"I found one!" Arthur eases the door open, and slips into the wreck of Gaius' chamber, with Uncooperative Merlin right on his heels. "I found one, Gaius. He's very obtuse, and extremely unhelpful and immensely irritating, so I'd say not much has changed with this bit."

"Thank you for that assessment, Sire," Gaius says, very dryly.

Uncooperative Merlin lets out a very loud, very unhappy huff.

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur tosses over his shoulder before he turns back to Gaius. "There is some good news though. Apparently, he knows he's split himself into nine, and he's aware of all the others."

"Yes," Gaius stoops down to pick up a broken glass bottle off the floor, "I would imagine he is aware, Sire."

Arthur blinks. The old man has made some pretty clever guesses before, and he knows the ins and outs of magic far better than Merlin, but a spell to split a man up into nine still seems a bit out of his field. "What?"

"Well, I would suppose," Gaius says, very seriously, and he stands up straight to look at Arthur, "you can feel it when you're only one of nine."

Arthur is literally going to scream out loud. That's it. That's just it. He is going to go out into the forest and he is going to drop facedown into the dirt and he is going to scream himself hoarse. That's obviously the only way he's going to make it through this lunacy with even a modicum of his own sanity still intact.

He wheels around to look at Uncooperative Merlin, because he knows if he tries to say a single word to Gaius, that scream is going to come out right this moment. "Come on," he says, instead, and he tugs on Uncooperative Merlin's arm, "let's go, let's get down to the stables."

Uncooperative Merlin doesn't move.

Uncooperative Merlin certainly lives up to his name.

He stays absolutely still, his hands limp and open at his sides, his dark head cocked, and his wide blue eyes locked on—

—on the narrow stone stairs up to his own bedroom.

Arthur frowns. He looks at the stairs, but as far as he can tell, all the enormous, ancient books and broken glass bottles strewn on the steps aren't that fascinating. "What is it? What's wrong with you?" He tugs on Uncooperative Merlin's arm again, a little harder this time, to get his attention.

It certainly gets his attention.

Uncooperative Merlin nearly jumps out of his skin, and he skitters back at least two hundred paces, his blue eyes still a bit too wide for his thin, pale face, but he doesn't put up a fuss, and he doesn't shout at Arthur like the real Merlin would. "I—I just—it's just—" he shakes his head, and his mouth twists up, like he's just bitten into a lemon rind, like he doesn't want to spit out the words on his tongue, "—there's—" his mouth twists up even more, "—another me up there."

"Oh," Arthur almost laughs, because trust Merlin, or a bit of Merlin, to make an enormous fuss over absolutely nothing, "is that all?" His heart lifts a little higher in his chest. Maybe this really will be easy. Maybe he really will find all the Merlins much quicker than he even hoped. "Well, that's great, Merlin!" He tugs on Uncooperative Merlin's arm again, to pull him over to the stairs now. "Let's get him down here before he can run off! Gaius will keep an eye on him while we collect the others and we'll—"

But Uncooperative Merlin's thin, pale face pulls suddenly tight. "No," he says, sharply, and he drags his wrist right back out of Arthur's grip. "No, let's—um, let's, you know, not do that. At all. Ever. Okay? Sound good?"

"What?" Arthur flicks a glance over at Gaius, but the old man looks almost as baffled as he feels. "What are you talking about? It will only take a moment, Merlin, and it's best to get all of you together as quick as we can. We can't be running 'round right at the end like madmen, trying to get all the bits of you in the same—"

"No, no!" But Uncooperative Merlin shakes his head again, even harder now, his eyes bigger and wider than ever. "No, no, don't, really, let's find all the others first! Why don't we go and find all the others first? Because, if we don't find all the others, we'll have dragged that bit down here all for nothing, a-and that would be very rude of us, really, it's only good manners to let him—"

"Shut up, Merlin!"

Uncooperative Merlin immediately snaps his stupid, idiotic mouth closed, with a loud clack of teeth.

Thank Christ.

Arthur could hardly hear himself think in all that nonsense.

He rubs lightly at his temple—oh, God, is he going to get nine Merlin Headaches now?—before he glances back up at Uncooperative Merlin. "Look," he says, calm as he can, but calm isn't really a thing he is, ever, and the look on Gaius' face tells him he has really massively missed the mark here, "I haven't the time to stand 'round and quibble about this. All right? I'm going to go up and get him. You can stay here, or you can come with me, it makes absolutely no difference to me. But I'm going up there. All right?"

"No, no, no," Uncooperative Merlin looks like he will actually rush over and tackle Arthur to the floor if Arthur tries to go up the stairs, "no, don't—"

"—Merlin—"

"—I-I'll do it!" Uncooperative Merlin nods, a little too hard. "I'll do it! Okay? I'll do it. I'll handle it. I—I'll go, a-and bring him down. You just stay here. Just stay here." He holds out a hand, and his long, pale fingers tremble in front of him. "Please. You—" he glances at the narrow steps, and his whole face pulls tight again, "—y-you shouldn't have to see me like this."

Arthur does not like the sound of that, because it feels a bit too much like I'm here to look after you, not the other way 'round, but he shuts his mouth, and he lets Uncooperative Merlin bound off, alone, up the steps.

But that doesn't mean Arthur doesn't follow.

The minute the long, low creak of rusted hinges and ancient wood echoes down the dark stairs, and he's certain Uncooperative Merlin has gone into the bedroom, he slinks, thoroughly silent, along right on the idiot's heels, right in his shadow. This is absolutely, utterly ridiculous. Honestly. He is the King, for God's sake! He should not have to creep 'round his own damned castle like a criminal! Like a thief! He's the King!

Uncooperative Merlin has left the door slightly open, hanging heavy in its chipped, splintered frame, and Arthur—like a little boy at a keyhole, and yes, this is absolutely and utterly ridiculous, too—peeks in through the thin crack.

Uncooperative Merlin stands in the middle of the room, his thin face pale as fresh snow, and his blue eyes all narrowed and pinched up tight, his shaky fingers curled up in white-knuckled fists, his dark head ducked down, turned away from the new Merlin, like he can't stand to look, can't stand to even cast his eyes on the new Merlin, except the new Merlin looks—

—normal.

The new Merlin looks absolutely normal.

With the way Uncooperative Merlin talked of him, Arthur almost expected to find this new one deep in a bath of virgins' blood and baby tears, or maybe all hunched over in a black cloak, with a wooden spoon in a bubbling, boiling cauldron as he casts an evil curse over the castle, but no, it's nothing like that—the new Merlin's settled on the edge of the bed, with his feet flat on the floor and his hands limp in his lap, and he—

All right, so that's a bit odd.

He stares straight past Uncooperative Merlin. Like he can't even see him, like Uncooperative Merlin isn't even there, or like he's slipped off into sleep with his eyes wide open, his whole face blank and empty as a sheet of new parchment.

But Arthur has certainly seen stranger—he's certainly seen the real Merlin do much stranger than this new one, that's for sure—so he pushes open the door, and he slips into the room, to the foot of the bed.

But the new Merlin doesn't even look up.

Uncooperative Merlin does. "Arthur!" His face untwists and his eyes un-narrow and his white-knuckled fists unclench, but the tips of his ears tinge lightly pink. "What are you doing here?" He takes a small step back, and tosses an uneasy glance over at the Merlin on the bed. Oh, so now he can stand to look. "You shouldn't be up here. I—I told you not to come up here, you shouldn't be up here, you shouldn't—you shouldn't see, you shouldn't have to see—"

Arthur rolls his eyes. "Well, congratulations, Merlin, but I'm here now." He flicks a glance over at the Merlin on the bed, too, but that one still won't even look up or even turn his head. Arthur frowns. "What's wrong with him?"

Now Uncooperative Merlin won't look up at him, either. "Y-You really need to leave," he ducks his dark head down and plucks halfheartedly at a loose thread on the frayed edge of his long sleeve. "You really just need to leave, Arthur, please, just leave, you shouldn't have to see this, you really shouldn't have to see this—"

"—oh, don't be such a girl, Merlin—"

"—please, please, just go, Arthur, please—"

"—for God's sake, stop frittering, you idiot, we'll never get a thing done if you don't—"

"—go, just go, just go back to Gaius, please, you sh-shouldn't have to see me like this, I—I don't want you to see me like this, please—"

"Why not?" It comes out a little sharper than Arthur wanted, and it takes him far too long to hear it, with the heavy pound of his own blood and fury in his ears. "Why not? What the hell do you have to hide?"

The Merlin on the bed looks up.

The Merlin on the bed opens up his mouth.

His blue eyes burn gold.

He screams.

He screams and he screams and he screams like the real Merlin has never screamed before—like the scrape and screech of long nails on hard, flat rock, or the shriek of a sword as the steel blade hits the grindstone, and it's so loud, and it drags on so long, Arthur's sure it's going to shatter all the windows in the whole castle, or it's going to bring the roof down on him, and it's got to stop soon, hasn't it, the new Merlin has got to stop soon, he's got to run out of breath, he's got to go hoarse, he's got to hurt his own ears, except he doesn't stop, he doesn't run out of breath or go hoarse, he just goes on and on and on, and the floor under Arthur's feet shakes and trembles, and dust falls, in thick grey puffs, down off the ceiling, and Arthur has to clamp his hands down, hard, over his own ears so he can think, because it won't stop, it won't stop, it won't stop—

It stops.

The Merlin on the bed falls absolutely silent and still.

It's like he never even opened up his mouth at all.

Arthur slowly pulls his palms off his throbbing ears, and he drops his hands back down to his side.

Uncooperative Merlin picks at the loose thread on his sleeve again. He didn't cover his ears. Even once.

"What," Arthur says, very unsteadily, when he can finally hear himself again, "the hell was that?"

"I told you," Uncooperative Merlin says, in a very flat, very dull sort of way, and he never looks up from the thread on his sleeve, "I told you to leave."

"What the hell was that?" Arthur says, again, and he sounds at least a little bit steady now. "Seriously, Merlin, what the hell? Is that all he does? Screams and silence? That's it?"

Uncooperative Merlin finally looks up at Arthur, full in the face, straight in the eyes, the frayed string still clutched tight in his long, pale fingers. "There are parts of me," he says, and in that very flat, very dull way again, "that never found a middle ground."

"Is he—?" Arthur glances at the Merlin on the bed. "Is he going to do it again?"

For all of half a moment, Uncooperative Merlin's face tightens, and he looks so much older and so much sadder than Arthur has ever seen the real Merlin look, but he shakes his head. "Not so long as you don't shout at him again."

Arthur scowls. "I never shouted at him in the first place!"

Uncooperative Merlin shakes his head again. "At him. Around him. It's really all the same to him. He can't tell the difference, Arthur." He plucks at the thread again. "Please. Don't be loud around him, all right? Don't be loud, a-and don't grab him, and don't get too near to him. That will only make it worse."

Arthur edges around to the side of the bed. He's not too near the new Merlin, is he? "Should I—?" He looks at Uncooperative Merlin. "Should I leave him up here, then?" He doesn't like it. He doesn't like it at all. The Merlin on the bed is not the real Merlin, but he's a bit of Merlin, he is one piece of the whole, and he looks so hollow, so dead, it feels almost cruel to turn away and leave him alone.

To leave him to his silence and his screams.

But Uncooperative Merlin lifts one skinny shoulder in a lazy little half-shrug. "Probably. All the noise down there is just going to upset him all over again."

Arthur hesitates. It still doesn't feel right. "Are you sure about that? I—I mean," he steals a glance back down at the Merlin on the bed, "it won't upset him to get left up here?"

Uncooperative Merlin does his lazy little half-shrug again. "He's going to be upset no matter what, Arthur. Just leave him to his sulk. That's pretty much all he does."

It doesn't look much like a sulk to Arthur—the new Merlin still looks too blank, too hollow, his blue eyes bloodshot and glassy and absolutely empty—but he tears his gaze away to look back up at Uncooperative Merlin all the same. "Is that what he is, then? Sulky Merlin?"

Uncooperative Merlin wrinkles up his nose. "What?"

"Well, you said it yourself. All he does is sulk."

"No," Uncooperative Merlin's nose wrinkles up even higher, and his mouth does the lemon-rind twist again, "you're naming us?"

Arthur flushes, but he sticks out his chin and holds his head up high as he can. "There are nine of you now. How am I meant to keep all of you straight? Short of asking Guinevere to sew you lot some color-coded scarves—"

"—ooh—!"

"That was not an actual suggestion!"

"I want a color-coded scarf," Uncooperative Merlin says stubbornly.

"You are not getting a color-coded scarf," Arthur says, just as stubbornly. "The ones you've already got are awful enough."

Uncooperative Merlin looks like Arthur's just leaned over and kicked him. "My mother made me my scarves."

Arthur snaps his mouth shut. He knows better than to say a word against Merlin's mother. "Well," he says, instead, "I suppose we'll just have to come back for this one once we've got all the rest." He tips his head at the Merlin on the bed—Sulky Merlin still doesn't feel right, so Sad Merlin will have to do, even if that doesn't feel right, either—and turns back to the door. "Come on, then."

Uncooperative Merlin scrambles down the stairs like he can't get himself out of the room, and away from Sad Merlin, quick enough.

Gaius arches his brow at Arthur.

Arthur shakes his head, a little too hard, and flicks a little glance over at Uncooperative Merlin, to make sure the old man understands.

"Right," he says, a touch too loud, in the heavy silence of the room, "come on, Merlin, let's head for the stables. Since I'm the first one back, the others must be—"

And, speak of the devil, and all of that, the door bursts open, and a third Merlin skips—no, no, really, he actually skips into the room, like an absolute girl, and he bounces a little, on the balls of his feet, and he breaks out in a bright, beaming, goofy grin—

—and he promptly trips spectacularly over his own boots, and crashes heavily to the floor. "Oh," he groans, very pathetically, "ow."

Arthur can actually feel his mouth drop open, but he can't do a thing to stop himself—he's seen the real Merlin stumble on absolutely flat ground before, so that bit's nothing new, but this third Merlin, sprawled out in a loose tangle of too-long limbs on the floor, looks like he did the day he stumbled into Camelot and picked a fight with the crown prince.

This third Merlin looks so young.

And he looks so happy.

But that's ridiculous, obviously, that's completely and utterly and absolutely ridiculous, of course it is, because the real Merlin, the whole Merlin, he's happy, too, isn't he, so this third Merlin shouldn't look so strange to Arthur, this third Merlin shouldn't feel so strange to Arthur all because he looks happy. The real Merlin is happy, too.

Right?

Isn't he?

"Be careful, Merlin," Gaius says, with a little click of his tongue, like he's already said it a hundred times before. "If you knock yourself out on the edge of that table again—"

"Sorry, Gaius," the third Merlin scrambles to his feet, and flashes the old man a sheepish, dimpled smile. "Just tripped over."

Arthur should not ask. This is really not the time to ask. But he's still going to ask all the same. "You knocked yourself out on the edge of the table?"

The third Merlin blushes absolutely bright red, all the way to the tips of his enormous ears. "Once," he says, like that's actually going to make it better. "I only did that once."

"Oh, right, yes, my mistake," Arthur says, dryly, "we all knock ourselves out on the edges of tables once in our—"

But, right at that moment, Guinevere glides in—all soft, quiet grace, such a startling, stark contrast to the clumsy goofball on the ground in front of her—and Arthur has to snap his mouth shut, before she gets on him for "teasing" Merlin too much.

The second she's in the room, Uncooperative Merlin turns to face her.

"Gwen," he says, seriously, "can I have a color-coded scarf?"

notes: shout-out to my friend for bringing up this fic and reminding me this chapter was rotting in my documents and all i had to do before i posted was proofread. updates on all my fics are likely going to be spotty until the end of summer.