense to go to someone who might actually take you in. Inns tend to refuse you if you have no money,” he added the last statement teasingly. 

“I didn’t know that.”

“Well, now you do, I suppose.” That intense look was back in Merlin’s eyes. Arthur thought on what Merlin said for a moment, and then added, “You say they were in essence raised as siblings. I didn’t know Gaius was from Ealdor as well.”

“He’s not. My mother is from Camelot.”

“Oh.” Arthur’s felt his heart rate pick up a little. So there was some truth to the visions the mirror showed. Then-

“Why did she leave?”

Merlin ducked his head, rubbing the back of his neck absently. “She never actually said, but… well, I always assumed it was because of my father.”

“Your father?” Arthur prompted, trying not to let how eager he was for the answer show.

“Yeah. He was the only thing she never could really talk about.” Arthur waited, but Merlin didn’t seem to be willing to say anything else, and though Arthur knew he could probe the issue further, he didn’t know how to without making Merlin feel as if he were being interrogated. He simply watched Merlin as he stared pensively at the floor. 

It was only because he was watching the man so closely that he noticed the moment his face shuttered closed. When Merlin looked up again, the usual cheekiness was back in his face.

“You’re full of questions today, Your Majesty.” 

“Yes; perhaps I realised there were some questions I simply never asked. What kind of sovereign would I make if I didn’t even know my own manservant?” Arthur deflected, knowing that Merlin wouldn’t push the issue further if he hadn’t already done so. 

Arthur wondered if he imagined the fear that flashed across Merlin’s face before he smiled at Arthur indulgently. He picked the whetstone back up and resumed his sharpening, leaving Arthur to ponder what the conversation meant - both with regards to the mirror, and to what it said about Arthur, that he was apparently still such a self-absorbed prat that he had been ignorant of such basic knowledge of friend even years into knowing him.

Chapter Text

↫Chapter Six↬

Arthur woke a start.

It took him a second to calm his racing heart enough to fully ground himself. It was earlier than he normally would wake, but then again, he hadn’t been getting much sleep as of late.

He stared unseeingly at the canopy above him. Logically, he should be worrying about his people, how they would fare in the upcoming season. He should be thinking of the bandits that had attacked him and his men on their way home, and trying to identify anyone who would want to send rogue men after him on his way back from peace talks. He should be strategizing about how to deal with the council and the many ways they seemed to want to test his ability to rule. Instead, all he could think about was his manservant.

His manservant, who had somehow managed to sneak across most of the threshold of Arthur’s chambers without Arthur noticing him.

He didn’t seem to have noticed that Arthur was awake, and Arthur wanted to watch him as he was when he thought no one was looking.

He was still silent as he moved about Arthur’s chambers, setting the breakfast on the table and sitting at Arthur’s desk to go through his correspondence, noting what he thought most important (or, just as often, most amusing).

He looked troubled, and Arthur hated that he couldn’t even begin to guess at why.

Arthur was never a patient man though, and finally he tired of simply watching Merlin sit and make the odd note. He sat up and stretched, doing his best to act as if he’d just woken.

“Sire!“ Merlin exclaimed. “You’re awake early.”

“Yes, well, some of us have Kingdoms to run, Merlin.”

Arthur caught Merlin’s eyeroll as he said it, and turned away to hide his smirk. Behind him, he heard Merlin stand and fetch the clothes he’d laid out on the table. He moved towards the screen that only really served as a suggestion of modesty and waited for Merlin to dress him.

He was still lost in his own mind as a thought occurred to him, and he suddenly focused his attention to the man he'd by now tuned out.

“Merlin-” Arthur started, and then froze. Merlin was so close to him. Was he usually this close?

“Sire?” Merlin looked at him quizzically, his fingers still tangled on the laces of Arthur’s shirt.

Arthur cleared his throat and tried again. “Merlin… when did you learn to read?”

Merlin looked at him assessingly and Arthur cursed internally. This, plus last night’s line of questioning, would no doubt make Merlin keep an even closer eye on Arthur than he did already. He appreciated the man’s loyalty, but he could be almost as stubborn as Arthur was when there was something he wanted.

“Don’t know, I suppose,” Merlin shrugged as he answered at last, going back to his task.

“You don’t know? Merlin, you are aware that most peasants don’t ever learn to read or write?”

“Yes, funnily enough, I am well acquainted with the lives of peasants.”

“And you can read…and you don’t know how.”

Merlin rolled his eyes at him, not even bothering to hide it a bit, the fucker.

“I just don’t, alright? My mother had a few books and I suppose she must have taught me how to read them.”

“Your mother.”

“Yes, Arthur,” he replied in his best Arthur-will-you-please-shut-up voice.

“Your mother, who once lived in Camelot.”

“Have you suffered a blow to the head my Lord? Should I get Gaius to come and look at it?” Saying this, Merlin grasped Arthur’s head by his fingertips and tried to use them to manipulate it.

Arthur slapped his hands away. “No, I haven’t suffered a blow to the head.”

“Why all the questions then?”

Arthur just glared at Merlin, as if that ever made the man do anything but glare back.

“Because I’m the King, and I do not have to explain myself to you.”

Merlin just huffed and walked past him, muttering who knows what under his breath. Probably plans for regicide. He was insolent that way.

By the time Arthur managed to excuse himself from that council meeting, he was angry enough to want to hack into the nearest thing he could find and not stop until he couldn’t move his arm anymore.

His damned councilmen couldn’t concede a single inch of ground sometimes, couldn’t let him say or do anything without making him feel as if he somehow wasn’t good enough. Matters hadn’t been helped by his lack of sleep, and not even his banter with Merlin that morning had helped enough to relax him sufficiently enough that he could carry out his duty with the ease his father seemed to.

He wondered if there would be anything that ever could.

He looked out the window to the training grounds and cursed that he couldn’t join his knights as they trained below. He knew Leon would have everything well in hand, but he missed being able to lead the training himself. To feel grounded in it.

He would just have to settle for having to go through the stack of reports he clutched in his hand, and perhaps a glass of wine to soothe the headache that would no doubt bring.

He would palm the task off to Merlin, but the man had left halfway through the council session, and with his comment yesterday about wanting to be as prepared as possible should there be a more serious outbreak of sickness, Arthur didn’t have the heart to go track him down and risk the guilt he’d feel if it turned out Merlin had disappeared to fulfil his duties as a physician’s assistant.

Arthur threw his quill across the room with more force than was probably necessary. He’d been going through the reports for hours at this point, and by now he wanted nothing more than to burn them all and damn the whole affair. He stared dourly at the parchment strewn throughout his desk as if he could set them on fire with the force of his glare alone.

Just as he was getting up to retrieve his quill, the parchment whereupon Merlin had scribbled the highlights of his correspondence earlier caught his eye. Sufficiently distracted, he grabbed the paper and sat down. He didn’t really care about the words written right now, he thought only of the man who’d written them.

Like everything else about Merlin, his handwriting was a disaster. Arthur never really questioned it, but now he wondered if it was because Merlin had never formally been taught to read and write, and so was never made to do it more elegantly than his current scrawl. If it was because his mind was only focused on getting the meaning down before moving on to the next thing, instead of paying special care to forming the individual letters the way Arthur had been taught to before it became second nature to him.

Not for the first time, Arthur wondered at the oddity that was Merlin. A servant that could read and write, who’d supposedly learnt to from his peasant mother who’d somehow owned a few books while living in a tiny border village, to which she’d moved from Camelot.

Arthur wondered what it would have been like for him if Merlin actually had been born in Camelot. They would have grown up within the same walls. Would Merlin still have been so foolish as to challenge a prince? Or would he have been just as scared to be around him as the other peasant children had been? Would they have been friends, with Merlin refusing to be cowed by anything, even despite growing up understanding the intricacies of the court?

Somehow, Arthur doubted it, and that saddened him. The closest thing to a friend a prince could have was another noble, and Merlin was unfortunately the furthest thing from it.

Arthur sat up straight as a thought occurred to him. Yes, Merlin wasn’t a noble. But what if he was?

He knew this was dangerous. He knew he should tell someone, Gaius at the very least, about the very magical item concealed within a chest in his very bedchamber. He knew.

And yet…

And yet the mirror seemed to have a hold on him. Not one that influenced his mind, he didn’t think as much, but one that captured his curiosity. He wanted to know. He wanted to see the world as it could have been. He wanted to understand how this device worked, and whether the small glimpse of truth he’d had from it was a coincidence, or if it was truly genuine in what it showed.

And, if he was being truly honest with himself, he wanted to know more of Merlin.

He was grasping the handle of the mirror before he knew it. The words flowed off of his tongue. The sensation of stepping through to this spoken reality phased him less and less each time.

Arthur found himself on the training grounds he’d been so longing for earlier. He stared down at this version of himself, trying to guess when he could be. He looked younger, no longer a boy, but not quite a man yet. He was focused completely as he sparred with another knight whose back was to Arthur.

He wondered at how the mirror seemed to pick when and where to place him into. It seemed random, but surely it couldn’t be? Yet why now had he been placed to watch himself train when what he’d asked to see was Merlin?

That became a little obvious as a slow clap sounded through the field when he and the other knight stopped training. The younger Arthur rolled his eyes at the sound, while Sir Leon, whose face Arthur could now see, chuckled. The younger Arthur turned towards the sound, and he followed his gaze.

He froze in shock at the sight.

He’d asked to see Merlin as a noble, yes, but for some foolish reason he’d thought that Merlin would still look as Arthur knew him. Instead, the boy before him was dressed in finery, his dark black hair offset by the deep blue long coat he wore. It was cut to highlight his figure, despite the fact that it would no doubt need to be let out in a few months as he continued to grow, and Arthur knew that the boy seated in front of him would grow up to become a surprisingly handsome man. He realised that, in his world, he already had.

“I see you didn’t get your head chopped off. That’s unfortunate,” the younger Merlin said. 

“Of course I didn’t! And that’s a foolish way to talk to a man with a sword in his hand.”

Merlin snorted. “Well you’re hardly a man, are you? Tell me, oh great Prince Arthur, what exactly are you going to do with that sword you can barely hold up at the moment?”

The younger Arthur opened his mouth to retort when Leon chuckled. He turned his glare to the offending knight instead, who barely stifled his grin. “You shouldn’t let his comments bother you, Arthur.”

“Yeah, Arthur, why are you getting so worked up about it?”

“I am not worked up. And don’t you have training to be in now anyway?”

Training? Merlin? Arthur supposed it would make sense, but he couldn’t imagine this Merlin taking to weaponry and knighthood any better than his own did.

“Nah, my father’s too busy at the moment.”

His father? For the first time since he’d started doing this, excitement flowed through his veins at something he’d heard. It made an amount of sense, for Merlin’s father to be the one that taught him, though it would certainly be unconventional. That must mean Merlin’s father was a knight as well, and maybe even a man of the court, if Merlin apparently lived so near that he could come to watch Arthur train when he was bored. He wondered if Merlin’s real father had been as well, if that was why Hunith had felt forced to leave. He wondered if the man roamed Camelot today, as blissfully unaware of his son as his son was of him.

He watched as the younger Merlin got up and walked alongside his younger self. He was pleased to see the relationship between the two young boys wasn’t that different to the real Merlin and himself. If anything, being of similar social standing seemed to make Merlin even bolder with the young Arthur, who relaxed the more he walked with Merlin despite the annoyed air he tried to put on.

He followed them as they walked through the castle, his amusement growing every time Merlin seemed to make the young Arthur increasingly flustered.

Merlin must have said something that the older Arthur didn’t quite catch but that made the younger charge after him at full speed whilst he ran away, cackling gleefully all the while.

Arthur followed them through the kitchens and into the courtyard when two voices ran out in admonishment.

“Arthur!”

“Merlin!”

The older Arthur was promptly distracted from the dread that had grown in his stomach from his father’s disappointed voice by the man who stood beside him. He stared at a face he knew, at a face that had once held so much hope for him and for Camelot.

“Sorry, father,” came the chorus of two behind him, and Arthur’s gaze flitted rapidly between the young Merlin and the man who he’d addressed. He catalogued all of the similarities between them that he hadn’t had the time to notice before, but now seemed so obvious he wondered how they hadn’t screamed at him when he’d first met the man.

Balinor gave his son a vaguely amused look before beckoning him forward. The young Arthur followed with him, doing his best to avoid Uther’s disapproving gaze as he did.

“Take me back.”

The last thing he saw before he left was the young Merlin discreetly giving a reassuring squeeze to the young Arthur’s elbow as they walked.

Arthur sat back on his heels as he processed what he’d just seen. He knew it was dangerous to take anything the mirror showed him as absolute truth, but he wondered. The similarity had been so striking.

If it was true, had Balinor known? Had Merlin? Surely he wouldn’t have kept it from Arthur if he had, even then?

Balinor was the dragonlord they’d tried to ask for help when the great dragon was attacking Camelot. Arthur knew, though no one had explicitly told him such, that the reason he had fled Camelot was for his unique and dangerous talent. Would Merlin not have said anything for fear that Arthur would think differently of him? Hadn’t he known that Arthur, of all people, wouldn’t judge a man by who they had been born to?

“Arthur?”

He started at the call of his name. That would be the second time today he hadn’t noticed Merlin coming in.

It seemed Merlin was a more observant man than he. His gaze went to the mirror still in Arthur’s hand before moving up to him, his eyes narrowed in suspicion.

“Arthur, what is that?”

Chapter Text

This is for everyone who was so kind receiving this story, and anyone who kept tabs on it despite it all.

I was a very different person when I started writing this. A lot has happened in my life, and a lot of things have changed. I'd love to come back to it someday, but right now it's just a facet of a time I can't get back to. 

I'm posting this bc I know how the Not Knowing of it all can feel sometimes; and if it's a bit of closure for me, that it could be for anyone else.

Thank you to anyone who's read this, and everyone who left kudos/feedback. It really was much appreciated.