so! i'm starting a new thing. yes, i know, i haven't updated run in ages, but i've been on a merlin hype so here.

i'm basically starting a story of one-shots inspired by quotes i find! most of them are from a:tla and fma, so if you have a quote you'd like me to do a one-shot on, just slide it down in a message or review.

there is cursing near the end here, but other than the little bit at the end, the whole thing's pretty clean.

oh, oh, oh, and this is my first fic that doesn't have a one word title! but in all seriousness, i was ready to just name this "words" or "quotes" for God's sake. celebration for me, i guess!

disclaimer: i do not own merlin.

total words: 1600 words

Readily Spoken, Dearly Remembered

Chapter One

It's time for you to look inward and start asking yourself the big question: who are you? And what do you want? - Iroh {Avatar: The Last Airbender}

"Merlin, if you weren't my servant, what would you be doing right now?"

The prince's words echoed through his head once again. Arthur had asked it weeks ago, but it still stuck with him. What would he be doing right now, had he not come to Camelot? Would he still be with his mother, a pariah in his hometown? Would he be dead, burnt at the stake by Uther himself?

"…What would I be doing right now?"

At that time, they had been on a hunt. They were resting for the night with a good share of food that could be passed around twice. Everybody else had dozed off, drowsy from their full bellies and Gwaine's outrageous, yet successful, prank of somehow tainting the knights' water with alcohol he had gotten one way or another (he did have very good resources). Merlin, seeing exactly what Gwaine was doing, skillfully hid his and Arthur's water skins under his jacket (never trust Gwaine when he offers to fill water skins, never ever). So that left the master and manservant alone to admire their drunken, sleep-fallen faces that would surely be subjected to horrendous hangovers, guessing from the way they'd all just slumped to the ground.

Merlin, who wasn't feeling very tired (for once in his life since reaching Camelot) vouched for the first watch. That left Arthur lying not but a foot away from where Merlin perched on a large tree root. Night creatures called for each other as Merlin fingered the thick, yellowing pages of an anatomy book he'd promised Gaius he'd study. Within it were pictures of skeletons and various procedures that required precise cutting of the bone or popping two badly broken parts in place with each other. It was enough to keep him occupied, but not enough to fully engross him. Arthur was restless, turning and shifting, fluffing up the sack that served as his pillow.

"What's wrong; can't sleep?"

Arthur twisted around, as he was flattening out his blanket on his opposite side. "Well, if you haven't noticed, Merlin, it's quite uncomfortable, lying here on the ground."

Merlin shrugged and pushed out his palms in resignation. "Okay, okay, I get it. The oh-so royal, so noble Prince Arthur can't take sleeping on a dirt ground. I get it."

Arthur glared at him, a sort of annoyed twinge in them, but looked away. He clearly was not up for any banter, especially after Gwaine's lovely gift from the tavern that gave him a load of giddy and currently dead to the world knights.

Minutes passed between them. A very large, very, very detailed paragraph on how to correctly amputate a hand in the book had Merlin's horrified attention for some while. There were even pictures to match.

"I am never, ever, going to do an amputation," he muttered to himself. "Nope, not even if Arthur's whole forearm is literally the color of death from frostbite. I won't do it."

Arthur breathed out a chuckle. "Good to know, Merlin."

Merlin's eyes jerked up to see Arthur with a half-grin on his face. He, too, chuckled a bit. "But really, if you ever, ever get frostbite, I'm handing you over to Gaius."

Arthur's smile widened just a bit.

Twenty crinkles of the pages later, Merlin marked his place in the book with a small scrap of fabric. Closing it with a thud of finality, he set the book to his right and gave a low sigh. Slowly, he stood up and carefully worked through the kinks in his toes, knees, spine, and neck. The popping of his bones sounded like a marble dropping sharply on a tile floor, just the tiniest bit subdued. He took in deep breaths as he fought to stay awake. He definitely didn't want to deal with a cranky knight or two. As he was stretching his hands and shoulders, a voice shocked him out of his groggy watch ritual.

"Merlin?" It was Arthur.

After recovering for a few seconds from the shock, he answered. "Yes Arthur?"

"Merlin, if you weren't my servant, what would you be doing right now?" A sort of uncertainty had crept up in Arthur's voice, as if he didn't want to know the answer, but had asked anyways.

Merlin leaned on the tree behind him, eyes narrowing in deep thought. Arthur began to wonder if his manservant had even heard him, or didn't have the heart to answer. A minute passed. Two minutes passed.

"…What would I be doing right now?" It was Merlin's turn to wonder. The words rolled off his tongue awkwardly, with a bit of confusion laced in. Where would he be? Probably still in Ealdor. What would he be doing? Probably looking for work or tending to his mother. All of that, or he'd be dead.

Arthur, on the other hand, wasn't having the same ease as Merlin did. He just couldn't imagine Merlin not being there. He couldn't imagine not seeing him every day. He couldn't possibly imagine what his life would be like without Merlin, so he wondered what Merlin's life would be without him. Judging by what little he knew, he would probably still be in Ealdor, doing only God knows what. Ealdor was a very borderline village, teetering on the thin line between Cendred and Uther's lands. This also meant that it was quite poor. Outlying villages didn't get as much attention as they needed, nor as much prosperity. Nobody noble wanted to live that far from the royal base.

Would he be dead?

After all, there was an awful-hearted man there, stealing from those who could barely feed themselves on a daily basis. The man hadn't the kindest of faces, nor the kindest of tempers. If Merlin was as stubborn and as haughty as he was now, would he be dead? Gashes dripping blood across his back? Broken bones? The screams of his mother? God, Arthur just didn't know. He couldn't fathom living a life like that, but they were entirely different people. Poor and rich. Lower-middle class and royalty. Citizen and prince. Servant and master. But they were more than that, right? They were friends, as far as Arthur knew. They'd stood by each other, advised each other, had this once mocking sort of bond that grew. He couldn't imagine not having Merlin there, by his side, every day, doing the clumsy little things expected of him. He couldn't imagine Merlin as just another dead citizen to prove a point. They'd grown so close.

Don't say dead; don't say dead; don't say dead; don't day dead –

"…I'd probably be dead by now, actually." Those words had hit Arthur with the force of a sword stringing right through somebody's ribcage, and then right through their heart.

"Oh," was all Arthur could manage to say.

And now, weeks later, Merlin sat, wide awake on his bed, the short little conversation picking at his every nerve.

If he hadn't come to Camelot, he'd probably have taken to some other town. He wouldn't have had all of these wonderful memories in the corners of his mind.

But were those memories worth all of the lives lost, both physically, morally, and mentally? Were the memories of one man and the fickle words of a bloodthirsty dragon all he had for who he'd lost?

No, most definitely not.

"…What would you be doing right now?"

He couldn't imagine doing anything else.

He wanted a life, he wanted a feeling of family, he wanted some goddamn credit where it was fucking due sometimes, but he still couldn't imagine not being by Arthur's side, whether or not his master knew how much pain his clumsy servant had stuffed within him.

But it was his life. He could change it however he pleased. He didn't have to pay heed to a dragon that turned back on his word and got a revenge that sent him spiraling down a pit of guilt. Why should he stay in Camelot? Why should he stay serving Arthur, when he could become something greater? It was his life. He could do as he damn well pleased. He could seek refuge with the Druids, learn more about magic and become a better person.

Did he want that?

Did he really?

…No, no he didn't. Not being in Camelot would feel like not being able to breathe. Camelot had become a home of sorts, despite the obvious similarities between a tiny village and a bustling city. Of course, he didn't mean Camelot as in the city itself, but the feeling its people had projected onto him. Everybody in Camelot had a sense of loyalty to one another, save for the few that tried to kill Arthur or Uther every other week. Its people had accepted his oddities, and he was quite open-minded to anything when he first stepped through that stone gate.

But most of all, he wouldn't be able to stand not having Arthur by his side. He wouldn't be able to stand not knowing whether Arthur was alright or not. He wouldn't be able to stand not being able to do anything for the prince, now that he had done so much and was ready to do much more in order to save his life.

No, he wouldn't want a life without Arthur.

He was content with this destiny, and he hoped it would stay that way.