Scar Reveal

Set series four. Post 4.02

Disclaimer: IDOM

Arthur knew stories.

As a Prince, future King, he'd been told stories and legends and then been taught to scoff at them; only believing in the solid facts. He had never really agreed with this – dragons and lake spirits might be legends but magic defied logic. Surely they could have existed at some point which made them as much a part of history as his great-great grandfather's triumph over another kingdom.

And when the dragon had escaped the bowels of the castle – the dragon that not even Arthur had known still existed – it just confirmed his theory. Although Merlin could have had something to do with that.

Merlin.

Merlin had lost people, seen people die (Lancelot was proof of that. Indeed Merlin had been the only one awake), but still looked at the world with a kind of wonder shown by a newcomer to the city. His eyes held a kind of innocence that defied what he had seen throughout his years living in Camelot.

He was a walking contradiction.

Arthur had known him for years and was still no closer to figuring him out. Sometimes it made him curious, other times furious.

And sometimes he couldn't care less. Merlin was a mystery. And it seemed like even Merlin was confused by some of the things he did.

He was the cheeky, insolent and (much as Arthur loathed to admit it) witty manservant. At other times he displayed a wisdom gained by age and experience, one that did not fit the youth and innocence usually in his eyes. Two people lived in Merlin, one a cheerful and happy servant who brought a smile to the harshest hearts, the other a wise old sage trapped in the younger man's body, hiding in the shadows. Arthur sometimes caught a hint of him in Merlin's eyes when the younger man didn't know anyone was watching.

And he was not the only one who had noticed.

oOo

Gwaine was a drunk.

He admitted that – it would be stupid not to.

Over half of the people he'd met in his life had met or caught him in a tavern in some kind of intoxication. That would be a lot of witnesses to the fact that he liked his alcohol.

But that didn't mean he didn't notice things.

He remembered a lot of things that happened whilst he was drunk.

And many people didn't care what they did in front a drunken man – too much faith in the fact that he wasn't likely to remember when he woke up.

It was how he'd lived before.

Blackmail worked like a charm when there was nothing else.

And he'd hated every moment of it.

But that was what was good about Merlin (and bad about him as well). He thought so much of his friends. Even when Gwaine was drunk, Merlin never acted any differently around him, merely kept his eye on him more (the first time Merlin hadn't, and Gwaine had started two tavern brawls and fallen over five times. After that Merlin watched him). It was quite nice really.

But annoying.

Even Gwaine couldn't know Merlin's secret.

Even Gwaine couldn't persuade his friend to let his guard down around him.

The only time Merlin had seemed fully relaxed was when he was alone with Lancelot. He seemed like he felt safer with this Knight. And now he was gone. The look on Merlin's face when he'd told them that Lancelot was gone – a permanent destination where none of them could follow him. Not yet.

Merlin seemed tense – even tenser than usual and now he'd lost Lancelot it seemed that Merlin was not relaxing for anything, he was in a constant state of motion. The rest of the Knights had taken the blow hard (Percival in particular) and Arthur was concerned for Gwen. But Merlin had taken it the hardest.

Gwaine couldn't decide whether it was grief or guilt.

oOo

They had been tracking a sorcerer and his wife through the forest. Arthur, Gwaine and Merlin had become separated from the rest of the Knights – a rare occurrence. It was unknown whether both of the couple possessed magic, but it was safe to assume they both did. Just to be on the safe side.

It turned out that the caution was necessary.

And that civilian reports could be wrong.

They (Gwaine and Arthur – and Merlin, not that he'd intervened) had just killed the husband. 'Strange' Gwaine thought. 'Wasn't he a sorcerer? Why didn't he magic himself out of here?'

That was when his wife had come charging out of the trees, tearful and screaming that her husband hadn't been the sorcerer, that she was. Nice twist, keeps the day interesting. Gwaine didn't like his callous thoughts but the woman had just tried to kill him. His own sword was still swinging violently in the vicinity where his head had been only moments ago. He winced. That would've hurt.

The fight was quite confusing and slightly dramatic. Arthur was hit over the head with his own sword. Gwaine felt sorry for having killed the man; knowing now that he was an innocent trader and not an 'evil' sorcerer (he didn't buy into the whole magic-is-evil thing anyway). Arthur was about two steps away from ordering them to charge at the woman as an 'evil magic-user' (conveniently forgetting that he had just killed her husband and how would he feel if someone had killed Guinevere?)

Merlin just stayed out of the way. He hated killing his kin, even when they tried to kill people he cared about. It wasn't until she almost beheaded Gwaine that he moved into action, creeping slowly forwards. No one noticed him moving. He was invisible (much like always). Just not literally.

And right as she swung her sword down towards Arthur's heart, he jumped in front of the blade. Gwaine quickly dispatched the sorceress, beheading her much like she had attempted to do to him. An alarming amount of blood was streaming from the manservant's chest and soaking through his shirt.

Luckily the wound was not particularly deep and Arthur stripped off Merlin's shirt quickly, bandaging the slice across his chest. Why was his servant so keen to die for him? He looked up at Gwaine, who looked horrified – well, his best friend had just been stabbed.

"Mate, where did you get those?"

Arthur was puzzled but Merlin knew what he was talking about. A look of alarm passed over his face replacing his usual cheeky smile (even after being wounded by a sword).

"You know me," he said hoarsely. "Always tripping over things."

"Mate, half of those would have required you to have tripped off a cliff and into a fire."

Now Arthur was really confused.

He looked quizzically down at Merlin, who was still lying on the floor, and froze. His face was probably a sight to laugh at but the only people there were Merlin and Gwaine; and Merlin looked far too apprehensive and Gwaine looked appalled.

The skin was marred by a mirage of cuts and slices, some more brutal than others – they had had inflicted with the intent to cause pain. There were small cuts all up and down his arms and on his shoulders the speckle of faint scars that matched a mace injury. Arthur's mace injury. He had done that, given those scars, to Merlin. The most grotesque injury Arthur could see was the enormous red burn in the middle of Merlin's chest, still looking angry and raw, as though it had been made moments ago. It must've hurt with every movement he made, every order he carried out, without complaining. How like Merlin.

Why had he not noticed that his manservant's body was more scared than his, than his Knights? What was wrong with Camelot if its servants showed more battle scars that its defenders? Arthur had always thought that Merlin had gotten through their encounters with magical creatures and sorcerers unscathed, he'd joked about it right before the immortal Knights of Idirsholas. So why hadn't he seen this?

He turned Merlin over, just to see the skin on his back, hoping desperately it would be pale and unmarred. His hopes were in vain.

On Merlin's back was another masterpiece made of scars. The small tiny cuts and bruises were there – they were expected from Merlin, who couldn't walk down a flight of stairs without tripping over. What wasn't expected was the long twisting scar about three inches deep and going from the centre of his back to his left hip. The skin was puckered and red and from the looks of it the injury hadn't supposed to have healed at all. Whatever had healed his manservant had not been able to fix the scars.

Gwaine looked even more horrified.

And now Arthur knew why he'd never seen Merlin without his shirt – or even with the sleeves of his shirt rolled up.

The look in Merlin's eyes was no longer alarmed. It was cold, detached. He looked down dispassionately at the artwork that was his own skin, which life had determined he would remember every slight occasion with a mark to the flesh.

Some of the wounds were peculiar though. They looked like they were self-inflicted. But Merlin wouldn't do that to himself – would he?

He'd never seen these on his manservant before.

Could he be hiding other things, other struggles, hiding behind his usual mask of cheeriness and sarcastic comments?

And more than anything, and he could see the same desire echoed in Gwaine's set features, he wanted to know – what had Merlin done to get these scars?

oOo

There had been a tense silence that no one had been willing to break.

Until Merlin pasted another smile to his face and tried to break the aghast quiet. "Well. Shall we return to Camelot?" The merry smile faded at the looks he received from the two Knights.

Arthur was angry. Who had inflicted such injuries upon his manservant? He didn't even have time to be alarmed at his own possessive thoughts.

"Where did you get those?" Gwaine repeated, slightly more forcefully.

"Around." Merlin was deliberately being vague. It was infuriating.

Merlin usually was infuriating.

It was one of his 'virtues'.

Annoyingly, Arthur had to listen to it – Merlin was his manservant, and occasionally he had something actually wise to say.

Looking at him you never would have believed it.

"Merlin," Arthur stressed; a hint of warning in his voice. He was losing patience. He often did when it came to Merlin.

"Arthur," Merlin mimicked.

Gwaine interrupted the conversation, hurriedly. These kinds of conversations between Merlin and Arthur were legendary and could go on for days at a time. "I know what you're trying to do, Merlin." The manservant just cocked his head innocently; eyes open far too wide for it to be normal. "You're trying to distract the pair of us from asking about..." He waved a hand down Merlin's scarred body.

This thought startled Arthur for two reasons. One, he'd not thought about it himself. Two, Gwaine was the one who had.

Had he landed in some sort of parallel universe?

Merlin had been injured and Gwaine was thinking logically. Arthur thought he might die of shock.

"I suppose I am. Is it working?" Both Arthur and Gwaine glared at him. "It would seem it isn't. Shame."

"Talk." Arthur spoke through gritted teeth.

Merlin smiled lightly, still attempting to evade the conversation. "You normally complain when I talk. Isn't it supposed to be annoying prattle?"

"That is. What next comes out of your mouth is going to be answering our questions."

The false smile and the effort to seem light-hearted dropped, the mask leaving Merlin's face. Now he seemed defeated and weary and apprehensive. "Do I have to?"

"Yes." Gwaine answered the question, whilst Arthur looked incredulously at his manservant. Had he really just asked that question?

It seemed he had.

Were there no bounds to his stupidity?

And he couldn't even use blood loss as an excuse – it wasn't like he'd lost that much.

It was only a scratch.

It had only just drawn blood.

Arthur had thought that last time – with the Knights of Idirsholas. Looking at his manservant's scarred visage, he knew that he had suffered quite a lot worse than a small sword nick.

What else didn't he know about his servant?

A lot it would seem.

Well, he could start finding things out now.

Gwaine spoke first, "Come on mate, I told you one of my secrets."

For a moment Arthur was intrigued, before realising that this was Gwaine, and chances were his tales and secrets were something to do with ale and women. He hoped. He didn't think that he could handle any more of his (friends) having any more secrets. He'd probably die of shock.

Merlin actually looked to be contemplating the idea. The area was quiet and still, the only sound their heavy breathing. Was he hallucinating, or was there fear actually in Merlin's eyes? The silence wavered for several seconds. "This can't get any worse," he muttered quietly, almost inaudibly.

The world set out to prove Merlin wrong.

There was a heavy war cry, breaking the silence. It was bandits this time, not sorcerers or magical beasts. They had intercepted at the inopportune moment as Merlin had looked ready to speak and Gwaine and Arthur were concentrating on Merlin and not their surroundings. Arthur knew he wouldn't be able to reach his sword in time (which, annoyingly and stupidly, was where the evil sorceress had left it). Gwaine was in a similar position.

Then again they were bandits...

Bandits weren't exactly known for their intellect. They'd probably be able to wrestle their swords off them. Or they'd drop them. Bandits seemed to do that a lot (and fall out of trees often).

However it seemed luck was not on their sides. Arthur and Gwaine were simultaneously attacked and subdued. Merlin, seemingly harmless and defenceless in his servant's clothes and open gash, was left alone on the ground. After all, what chance did an unarmed servant have against a group of bandits?

"Who do we have here?" The chief bandit looked all of them over quickly before singling his gaze onto Arthur. "The Prince?"

None of them reacted to his deduction, neither confirming nor denying. The bandit took their silence as confirmation. "How interesting." It seemed this bandit was one of the few to possess a brain. How unfortunate. "I would kidnap you and hold you the ransom but I know that doesn't work. For some reason, you always seem to get out of tight spots. So I suppose I'll have to kill you now!" The bandit sounded excited by this prospect. How coincidental – the one bandit who managed to capture them was insane and didn't have a plan. It was lucky more of them didn't try this particular combination.

Arthur and Gwaine were just preparing to do a last dash for their swords; an idea that could be seen as suicidal but as their captor was about to kill them anyway, it couldn't hurt to try; was Merlin gave a faint sarcastic laugh. Arthur stared at him. This was proof that his servant really was insane.

"I'm so tired."

That was good to know, Arthur thought, but how was this amazing revelation going to help them out of their predicament.

"So very tired." Merlin's eyes looked old and he wore the face of one a hundred years older, a thousand years of pain hidden in his eyes. He was standing slowly. "So tired of hiding. Of being underestimated."

Hiding what? Arthur tried to quash the rising feeling of panic that he couldn't explain.

"I think it's time I stopped."

Merlin looked up slightly from under his fringe.

The bandits all flew backwards.

Merlin's eyes glowed gold.

Arthur very much wanted to believe all of the bandits tripped over something cylindrical. At the same time. He faintly wondered, head swimming, if he was going into shock or if it was just the recent blow to the head. If it was the blow to the head, he could be hallucinating.

"Will I have to make you leave?"

Arthur sincerely hoped not. If both he and Gwaine saw it multiple times, they weren't hallucinating. He disregarded the fact that Merlin's voice sounded almost dangerous, cold and emotionless.

The bandits made no sound, fearing lurking in the depths of their eyes before they turned tail and run. Merlin did not relax. In fact his muscles tensed further as though coiled to spring. Arthur supposed he could understand – a secret sorcerer hiding in a kingdom where they were executed and being discovered by the Prince of said kingdom.

That did not make it any easier.

"What the hell was that?" Arthur could only stutter out the words.

"Magic." Merlin's voice held its usual sarcastic tone but it was only a shadow of his normally cheeky servant.

Gwaine whistled appreciatively. "I could tell."

Arthur sent Merlin a disbelieving look for both the revelation and the comment he'd just made. There was a moment of almost awkward silence for both what Merlin had just said and what had just been revealed. Arthur used these few minutes to frantically rearrange his thoughts into something resembling an order. Magic was evil. Merlin had magic. By his father's logic, Merlin should be evil. But Merlin wasn't evil. Merlin protested at shooting bunnies and deer. He had a smile for everyone and was always willing to lend a hand. Did this mean his father was wrong? Or did it mean that Merlin was a better actor than any of them thought? At the minute he was willing to give Merlin the benefit of the doubt – he had just saved all of their lives.

"And since when have you had magic, Merlin?" Well, he was trying to give Merlin the benefit of the doubt.

It wasn't really working.

"All my life."

Arthur really did stop at this. His father's teachings had all started with the fact that people chose sorcery, chose evil, and so deserved the death that Uther gave them. The idea that some of them were born that way destroyed all of his father's lessons on magic. And if his father was wrong about that, what else was he wrong about?

Sadly it seemed their disappearance hadn't gone unnoticed. In the moment's silence there was a loud call. Arthur cursed before pointing a finger at Merlin. "When we get back to Camelot we're going to have a long talk."

"And I'm going to join in." Gwaine looked uncharacteristically serious.

Merlin gulped.

(Arthur was just glad of the chance to get his head straight.)