Chapter Two: The Prince's Timer

Chapter Summary: When Arthur is young, he believes that his timer zeroing out will solve all his problems, just like in his fairy tales.

A.N: Well, I think that this installment turned out pretty well. I liked how differently I could take things from Arthur's POV.

Arthur first hears tales of the timers from his nurse-maids. They tell him tales of love and princes and princesses. The tales always end the same way: the prince rescues the princess, their timers zero in unison, and then they live happily ever after. Even when they tell him of the times they met their soul-mates, the endings are similar. They met their baker or butcher or blacksmith and fell in love. Then they were happy. Within his heart, he knows that this cannot always be the case. His mother loved his father and his father loved his mother, yet she still died. There was no happily ever after for them. But when he looks at his own timer, he still dreams of saving a princess from an evil dragon and the happily ever after that comes afterwards.

He wants to believe in happily ever afters, but the world keeps flinging sadness his way. His father's new ward, Morgana, who had already lost her mother, lost her father to a battle far from home. She comes to them, clad in finery and false arrogance, and he knows that her life isn't a fairy tale. Morgana's tale isn't over, but now is certainly not her happily ever after.

But in his heart, Arthur still feels as though the world is good, even if it keeps trying to prove him wrong.

He asks her about her timer, a few months after she moves to Camelot. It's frankly none of his business, but Arthur has never had someone his age to talk to. He thinks that he might as well give it a try.

"I don't have one," she says. There aren't any emotions in her tone, no anger, no sadness. She's simply stating a fact.

"What do you mean, you don't have a timer?" Arthur asks. He can't believe what he's just heard.

Everyone has timers.

"I don't have one," she says with a shrug. He sends her an incredulous look. She rolls her eyes. She pulls up the long sleeves of her midnight blue gown. Then she shows him her blank wrists.

"How-" He asks.

"My father said that it was a gift," she says, a tinge of bitterness finally creeping into her voice, "That I could write my own destiny. He always felt forced into marrying my mother, because of the timers. He said that I wouldn't have that same problem."

"That's ridiculous," Arthur says, but he doesn't know which part he's speaking of. It might be of Morgana's lack of timer. It might be of her father's opinion on soul-mates.

Morgana seems to have ignored his comment.

"I don't think so," she says, "I think that it's proof that the timers aren't true."

"Wait-" Arthur asks.

She just keeps speaking, "I think that it's proof that nothing in life is guaranteed. Not happiness, not love- nothing. Not even with the timers." The grief is evident in her tone, but Arthur's not sure if she's mourning her parents or her timer. He just looks at her, and instead of saying something comforting or helpful, he does something that is probably the worst thing he could do.

That is what he tends to do.

"You're just mad that you don't have a timer," he says.

She sends him a glare that stops him in his tracks.

"You think that I want one of those?" she says with venom in her tone, "I want my parents back. I don't care about soul-mates."

Arthur can't find the words to respond.

"You know it's kind of funny," she says, "Magic is banned in Camelot. People burn for it here, but I've never been to a place more obsessed with the timers. The timers were birthed from magic."

"The timers just are," Arthur says, "They aren't magic."

"You're an idiot," she says. The bite is absent from her tone. She's actually smiling, which is something she hasn't done since her arrival. Arthur is confused.

"Morgana-"

"It doesn't even matter," she interrupts, and he can hear her anger subsiding.

She shrugs as she conclude, "I don't have to deal with them." Arthur doesn't know what to say. Morgana seems clueless as well, because she strides out of the room without another word.

Morgana's words lodge themselves into Arthur's head like barbs. He has never questioned the timers before, never questioned their relevance, their accuracy. It feels like he's betraying his soul-mate to even consider it. It feels like blasphemy.

His timer keeps ticking, and he looks to it when he feels sad or alone. He knows that it might be foolish, but he can't help it. It gives him comfort to know that somewhere out there, his soul-mate lives.

He is eighteen when his father talks to him about the timers. It is a private affair, much unlike the feasts they normally eat at, or the dinners with Morgana that the two spend playfully bickering with one another. This is intimate in a way that he assumes peasants can always be. It is intimate in a way that kings can seldom afford.

His father looks out the window instead of at Arthur, gazing into the past in a way that he can't when seeing his son's face.

"Arthur," he says, "someday your timer will zero out." He turns back to his son.

"Someday you will meet your soul-mate," he says, "But she might not be the woman you are destined to marry."

Arthur can feel confusion fill him, "What?"

"You might not be able to marry your soul-mate," he repeats, "The fates are not always kind. She might be a serving girl. She might be an outlaw. He might be a man. You are to marry a princess."

"But-" Arthur wants to contradict him. He wants to argue for the fairy tales that he's always heard: that the prince always falls in love with the princess, that true love conquers all. He can't, though, because he knows that life isn't a fairy tale. He knows that his father and mother's marriage was cut short. He knows that Morgana has no soul-mate.

"You will marry a princess," Uther says, "because it is best for the kingdom. But that does not mean that you cannot see your soul-mate."

"I understand, father," he says, because he understands. He wishes that he did not.

"Good," he says, "then we will not need to have this conversation again." Arthur knows that this means his father will not ask him about his soul-mate, that he will not care. He does not know if he thinks this is a good thing. Once again he finds himself thinking that life is not a fairytale.

His timer slowly ticks towards zero. Sometimes he wonders if it will ever zero out.

The day comes and it starts like any other day. His anticipation builds in his belly, and he needs to let off a little steam. He just uses a servant for target practice. He's done it before. He doesn't think that it's that bad. But someone disagrees with him. And that someone doesn't keep quiet about it.

"Hey, come on, that's enough," the man says.

"What?" Arthur asks.

"You've had your fun, my friend," the man says. The look on his face is sincere, and not in the slightest bit frightened. Arthur doubts that he knows he is back-talking the prince.

"Do I know you?" Arthur asks him. At this point he's not offended. He's just kind of amused that someone thinks that they can stand up to him, even unwittingly.

"Er, I'm Merlin," he says as he sticks out his hand to shake. Arthur gives it a quick glance and then looks the man up and down. He's fairly average looking with pale skin, dark hair, and cheaply made clothing. The only memorable thing about him is his overly large ears.

"So I don't know you," Arthur says.

"No," Merlin responds. He seems to be growing more and more uncomfortable.

"Yet you called me friend?" Arthur says.

"That was my mistake," he says.

"Yes, I think so," Arthur replies. He's enjoying toying with this man who stood up to him.

"Yeah. I'd never have a friend who could be such an ass," Merlin says. Arthur almost laughs at the man's futile insult.

"Or I one who could be so stupid," he says with a snort. Merlin stops in his tracks.

"Tell me, Merlin, do you know how to walk on your knees?" Arthur asks. He's not sure why he can't let it go, but there's something about Merlin that makes him want to continue. The man turns.

"No," he says.

"Would you like me to help you?" he mocks.

"I wouldn't if I were you," Merlin threatens and this time, Arthur does laugh. What could this scrawny man possibly do that would be a threat to him? The man is skin and bones, and has a goofy, guileless grin. He looks about as menacing as a puppy dog. He might even be less menacing. At least dogs have sharp teeth going for them. Arthur is certain Merlin has no idea what he's gotten himself into.

"Why? What are you going to do to me?" Arthur asks with a grin.

"You have no idea," Merlin says. Arthur finds himself once again on the brink of laughter.

"Be my guest! Come on! Come on! Come on!" he taunts. Merlin punches at him, but Arthur easily twists his arm behind his back.

"I'll have you thrown in jail for that," he threatens.

Merlin asks, "What, who do you think you are? The King?" And this time, Arthur does laugh.

"No. I'm his son, Arthur," he says with a smirk on his face. And then he kicks Merlin at the knees, knocking him out. The guards take the unconscious man to the stocks, and that's the end of that. The people that have gathered to watch dispatch quickly. Arthur is growing impatient. He glances down at his wrist

He sees that it has zeroed out.

He quickly pieces it together: Merlin, chemistry, timer, soul-mate. He finally met his soul-mate, and it's Merlin.

Shit