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new_kateTitle: Steam
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 40k
Warnings: reincarnation, violence, captivity, deaths of minor characters, alternative history, bad science, extreme nerdiness, evil mecha.
Summary: It's been centuries since King Arthur united Albion and lifted the ban on magic. Ruled by Pendragon dynasty, the kingdom had prospered till a feud between the magicians and King Uther the Second drove the country to the brink of collapse. Now it's up to Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Engine to harness steam power to replace the magic Albion had lost, and it's up to Merlin to protect Arthur while he fulfils his destiny.
Author's notes: Written for![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
paperlegends. Reincarnation story. Renaissance-era post-apocalyptic steampunk AU set 300 years after canon timeline. Betaed by the wonderful ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
deadwoodmt
Art link: HERE ARE 3 (THREE!!!) AWESOME PIECES byaqualillium who also made beautiful icons and banners featured here.
Also on AOOO for all your e-booking needs
Podfic!!!! Performed wonderfully bypennyplainknits, zip of all 5 parts is HERE!!!
Part One
Part 2
Engineering, just like any other craft, was something that could be mastered by anyone, given enough time and determination. Arthur had plenty of both. What he didn't have – and he knew that from a very early age with grim certainty – was natural talent.
It didn't really change anything. He was clever and stubborn enough to eventually grasp every concept and solve every problem. If he had to work harder at it than some of the others, if genius ideas didn't come to him in his sleep, then that was just how it had to be.
It was, in a way, an advantage. He was used to getting lost, feeling slow, dumb and hopeless, and he knew how to push through that and not let it take hold on his soul. When something seemed impossible, he never wavered the way gifted people did when they couldn't crack a puzzle without breaking their stride. He never gave up. He stepped back, took a problem apart, went back to the very basics and rebuilt it again bit by bit till everything fell into place. His designs weren't ground-breaking, but they were always solid, true and perfect in every detail.
Still, he resented it sometimes. When he'd first realised he'd never be as good as Morgana he cried into his pillow at night, ashamed of that weakness as much as he was ashamed of losing to her. He was eight at the time, but that was hardly an excuse.
Around the time he despaired of ever catching up to her, she started on alchemy and was just as good at that. He hated her then, because everything came so easily to her and because she got to choose. He couldn't choose - his path was set. Albion needed machines and engines, and he had to be the best among the engineers so one day he could lead them.
Then there was the engine that failed. His father lived, even if he was never whole again. Morgana's father died screaming, torn to a bleeding mess.
At the wake, the nobles were saying that Gorlois was a hero, that his death wasn't meaningless, that it was worth it, that he sacrificed himself to further the development of engineering for the future, for Albion. But Arthur couldn't see how that could be. Gorlois was brilliant; had he lived, he would have invented countless things. Now he wouldn't, and all of his future was lost. It wasn't worth it. Nothing could be worth a whole life.
That's when he knew that it didn't matter if he wasn't brilliant or if he wasn't the best. As long as he lived, studied and worked, he'd get a lot of things done. He'd find the brilliant people, gather them from all over the land, and make sure they could study and work. He’d make sure they lived.
By the time he'd been crowned as prince, he was considered the most accomplished engineer of them all, and it was true. He'd earned that by working the hardest. He lived and breathed machines, he dreamt of schematics and problems and he'd gathered an amazing team. Each of them was better than him at something, but they all recognised and respected his skill and they followed him. Some wonderfully smart people weren't nobles; it almost broke his heart to deny Lancelot a place among the engineers, but Gwen took him in as an apprentice and it all worked out.
Still, he had his dark moments, doubts and fears. When his father ordered him to begin restoring the ploughs, he nearly told him that the task was almost certainly beyond their ability and beyond the current level of engineering science. But the whole point of their work was to further the science and push themselves ever harder, so he bowed and went to work.
He didn't truly believe they'd succeed till a skinny peasant boy yanked his arm and angrily told him, getting right up in his face, that they would. They were the cleverest in the land, of course they would.
Just then, looking into Merlin's wide, innocent eyes, Arthur found himself wanting that kind of blind, unwavering faith at his side, that strength to lean on when his own faith in himself faltered. But it was the worst kind of weakness, and Merlin was a nobody, just a pretty, slight slip of a thing who was all brash talk and no sense of propriety. There was no excuse and no reason to bring him into Arthur's life and keep him there - but then, it turned out, there was.
Arthur knew his strengths very well and his weaknesses even better, and Merlin - Merlin was everything he wasn't. Arthur could wrap his mind around anything, given enough time and information. Merlin's mind was just there, a mysterious thicket in the centre of all things, and the world somehow wrapped itself around it. Arthur had the inkling from the start, but very soon he clearly saw it: when put together, their minds and abilities made one perfect whole, lacking nothing. They completed each other, like two poles of the same magnet or two sides of the same coin.
Merlin had the kind of intuition that allowed him to happily skip through all the logical reasoning and land at the right answer. Merlin had the feel for the machines, for their state and their potential, and even though he'd had no learning above basic literacy, he could absorb knowledge at a pace and in quantities that seemed completely unrestricted. He didn't need to visualise or process anything; he just took it all in. When Arthur had been working his way through Pneumatica as a boy, he'd built most of the described apparatuses to make sure he fully understood the principles of their function and then perfected each till they worked just right. Merlin leafed through the book in a few days, nodding thoughtfully as if it all made sense to him at the first reading, as if he knew all that already.
He could easily see the problems with the old machines, the causes and natures of any malfunctions or shortcomings. He couldn't come up with solutions. When asked how he'd fix this or that, he'd make a pained face, twitch his fingers and fist them tightly, then shake his head in resignation.
"If you have something to say, say it," Arthur would say encouragingly, kicking him in the shin for extra motivation.
"No, it's stupid. It won't work," Merlin would answer, looking incredibly shifty, and his lovely big ears would turn a soft shade of pink. "I mean, I don't know."
He was getting better, bolder as he read more and spent more time in the workshop, but there was always some hesitation, something held back.
He might have a reason for that. Arthur wasn't stupid. He knew there could be something else there, maybe suspected more than Merlin knew about himself. He knew why they both had to be careful, to never push or go too far. Still, one day they almost did.
The great cart had crashed mid-ascent and rolled back to the foot of the hill, spurting steam and fire. The machinist jumped out and survived with a few burns and broken bones. Though many were injured, there was only one death from when the cart smashed into a house on the side of the hill. It could have been so much worse.
They'd investigated before letting mechanics begin repairs and found the cause to be not an engine failure, as was always the first suggestion with the machines. Instead, the main axle had snapped, as if it wasn't the sturdiest steel; the edge of the break was darkened with small, tarnished cracks, and the break itself was clean, gleaming, and inexplicably sudden.
They couldn't see why it happened. They all stared at it silently; Morgause was covering page after page in her book with calculations, but she wasn't offering anything yet.
"It was just tired," Merlin said, running his slender fingers over the cracks.
"Spare us your idiocy. Metal doesn't get tired," Arthur snapped at him.
"No, metal doesn't get rested," corrected him Merlin with quiet certainty. "But it does get tired."
They'd all just began to ridicule him, mostly to vent their frustration, when Morgause announced that he might be right. From now on a different set of tests might be needed, and she would design them.
Arthur gave her his blessing, already cringing inwardly at the thought of what his father's reaction would be. This would make all construction and research more expensive, a lot more time-consuming. But it would be worth it, he knew. If future disaster could be prevented, it would be worth any expense.
Later in his room, after a torturous argument over dinner when he was too rattled even to work and Merlin only pretended to read, constantly throwing worried glanced at him, Arthur dared to ask:
"Your gift - what's that like for you?"
"I don't know. I guess it's like when you see something but you know you shouldn't touch... no. It's nothing like that," Merlin shook his head and put the book down. "It's like.... you know, when you're little and you're alone in the dark and you're convinced that bad things are coming to get you and you close your eyes because if you can't see them maybe they can't see you? Do you remember that?"
"No, Merlin, that definitely only ever happened to you. That's some new, previously undiscovered level of being a wimp," said Arthur sternly, because naturally he still remembered.
"Well, anyway. If you stayed like that for hours, with your eyes closed, just listening, you'd start hearing the slightest sounds. Mice in the walls, birds outside, water sloshing in the well in the square. If you stayed like that long enough, till you feel like you're not even there, like there is this black empty space where you're supposed to be, then eventually you'd hear everything. You'd hear the air moving, and you'd hear the table just standing there, the walls sagging with age bit by bit, grass growing in the street. Everything. And you know if you'd opened your eyes you'd not just see it all. You'd feel it all in your skin. You'd know everything about it."
His eyes flickered oddly, and Arthur felt shivers run down his back.
"But then the bad things might get you," he said. It was meant to be in mockery, but it didn't quite come out right.
Merlin smiled sadly and fingered the small cross-section drawing of the plough he had folded in his book so he could make notes. Arthur liked watching him write. He'd have a little crease between his eyebrows when he concentrated, his lips would be parted, and the tip of his tongue would sometimes stick out just a tiny bit between his teeth. Arthur encouraged him taking notes.
"You know what the problem with it is, don't you?" Merlin asked.
"Of course I do."
"It's too complex. There is too much magic in the design and not enough mechanics for us to work with."
"Merlin, I know. Bloody listen when I talk to you! What's the point of even saying it apart from whining uselessly?"
He'd already been considering abandoning the whole project and designing something simple from scratch, just something that could pull a simple rake plough better than a horse and a separate device that could reap the harvest. Mobility was the greatest issue - only something as huge as the great cart could house an engine, but he'd been toying with an idea of having a stationary engine with perhaps a system of belts and pulleys...
"What if we had a magician to help with it?" Merlin asked bluntly, staring him right in the eye.
"We don't. The magicians went mad with power and now they're gone. Do try to keep up, it was seventeen years ago."
"But if we had one who wasn't mad? One that could be trusted?"
"If we had a magician in Albion, or, heaven forbid, in Camelot, he'd be taken to the forest of Arador and put in the sacred grove to be claimed by his kind. That's how it works."
Merlin sighed and nodded and hunched in his chair, thin and miserable as a sick bird.
"Do they actually get claimed?" he asked. "Or is it just..."
"Actually, most do. We think there is a portal there to the magicians' place of exile. They open it for some, and they just disappear."
"Not all?"
"No. The guards wait for three days, but sometimes nothing happens. And then - well."
Arthur had never been to the forest or the grove, but he'd heard of the small cemetery at the edge of it, a scattering of unmarked stones. Merlin might have too, because he nodded again and blindly stared into the book for a while.
"Anyway," he said eventually. "Even if we had a magician, one person can't power up many machines. Maybe two or three ploughs at once. Maybe not even that. I don't know, because - how would I?"
"If, in some crazy imaginary world - and I'll kill you if you repeat this to anyone - I had a magician I could trust, I wouldn't waste them on powering machinery," said Arthur, oddly and dangerously reckless. "We can build engines for that - we are. We're getting there. I'd have him work with me. We'd use that power to discover the secrets of the elements, to understand how everything works. How metal can get tired, how we could make ice like we make fire. How to build better engines."
Merlin's face, sweetly flushed, lit up with so much unabashed admiration, was a picture to behold. Arthur knew he'd be clinging to that image later, in the dark, with his eyes shut and his hand moving between his legs. That issue in itself was getting almost as distressing as all the talk about magic.
When Arthur had just begun to study the engines, he'd been amazed to learn that it wasn't the steam that drove the power stroke of the piston. It was the absence of steam, the sudden emptiness of a vacuum. That's where all the power was coming from: nature's abhorrence of vacuum. The universal need for something to be there was forcing metal to slam home, making the wheels turn, driving their pumps, looms, mills, powering the whole country.
And it was just like that. It was as if there had been an empty space somewhere inside his chest for so very long and now this huge, ridiculous affection was forcing its way in. It hurt, and it was blind and merciless as any force of nature, like atmospheric pressure or gravity. Whenever Merlin smiled, Arthur could feel his lungs expand a little. It was gaining more momentum, and he didn't know how to stop it.
It was so bad that he resorted to bringing the matter up with the court physician.
"By the way," he said very nonchalantly as the man was rubbing salve into his shoulder where the bone he'd broken last year still ached too often. "I was given to understand that once a man comes of age, the, um, the urges. They become less - urgent."
"Yes, they generally do," said the man. His face was professionally sombre, but Arthur still felt a smirk hidden beneath. Granted, talking to Gaius about this - all those years ago, when the urges had just started - had been immeasurably worse. Thankfully, Gaius hadn't been seeing patients for months. The work of a physician was getting too strenuous for his age, and he spent all his time in his laboratory now, researching cures that could replace the magical potions of old.
"However," the physician continued, "In no small part that is due to the fact that most men, by the time they come of age, tend to find a way to quell the urges before the need becomes distracting."
"Well, I - I do," Arthur said, trying not to twitch in humiliation.
"I'm not talking about solitary pursuits, Your Highness," said the man, perfectly politely. "I understand that your betrothal has been broken and no new plans for marriage are yet in place."
Arthur had been engaged to some southern princess since he was two and she was probably ten - he couldn't quite remember now. That fell through when Albion lost the magic and with it the machines that had been its lifeblood and the source of its unrivalled prosperity. Nothing else had been arranged since. Uther was unwilling to settle for a poorer bride, and he hoped to strike a better bargain once their kingdom had risen again.
"In my medical opinion, taking a consort would be most advantageous to your health, sire," the physician said. "Anyone would be most honoured to serve you in that way."
"I don't have the time," said Arthur brusquely.
"It doesn't take that long," and now the grin was out in the open, almost salacious. "Only minutes. Actually, I'm sure that new manservant of yours would be absolutely delighted-"
"That's enough," Arthur yanked his shirt back on and gave the man a regal stare. "You forget your place, physician."
Maybe Merlin would be - but Merlin wasn't there to serve his base needs. Merlin was important and necessary, and his position in Camelot, at Arthur's side and in his workshop, was already complicated and precarious enough. It wouldn't do to jeopardise it for frivolities.
He couldn't deny himself the indulgence of getting dressed and bathed by Merlin's hands but that was enough for him.
Merlin woke up in the middle of the night in the darkest, quietest hour, long before dawn. He sat in bed, shivering and trying to remember the unsettling dream that woke him up, when he heard the voice.
He'd heard it once before, and it couldn't be mistaken for anything else. It sounded right in his head, echoing unpleasantly between his ears, but at the same time it was coming from above.
He got dressed, slipped out of the room and quietly walked through the sleeping castle, past locked doors and dozing guards to the battlements near the sloped roof of the great hall.
He'd waited there, rubbing his shoulders to keep off the night chill, till he'd heard the sound of wings.
The dragon moved almost soundlessly for something that enormous. It made a small circle over the roof and gently touched down. A few tiles crumbled under its claws and slid down, trickling onto the battlements. The dragon angled its neck to see if the noise would rouse anyone, then it turned its face to Merlin.
"I might have made a mistake," it said.
"Yeah, I'm doing quite well, thanks, adjusting to the new life, and how have you been?" Merlin huffed.
"You're not ready for what's to come. You're not strong enough. Perhaps it would be best if you went back to your mother. It's too dangerous for you to be here."
"But I've only just started! I have a job, I've already sent Mum my first wages, and I'm really helping here! We're doing good work, and I'm looking after Arthur like you said. And you know what? I don't care if it's dangerous. This is supposed to be my destiny, and I'm not running away."
"It's not you who are in gravest danger."
"Who, then?"
The dragon shrugged its wings shiftily and ducked its head.
"Who?" Merlin demanded. "You have to tell me! I'll protect them - is it Arthur?"
"Arthur is never quite out of danger," the dragon's voice sounded almost affectionate now; there was something in the way he said Arthur's name. "Such is the nature of his destiny, and it will always be so."
"Is someone going to - but why? Who would want to hurt Arthur? Everybody loves him! All right, he's annoying. And rude. And arrogant, totally spoiled and really pig-headed - "
"Do you really see no reason why someone would have a grudge against the Pendragons?"
Merlin choked on words, suddenly realising the magnitude of the matter. Of course, thousands of people had reasons to hate the royals. The taxes were high and were collected mercilessly; whole villages became destitute and were moved to mining camps to work off their debts. There had always been a subdued rumour going around that it was the king's fault that the magicians had left, that he betrayed them and drove them away. There could be enemies from the foreign lands - Merlin couldn't begin to guess at the political intricacies there. There were the families of people who got dragged to the forest of Arador and never returned. There were also the exiled magicians...
But those were all the king's sins, the king's own enemies. Arthur wasn't responsible for those. Arthur was loved and respected by everyone, Merlin was sure of that.
"I gave you my warning," the dragon said. "It's your choice whether to heed it."
After it left, Merlin tried going back to bed, but sleep wouldn't come. The dragon's words were too distressing to ignore, and at the same time too vague to give him any useful hints. The idleness was making him shaky with worry. He needed to do something. He needed to see Arthur and make sure he was safe.
He ended up bringing Arthur his breakfast almost an hour early. He planned to tiptoe into the room and read in the corner, watching over Arthur as he slept. But Arthur, amazingly, was wide awake. He sat on the bed in his nightclothes, smiling brightly, and stared at something above the window.
"Look, Merlin," he said without turning his head. "The most annoying thing in the world is back."
The room suddenly filled with melodic chirping noises, like a bird's song but with a reverberating metallic note. The singing bird, a small falcon, was perched atop the curtain rail. Every feather on its sleek body gleamed brilliantly, as if it was cast out of silver.
The bird ducked its head gracefully and did a little dance, shuffling from one foot to another, still singing joyfully. It took off from its perch and flew around the room to land at Merlin's feet.
Now he could see that the bird really was made out of silver, or perhaps the finest polished steel. The craftsmanship was nothing like he'd ever seen, even after spending all that time around the best engineers and smiths in the land. The feathers were each fashioned separately in filigree details, yet they clung to the bird's body tightly, like real feathers, and no joints were visible under them. The bird's movements were mechanically sudden and jerky, but that was how the real birds moved, too. It kept twisting its neck and tilting its head in a convincing imitation of curiosity. It was lovingly made, perfect down to the little silver claws at the tips of its feet. The bird's eyes were bright blue sapphires and its beak was tipped in gold.
The falcon spread its wings, bringing its head low as if bowing, and let out another long string of chirps.
"It kept me up since before dawn," said Arthur. He threw a pillow at it, very half-heartedly. It didn't land anywhere close, but the bird flew up again and landed on top of a bed post. "Damn, it's so noisy. And how the hell does it fly? It shouldn't be able to fly. It must be far too heavy."
"Magic," said Merlin, staring at the bird in dreamy awe. It was a beautifully made thing, and it was full of magic. He could feel it even from afar - old magic, more powerful and wild than he even knew existed. But the magic was familiar somehow, in some strange, warm, comfortable way. And the bird itself -
"Oh," he laughed, amused like a child. "Oh, Arthur, it's a merlin falcon. Look at it! It's a merlin!"
"Oh, great, you've finally found your real family. I should have guessed, really, it's just as stupid and annoying as you and makes about as much sense. And I'm sure it's your fault it's back. I've not seen it in years."
"What is it? Who made it? It's amazing!"
"Who knows, it's been around longer than anyone can remember. It just flies around the place, gets into windows, makes a mess of everything. We keep hoping that the magic would run out and it would drop dead but no such luck so far."
"It must be so old," said Merlin, secretly reaching for the pulse of magic inside the falcon's body, almost moaning with pleasure as the power pushed back, curled alongside his. It was like touching your hand to your own skin and feeling it twice, in your fingers and under them, only this was a lot better.
"It is. Legend has it," Arthur said with a small soft smile. "That it belonged to the great King Arthur himself. It was a gift from his queen, and it has the magic of his court sorcerer in it. He was very powerful. Some say his magic will never run out."
He suddenly jumped up, scowling fiercely. He swatted at the bird, missing it widely again. Its chirps as it made slow circles over Arthur's head sounded like merry cackling.
"I'll get it one day," Arthur threatened. "I'd love to open it up and see how it works - this is a different kind of craftsmanship, this is the stuff that's been lost along the way. We could learn so much from it."
"I don't think it even has that much machinery in it," said Merlin cautiously.
"That's the point! The latest machines were built so even child sorcerers could power them. Very complex mechanics, very simple magic required to work them. There just weren’t enough highly trained magicians to power all the machines. But this bird - this is one of the first machines ever, from the time the magicians had just began wrapping their magic around metal. If we study these changes in the design philosophy, we can understand the nature of magic, even if we can't experiment with it directly. We'll also know how to disentangle it from the complex devices, like the ploughs."
The bird suddenly landed on Merlin's shoulder and swayed there, struggling for balance as he winced in surprise. It was heavy; its claws prickled him through his jacket, but he didn't mind. He slowly, carefully lifted his hand and stroked the bird's shiny beak and the smallest feathers above it. It was silly - the bird was metal, it couldn't feel a caress. It couldn't feel anything, neither fear nor pleasure. But it seemed to like it: it clung to his shoulder, turning its head with the movement of his fingers, and chirped again, softly, cooing.
"It used to follow me around when I was a child," said Arthur. "It was such a nuisance. You'll never get rid of it now, by the way."
The bird stuck with Merlin for the rest of the day. It rode around on his shoulder, climbed atop his head to play with his hair, flew around exuberantly singing. It followed him to the workshop and was greeted by the engineers like a long absent friend. They tried to lure it closer, to pet it; the bird dodged them teasingly and hopped about the workbenches, playing with small springs and crumpling drawings with its claws.
Around lunch, it gave a sharp cry and soared high, toward the ceilings. They all crowded underneath to watch it scramble around the beams in distress and completely missed the king's arrival.
The king had not come to the workshop before, at least not in Merlin's memory. Everyone bowed; Merlin tried to copy them and nearly dropped his book. His notes went spilling from between the pages, rustling on the floor in the sudden silence.
The king dismissed everyone and beckoned Arthur closer.
"I see that the old problem has resurfaced," he said, eyeing the bird. It found a perch at the crossing of the beams and sat there very still, as if it was attempting to blend into the carvings. "And I see that the rumours were true. You are allowing your manservant into the workshop. You're even granting him the knowledge that should be reserved for those of noble blood."
"Yes, Father," Arthur said, straightening his back. "I'm sorry that I took the liberty, but we really need to talk about this."
"You call this liberty? I'd say it's dangerously close to treason."
"Sire," breathed Arthur, turning pale. "You know I have only the best interests of Albion at heart. Everything I do..."
"Explain to me how this serves Albion."
"If we're to restore everything, if we're to understand these machines, we need more engineers. The principles and the work involved grow progressively more complicated..."
"So you need more men?"
"A lot more, yes." Arthur exhaled in relief and hurried along: "I need people who can grasp the concepts that are so beyond anything we've..."
"And yet you turned away five candidates just this month."
"They were useless idiots!"
"Three of them were sons of the Lord of Northumbria. You've caused me a great deal of political embarrassment."
"It's not about politics," said Arthur with a grimace.
"Everything is about politics. Did you think that teaching engineering to a peasant was a harmless indulgence?"
"We need to consider it, at least! Father, you know that running machines on steam wouldn't be anything like going back to the time of magic. The mechanisms would have to be more complicated, and they'd be under a lot more stress. Just to service them we'll need an army of skilled mechanics. And we'll need so much coal, we'll have to mechanise mining, too. We can't keep sending more peasants to the mines."
"And why can't we, pray tell?"
"Because it's a waste! All those people spend their whole lives doing nothing but menial labour, leaving no mark on the world when they die. Yet any of them could have a gift for so much more! With proper learning, any of them could advance our science by decades, but we keep them tilling earth and digging coal like beasts of burden. We never give them a chance..."
"You'd educate the peasants and have them run the machines?"
"Well," Arthur stumbled, losing some of his steam. "Obviously, only the talented ones."
"And what would happen when enough of them learn? Will the day come when we can't run our machines without the help of the plebs?"
"Well, eventually, in the long run, that might..."
"Or will it get to the point where they can do it without us?"
All the engineers had quietly edged away as soon as conversation started. Merlin wanted to slink off as well, but he was boxed between workbenches and didn't want to walk past the king to make his escape. Arthur stood to attention before the king while being berated like a child; his face was burning red, and he was going to hate Merlin for having witnessed this.
"Camelot and the crown must be strong if we want Albion to survive," the king said. "We can't let the power slip from our grasp. That's exactly what happened with the magicians. Do you want to put our kingdom through another disaster like that when we're only starting to recover?"
"No, Sire," Arthur muttered, his eyes downcast.
The king's cloak was draped artfully over his right arm, but still Merlin was almost sure he could hear metallic clicking under that, the whisper of turning gears. When the king glanced at him Merlin tried to bow again but mistimed every single motion of his limbs so that it looked more like a drunken full-body swing and a nod. The king sighed.
“I understand why you had this lapse of judgement,” he said. “The boy is a clumsy day-dreaming lunatic. It's hard to stay vigilant when faced with something so offensively harmless. I'll leave you to deal with him as you see fit,” said the king, turning on his heel. The guards who followed him inside moved to positions to flank him as he exited. “I trust your decision won't disappoint me. And find the way to get rid of that thing. For all we know, it's cursed.”
After he'd left Arthur stayed in the same spot, staring at the floor.
"Arthur," called Merlin uncertainly. "Arthur, what..."
"Get out of my sight," Arthur hissed.
Merlin went to the alchemical laboratory, and uncle Gaius immediately roped him into grinding something smelly in a mortar. Usually the room would be filled with Morgana's energy, the sheer light of her presence. She'd flit around the laboratory, checking on bubbling reagents in numerous test tubes and swearing colourfully, dangerous and dazzling, a dark tempest. Now she slowly drifted around the room without settling on anything, and she was sickly pale and quiet.
"She's not slept well," explained Gaius. "Nightmares. My dear child, why don't you try going back to bed?"
"No," she said. Her voice was weak, cracking; even her lips were pale. "I'd rather not be alone right now."
Merlin tried cheering her up, babbling any nonsense that came into his head. He asked her to tell him about the dreams so they could both laugh at how silly they'd seem in the light of day, but she only shook her head.
"They're only dreams. There's no need to upset you as well."
In the afternoon Morgause and Gwen came in with bunches of flowers and some sweet cakes, and that finally put a wan smile on her face. Morgause gave everyone a curtailed account of the king's visit to the workshop. Merlin had almost managed to put that out of his mind for a time, trying to stay chirpy for Morgana's sake. But now he couldn't help thinking of the king's words and the way Arthur's voice'd caught when he'd dismissed him. He curled up in a nearest chair, drew his knees to his chest and let himself revel in his misery.
"I was told I'd only bring Arthur trouble," he said. "I should have listened."
"Nonsense," Morgana said. "Whoever told you that is only weaving an intrigue of their own. I would appreciate it if you gave me their name. I'd like to look into the matter."
He shook his head, and she didn't push. Gwen stepped closer and gave him a soft, tentative pat on the shoulder. He smiled as cheerfully as he could. The silver bird had been quietly investigating the top shelves in the room for the most of the day, but now it glided down, landed on the back of the chair and gently pecked at Gwen's fingers.
"He likes you," Merlin said, grateful for her friendship and eager to please her in return. "He's got great taste for a mechanical bird. It's a merlin, by the way. Ha ha."
She cautiously stroked the bird's head and got a cheery short song in return.
"Hello, merlin," she said. "Not seen you in ages. How've you been? Merlin, you know you don't have to work with the engineers. We can use you in the smithy. Lancelot and William would be so glad to have you with us."
"That's a good idea," said Morgana. "Or you could work with us. Isn't that right, Gaius?"
"Of course. There's always a place for you here, my boy," Gaius nodded with a smile.
"It would be better," Morgana continued. "To tell you the truth, Merlin, I don't want you to work with machines."
"You don't want anyone to work with machines," Morgause laughed and ran her fingers through Morgana's dark hair.
"I do have a reason for that. It's not just a fancy, and you know it."
"I know."
"I'm so glad that you don't touch those things anymore."
Merlin curled up tighter and dropped his chin on his knee, hating himself for being so ungrateful. It should have been enough to have such kind friends, but all he could feel was despair at the very thought of being away from Arthur.
"I need to be with Arthur," he said. "I mean, I'm supposed to be with Arthur. That's how it's supposed to be. And he only wants me around because I have a knack for the machines. Without it I'm just a clumsy day-dreaming lunatic."
"So what? All Arthur's engineers are day-dreaming lunatics," Morgause shrugged. "That's practically a requirement."
"And they're all terribly clumsy, bless them," laughed Gwen.
"It's true," Morgana nodded. "You should see them attempt courtship. It's tragic, really."
"But I can't be one of them," Merlin reminded them. "I can't even be there."
There was an odd pause. Gauis raised an eyebrow and gave Morgause a meaningful look.
"All right, I'm going to let you in on a little engineering secret," she said and took Merlin by the elbow. "Walk with me."
Outside in the hallway she stopped and turned him around to look him in the eye.
"Do you know why I don't work with the old machines?" she asked.
"Because Morgana doesn't want you to? It's nice that you'd do that for her. You must love her so much," he said, trying not to be a lecher and imagine that, the two of them moving together, their limbs intertwining, her blond hair unbound and brushing against Morgana's bared breasts. "But, uh, but it's a shame. I heard you were very good."
"That's just the thing. I was too good. It was suspicious."
He stared at her stony face, her beautiful, calm eyes. There was a line of dark paint around them, and that was the only feminine touch in her whole attire.
"Oh," he said slowly, as her words fully sunk in, and she nodded.
"You're too good as well," she said. "It's important to be very careful. Sometimes we have to sacrifice parts of ourselves to be with people we love. Our... gifts... are not all that we are. If you're meant to be with Arthur, you will be. There will be a way, but you have to be careful."
"Why are you telling me this?" he mumbled. She was Morgause, the great and the terrible. It didn't make sense for her to even talk to him, let alone tell him her dangerous secret.
"Because I, too, was young and scared once," she said with a shrug. "I too was told that I couldn't be here. Uther didn't even want Morgana to know she had a sister."
"You're sisters? Oh. I didn't know."
"You're not supposed to know that. I'm one of Camelot's dirty secrets. Uther puts up with me because Morgana needs me. Because Arthur needs me."
"Well, yes, you're you. You're noble-born and talented, and you're going to change the world with that abacus thing. I'm... without my gift, I'm nothing."
"I believe you're still Arthur's manservant," she said. "And I think it's about time you fetched his supper. Uther dined alone tonight; Arthur should be brooding in his room right now, and I'd bet he's hungry and cranky."
He paused at Arthur's door and put the food-laden tray on the floor. The silver bird immediately hopped on it, overturned a bowl of shelled hazelnuts and stared upwards as if expecting praise.
It still followed him everywhere; the guards, following the king’s standing orders, tried to catch or smash it, but it was fast and they never chased it for long. They kept warning Merlin that he shouldn't be seen playing with the bird instead of helping destroy it, he'd get it trouble. He tried to shoo it off throughout the day, but that was no use.
"Look," he told it. "This isn't going to end well for us if you're going to be like this. So let's at least make Arthur happy. Let's make his wish come true. All right? For Arthur?"
The bird's sapphire eyes were expressionless. After all, they were just two rough-cut gemstones set in metal, and the bird wasn't sentient or even alive. But Merlin told himself that it looked like it agreed.
He reached out and pulled on the magic inside the bird. It went so easily, like a simple inhale; all that old, bright power folded snugly inside his chest as if it belonged. He cradled the falcon's body as it went limp, put it on a tray and covered it with a napkin.
Arthur was already dressed for bed in his soft linen breeches and a lace-trimmed shirt that was so sheer Merlin could see the shadows of his nipples through it. He wasn't even sure why he looked; he'd seen Arthur's nipples just that morning without anything covering them, and he'd probably see them tomorrow, provided he wasn't sacked yet.
Arthur wasn't brooding. He was drawing up a complex design, meticulously, with rulers and compasses.
"Oh, Merlin," he said cheerfully, as if that conversation with the king in the workshop hadn't happened at all. "I think I've cracked the problem of powering the ploughs. Well, we still need to make the mechanics work, but this is going to be good. The only small snag is that all fields would have to be round."
"You're kind of obsessed with everything round, aren't you?"
"It's an optimal shape for many things. This also solves the problem of directing the plough's trajectory. By the way, how did they used to know where the fields ended?"
"There are runed stones buried at the boundaries of all fields, the ploughs were spelled to turn when they reached them," Merlin explained. "Oh, I know this because I tilled the fields, we used to find those stones sometimes..."
"Yes, I don't care. Stop babbling and listen. We have a busy day tomorrow. We need to figure out how to get you access to the workshop without annoying my father. You might have to work from drawings for a while, and we know you're abysmal at reading them, so you better get studying. Also, there is a castle-wide hunt going on for the merlin-bird..."
"Oh, that's not a problem anymore," Merlin said a pulled the napkin off the bird's still body. "Look. It just dropped off like you wanted. The magic ran out."
Arthur dropped the drawing tools on the desk and stared at the falcon, wide-eyed and silent.
"You can open it up," said Merlin brightly. "Do you want to do it right now? I'll help."
"No."
"Well, whenever you want, it's not going anywhere."
Arthur wasn't even touching the bird. He just looked at it with something like horror, as if Merlin put a dead rat on his supper tray.
"I really thought," he said slowly. "I believed it was all true. That it belonged to King Arthur. That the magic would never... But it was just a stupid toy after all. That was the last of the magic. It's all gone now."
"Well," said Merlin, shifting from foot to foot, a little confused. "That's okay, right? Now we have steam."
"Yes. Now we're all we have."
Arthur picked up the napkin and draped it over the bird again, hiding it from sight.
"Go," he said. "Go, sleep, do whatever you do."
"Arthur, are you-"
"Just leave."
Merlin sighed, shuffled for the door, pulled it open and yelped a little in surprise. The court physician stood on the other side with one hand raised to knock, the other cradling a stack of boxes to his chest. He gave Merlin a polite smile and brushed past him into the room.
"What is it?" asked Arthur, pushing to his feet. "Is my father well?"
"His Majesty is quite well, yes. Forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, Your Highness. Unfortunately, I must leave Camelot for a week or so - an urgent family matter, I'm afraid."
"Oh," said Arthur, easily falling into his princely demeanour. "I hope it's not sad tidings. If you require an advance on your wages, you need only say so."
"No thank you, Your Highness, you're most kind. Everything is taken care of, and my family will be just fine after I complete my errand. However, I regret to say that I won't be here to administer your next treatment on schedule."
"Don't worry about that, I'm sure I'll manage."
"We're expecting a cold spell, and that can be most taxing for injuries such as yours. I'd hate for Your Highness to go through unnecessary discomfort. With your permission, I'd like to treat you right now, before I leave, in the hopes that it should prevent a relapse. I have brewed a new potion that should prove most effective."
"Ah. Well then, by all means, go ahead. That's very good of you," Arthur's eyes clouded for a second; Merlin already knew that it meant he was struggling to remember the man's name, to add a little personal touch to his words. He always remembered; Arthur was great with names. "That's very good of you, Edwin."
Next Part
Pairings/characters: Arthur/Merlin
Rating: NC-17
Word Count: 40k
Warnings: reincarnation, violence, captivity, deaths of minor characters, alternative history, bad science, extreme nerdiness, evil mecha.
Summary: It's been centuries since King Arthur united Albion and lifted the ban on magic. Ruled by Pendragon dynasty, the kingdom had prospered till a feud between the magicians and King Uther the Second drove the country to the brink of collapse. Now it's up to Prince Arthur and his Knights of the Engine to harness steam power to replace the magic Albion had lost, and it's up to Merlin to protect Arthur while he fulfils his destiny.
Author's notes: Written for
paperlegends. Reincarnation story. Renaissance-era post-apocalyptic steampunk AU set 300 years after canon timeline. Betaed by the wonderful deadwoodmt Art link: HERE ARE 3 (THREE!!!) AWESOME PIECES by
aqualillium who also made beautiful icons and banners featured here.Also on AOOO for all your e-booking needs
Podfic!!!! Performed wonderfully by
pennyplainknits, zip of all 5 parts is HERE!!! Part One
Part 2
Engineering, just like any other craft, was something that could be mastered by anyone, given enough time and determination. Arthur had plenty of both. What he didn't have – and he knew that from a very early age with grim certainty – was natural talent.
It didn't really change anything. He was clever and stubborn enough to eventually grasp every concept and solve every problem. If he had to work harder at it than some of the others, if genius ideas didn't come to him in his sleep, then that was just how it had to be.
It was, in a way, an advantage. He was used to getting lost, feeling slow, dumb and hopeless, and he knew how to push through that and not let it take hold on his soul. When something seemed impossible, he never wavered the way gifted people did when they couldn't crack a puzzle without breaking their stride. He never gave up. He stepped back, took a problem apart, went back to the very basics and rebuilt it again bit by bit till everything fell into place. His designs weren't ground-breaking, but they were always solid, true and perfect in every detail.
Still, he resented it sometimes. When he'd first realised he'd never be as good as Morgana he cried into his pillow at night, ashamed of that weakness as much as he was ashamed of losing to her. He was eight at the time, but that was hardly an excuse.
Around the time he despaired of ever catching up to her, she started on alchemy and was just as good at that. He hated her then, because everything came so easily to her and because she got to choose. He couldn't choose - his path was set. Albion needed machines and engines, and he had to be the best among the engineers so one day he could lead them.
Then there was the engine that failed. His father lived, even if he was never whole again. Morgana's father died screaming, torn to a bleeding mess.
At the wake, the nobles were saying that Gorlois was a hero, that his death wasn't meaningless, that it was worth it, that he sacrificed himself to further the development of engineering for the future, for Albion. But Arthur couldn't see how that could be. Gorlois was brilliant; had he lived, he would have invented countless things. Now he wouldn't, and all of his future was lost. It wasn't worth it. Nothing could be worth a whole life.
That's when he knew that it didn't matter if he wasn't brilliant or if he wasn't the best. As long as he lived, studied and worked, he'd get a lot of things done. He'd find the brilliant people, gather them from all over the land, and make sure they could study and work. He’d make sure they lived.
By the time he'd been crowned as prince, he was considered the most accomplished engineer of them all, and it was true. He'd earned that by working the hardest. He lived and breathed machines, he dreamt of schematics and problems and he'd gathered an amazing team. Each of them was better than him at something, but they all recognised and respected his skill and they followed him. Some wonderfully smart people weren't nobles; it almost broke his heart to deny Lancelot a place among the engineers, but Gwen took him in as an apprentice and it all worked out.
Still, he had his dark moments, doubts and fears. When his father ordered him to begin restoring the ploughs, he nearly told him that the task was almost certainly beyond their ability and beyond the current level of engineering science. But the whole point of their work was to further the science and push themselves ever harder, so he bowed and went to work.
He didn't truly believe they'd succeed till a skinny peasant boy yanked his arm and angrily told him, getting right up in his face, that they would. They were the cleverest in the land, of course they would.
Just then, looking into Merlin's wide, innocent eyes, Arthur found himself wanting that kind of blind, unwavering faith at his side, that strength to lean on when his own faith in himself faltered. But it was the worst kind of weakness, and Merlin was a nobody, just a pretty, slight slip of a thing who was all brash talk and no sense of propriety. There was no excuse and no reason to bring him into Arthur's life and keep him there - but then, it turned out, there was.
Arthur knew his strengths very well and his weaknesses even better, and Merlin - Merlin was everything he wasn't. Arthur could wrap his mind around anything, given enough time and information. Merlin's mind was just there, a mysterious thicket in the centre of all things, and the world somehow wrapped itself around it. Arthur had the inkling from the start, but very soon he clearly saw it: when put together, their minds and abilities made one perfect whole, lacking nothing. They completed each other, like two poles of the same magnet or two sides of the same coin.
Merlin had the kind of intuition that allowed him to happily skip through all the logical reasoning and land at the right answer. Merlin had the feel for the machines, for their state and their potential, and even though he'd had no learning above basic literacy, he could absorb knowledge at a pace and in quantities that seemed completely unrestricted. He didn't need to visualise or process anything; he just took it all in. When Arthur had been working his way through Pneumatica as a boy, he'd built most of the described apparatuses to make sure he fully understood the principles of their function and then perfected each till they worked just right. Merlin leafed through the book in a few days, nodding thoughtfully as if it all made sense to him at the first reading, as if he knew all that already.
He could easily see the problems with the old machines, the causes and natures of any malfunctions or shortcomings. He couldn't come up with solutions. When asked how he'd fix this or that, he'd make a pained face, twitch his fingers and fist them tightly, then shake his head in resignation.
"If you have something to say, say it," Arthur would say encouragingly, kicking him in the shin for extra motivation.
"No, it's stupid. It won't work," Merlin would answer, looking incredibly shifty, and his lovely big ears would turn a soft shade of pink. "I mean, I don't know."
He was getting better, bolder as he read more and spent more time in the workshop, but there was always some hesitation, something held back.
He might have a reason for that. Arthur wasn't stupid. He knew there could be something else there, maybe suspected more than Merlin knew about himself. He knew why they both had to be careful, to never push or go too far. Still, one day they almost did.
The great cart had crashed mid-ascent and rolled back to the foot of the hill, spurting steam and fire. The machinist jumped out and survived with a few burns and broken bones. Though many were injured, there was only one death from when the cart smashed into a house on the side of the hill. It could have been so much worse.
They'd investigated before letting mechanics begin repairs and found the cause to be not an engine failure, as was always the first suggestion with the machines. Instead, the main axle had snapped, as if it wasn't the sturdiest steel; the edge of the break was darkened with small, tarnished cracks, and the break itself was clean, gleaming, and inexplicably sudden.
They couldn't see why it happened. They all stared at it silently; Morgause was covering page after page in her book with calculations, but she wasn't offering anything yet.
"It was just tired," Merlin said, running his slender fingers over the cracks.
"Spare us your idiocy. Metal doesn't get tired," Arthur snapped at him.
"No, metal doesn't get rested," corrected him Merlin with quiet certainty. "But it does get tired."
They'd all just began to ridicule him, mostly to vent their frustration, when Morgause announced that he might be right. From now on a different set of tests might be needed, and she would design them.
Arthur gave her his blessing, already cringing inwardly at the thought of what his father's reaction would be. This would make all construction and research more expensive, a lot more time-consuming. But it would be worth it, he knew. If future disaster could be prevented, it would be worth any expense.
Later in his room, after a torturous argument over dinner when he was too rattled even to work and Merlin only pretended to read, constantly throwing worried glanced at him, Arthur dared to ask:
"Your gift - what's that like for you?"
"I don't know. I guess it's like when you see something but you know you shouldn't touch... no. It's nothing like that," Merlin shook his head and put the book down. "It's like.... you know, when you're little and you're alone in the dark and you're convinced that bad things are coming to get you and you close your eyes because if you can't see them maybe they can't see you? Do you remember that?"
"No, Merlin, that definitely only ever happened to you. That's some new, previously undiscovered level of being a wimp," said Arthur sternly, because naturally he still remembered.
"Well, anyway. If you stayed like that for hours, with your eyes closed, just listening, you'd start hearing the slightest sounds. Mice in the walls, birds outside, water sloshing in the well in the square. If you stayed like that long enough, till you feel like you're not even there, like there is this black empty space where you're supposed to be, then eventually you'd hear everything. You'd hear the air moving, and you'd hear the table just standing there, the walls sagging with age bit by bit, grass growing in the street. Everything. And you know if you'd opened your eyes you'd not just see it all. You'd feel it all in your skin. You'd know everything about it."
His eyes flickered oddly, and Arthur felt shivers run down his back.
"But then the bad things might get you," he said. It was meant to be in mockery, but it didn't quite come out right.
Merlin smiled sadly and fingered the small cross-section drawing of the plough he had folded in his book so he could make notes. Arthur liked watching him write. He'd have a little crease between his eyebrows when he concentrated, his lips would be parted, and the tip of his tongue would sometimes stick out just a tiny bit between his teeth. Arthur encouraged him taking notes.
"You know what the problem with it is, don't you?" Merlin asked.
"Of course I do."
"It's too complex. There is too much magic in the design and not enough mechanics for us to work with."
"Merlin, I know. Bloody listen when I talk to you! What's the point of even saying it apart from whining uselessly?"
He'd already been considering abandoning the whole project and designing something simple from scratch, just something that could pull a simple rake plough better than a horse and a separate device that could reap the harvest. Mobility was the greatest issue - only something as huge as the great cart could house an engine, but he'd been toying with an idea of having a stationary engine with perhaps a system of belts and pulleys...
"What if we had a magician to help with it?" Merlin asked bluntly, staring him right in the eye.
"We don't. The magicians went mad with power and now they're gone. Do try to keep up, it was seventeen years ago."
"But if we had one who wasn't mad? One that could be trusted?"
"If we had a magician in Albion, or, heaven forbid, in Camelot, he'd be taken to the forest of Arador and put in the sacred grove to be claimed by his kind. That's how it works."
Merlin sighed and nodded and hunched in his chair, thin and miserable as a sick bird.
"Do they actually get claimed?" he asked. "Or is it just..."
"Actually, most do. We think there is a portal there to the magicians' place of exile. They open it for some, and they just disappear."
"Not all?"
"No. The guards wait for three days, but sometimes nothing happens. And then - well."
Arthur had never been to the forest or the grove, but he'd heard of the small cemetery at the edge of it, a scattering of unmarked stones. Merlin might have too, because he nodded again and blindly stared into the book for a while.
"Anyway," he said eventually. "Even if we had a magician, one person can't power up many machines. Maybe two or three ploughs at once. Maybe not even that. I don't know, because - how would I?"
"If, in some crazy imaginary world - and I'll kill you if you repeat this to anyone - I had a magician I could trust, I wouldn't waste them on powering machinery," said Arthur, oddly and dangerously reckless. "We can build engines for that - we are. We're getting there. I'd have him work with me. We'd use that power to discover the secrets of the elements, to understand how everything works. How metal can get tired, how we could make ice like we make fire. How to build better engines."
Merlin's face, sweetly flushed, lit up with so much unabashed admiration, was a picture to behold. Arthur knew he'd be clinging to that image later, in the dark, with his eyes shut and his hand moving between his legs. That issue in itself was getting almost as distressing as all the talk about magic.
When Arthur had just begun to study the engines, he'd been amazed to learn that it wasn't the steam that drove the power stroke of the piston. It was the absence of steam, the sudden emptiness of a vacuum. That's where all the power was coming from: nature's abhorrence of vacuum. The universal need for something to be there was forcing metal to slam home, making the wheels turn, driving their pumps, looms, mills, powering the whole country.
And it was just like that. It was as if there had been an empty space somewhere inside his chest for so very long and now this huge, ridiculous affection was forcing its way in. It hurt, and it was blind and merciless as any force of nature, like atmospheric pressure or gravity. Whenever Merlin smiled, Arthur could feel his lungs expand a little. It was gaining more momentum, and he didn't know how to stop it.
It was so bad that he resorted to bringing the matter up with the court physician.
"By the way," he said very nonchalantly as the man was rubbing salve into his shoulder where the bone he'd broken last year still ached too often. "I was given to understand that once a man comes of age, the, um, the urges. They become less - urgent."
"Yes, they generally do," said the man. His face was professionally sombre, but Arthur still felt a smirk hidden beneath. Granted, talking to Gaius about this - all those years ago, when the urges had just started - had been immeasurably worse. Thankfully, Gaius hadn't been seeing patients for months. The work of a physician was getting too strenuous for his age, and he spent all his time in his laboratory now, researching cures that could replace the magical potions of old.
"However," the physician continued, "In no small part that is due to the fact that most men, by the time they come of age, tend to find a way to quell the urges before the need becomes distracting."
"Well, I - I do," Arthur said, trying not to twitch in humiliation.
"I'm not talking about solitary pursuits, Your Highness," said the man, perfectly politely. "I understand that your betrothal has been broken and no new plans for marriage are yet in place."
Arthur had been engaged to some southern princess since he was two and she was probably ten - he couldn't quite remember now. That fell through when Albion lost the magic and with it the machines that had been its lifeblood and the source of its unrivalled prosperity. Nothing else had been arranged since. Uther was unwilling to settle for a poorer bride, and he hoped to strike a better bargain once their kingdom had risen again.
"In my medical opinion, taking a consort would be most advantageous to your health, sire," the physician said. "Anyone would be most honoured to serve you in that way."
"I don't have the time," said Arthur brusquely.
"It doesn't take that long," and now the grin was out in the open, almost salacious. "Only minutes. Actually, I'm sure that new manservant of yours would be absolutely delighted-"
"That's enough," Arthur yanked his shirt back on and gave the man a regal stare. "You forget your place, physician."
Maybe Merlin would be - but Merlin wasn't there to serve his base needs. Merlin was important and necessary, and his position in Camelot, at Arthur's side and in his workshop, was already complicated and precarious enough. It wouldn't do to jeopardise it for frivolities.
He couldn't deny himself the indulgence of getting dressed and bathed by Merlin's hands but that was enough for him.
Merlin woke up in the middle of the night in the darkest, quietest hour, long before dawn. He sat in bed, shivering and trying to remember the unsettling dream that woke him up, when he heard the voice.
He'd heard it once before, and it couldn't be mistaken for anything else. It sounded right in his head, echoing unpleasantly between his ears, but at the same time it was coming from above.
He got dressed, slipped out of the room and quietly walked through the sleeping castle, past locked doors and dozing guards to the battlements near the sloped roof of the great hall.
He'd waited there, rubbing his shoulders to keep off the night chill, till he'd heard the sound of wings.
The dragon moved almost soundlessly for something that enormous. It made a small circle over the roof and gently touched down. A few tiles crumbled under its claws and slid down, trickling onto the battlements. The dragon angled its neck to see if the noise would rouse anyone, then it turned its face to Merlin.
"I might have made a mistake," it said.
"Yeah, I'm doing quite well, thanks, adjusting to the new life, and how have you been?" Merlin huffed.
"You're not ready for what's to come. You're not strong enough. Perhaps it would be best if you went back to your mother. It's too dangerous for you to be here."
"But I've only just started! I have a job, I've already sent Mum my first wages, and I'm really helping here! We're doing good work, and I'm looking after Arthur like you said. And you know what? I don't care if it's dangerous. This is supposed to be my destiny, and I'm not running away."
"It's not you who are in gravest danger."
"Who, then?"
The dragon shrugged its wings shiftily and ducked its head.
"Who?" Merlin demanded. "You have to tell me! I'll protect them - is it Arthur?"
"Arthur is never quite out of danger," the dragon's voice sounded almost affectionate now; there was something in the way he said Arthur's name. "Such is the nature of his destiny, and it will always be so."
"Is someone going to - but why? Who would want to hurt Arthur? Everybody loves him! All right, he's annoying. And rude. And arrogant, totally spoiled and really pig-headed - "
"Do you really see no reason why someone would have a grudge against the Pendragons?"
Merlin choked on words, suddenly realising the magnitude of the matter. Of course, thousands of people had reasons to hate the royals. The taxes were high and were collected mercilessly; whole villages became destitute and were moved to mining camps to work off their debts. There had always been a subdued rumour going around that it was the king's fault that the magicians had left, that he betrayed them and drove them away. There could be enemies from the foreign lands - Merlin couldn't begin to guess at the political intricacies there. There were the families of people who got dragged to the forest of Arador and never returned. There were also the exiled magicians...
But those were all the king's sins, the king's own enemies. Arthur wasn't responsible for those. Arthur was loved and respected by everyone, Merlin was sure of that.
"I gave you my warning," the dragon said. "It's your choice whether to heed it."
After it left, Merlin tried going back to bed, but sleep wouldn't come. The dragon's words were too distressing to ignore, and at the same time too vague to give him any useful hints. The idleness was making him shaky with worry. He needed to do something. He needed to see Arthur and make sure he was safe.
He ended up bringing Arthur his breakfast almost an hour early. He planned to tiptoe into the room and read in the corner, watching over Arthur as he slept. But Arthur, amazingly, was wide awake. He sat on the bed in his nightclothes, smiling brightly, and stared at something above the window.
"Look, Merlin," he said without turning his head. "The most annoying thing in the world is back."
The room suddenly filled with melodic chirping noises, like a bird's song but with a reverberating metallic note. The singing bird, a small falcon, was perched atop the curtain rail. Every feather on its sleek body gleamed brilliantly, as if it was cast out of silver.
The bird ducked its head gracefully and did a little dance, shuffling from one foot to another, still singing joyfully. It took off from its perch and flew around the room to land at Merlin's feet.
Now he could see that the bird really was made out of silver, or perhaps the finest polished steel. The craftsmanship was nothing like he'd ever seen, even after spending all that time around the best engineers and smiths in the land. The feathers were each fashioned separately in filigree details, yet they clung to the bird's body tightly, like real feathers, and no joints were visible under them. The bird's movements were mechanically sudden and jerky, but that was how the real birds moved, too. It kept twisting its neck and tilting its head in a convincing imitation of curiosity. It was lovingly made, perfect down to the little silver claws at the tips of its feet. The bird's eyes were bright blue sapphires and its beak was tipped in gold.
The falcon spread its wings, bringing its head low as if bowing, and let out another long string of chirps.
"It kept me up since before dawn," said Arthur. He threw a pillow at it, very half-heartedly. It didn't land anywhere close, but the bird flew up again and landed on top of a bed post. "Damn, it's so noisy. And how the hell does it fly? It shouldn't be able to fly. It must be far too heavy."
"Magic," said Merlin, staring at the bird in dreamy awe. It was a beautifully made thing, and it was full of magic. He could feel it even from afar - old magic, more powerful and wild than he even knew existed. But the magic was familiar somehow, in some strange, warm, comfortable way. And the bird itself -
"Oh," he laughed, amused like a child. "Oh, Arthur, it's a merlin falcon. Look at it! It's a merlin!"
"Oh, great, you've finally found your real family. I should have guessed, really, it's just as stupid and annoying as you and makes about as much sense. And I'm sure it's your fault it's back. I've not seen it in years."
"What is it? Who made it? It's amazing!"
"Who knows, it's been around longer than anyone can remember. It just flies around the place, gets into windows, makes a mess of everything. We keep hoping that the magic would run out and it would drop dead but no such luck so far."
"It must be so old," said Merlin, secretly reaching for the pulse of magic inside the falcon's body, almost moaning with pleasure as the power pushed back, curled alongside his. It was like touching your hand to your own skin and feeling it twice, in your fingers and under them, only this was a lot better.
"It is. Legend has it," Arthur said with a small soft smile. "That it belonged to the great King Arthur himself. It was a gift from his queen, and it has the magic of his court sorcerer in it. He was very powerful. Some say his magic will never run out."
He suddenly jumped up, scowling fiercely. He swatted at the bird, missing it widely again. Its chirps as it made slow circles over Arthur's head sounded like merry cackling.
"I'll get it one day," Arthur threatened. "I'd love to open it up and see how it works - this is a different kind of craftsmanship, this is the stuff that's been lost along the way. We could learn so much from it."
"I don't think it even has that much machinery in it," said Merlin cautiously.
"That's the point! The latest machines were built so even child sorcerers could power them. Very complex mechanics, very simple magic required to work them. There just weren’t enough highly trained magicians to power all the machines. But this bird - this is one of the first machines ever, from the time the magicians had just began wrapping their magic around metal. If we study these changes in the design philosophy, we can understand the nature of magic, even if we can't experiment with it directly. We'll also know how to disentangle it from the complex devices, like the ploughs."
The bird suddenly landed on Merlin's shoulder and swayed there, struggling for balance as he winced in surprise. It was heavy; its claws prickled him through his jacket, but he didn't mind. He slowly, carefully lifted his hand and stroked the bird's shiny beak and the smallest feathers above it. It was silly - the bird was metal, it couldn't feel a caress. It couldn't feel anything, neither fear nor pleasure. But it seemed to like it: it clung to his shoulder, turning its head with the movement of his fingers, and chirped again, softly, cooing.
"It used to follow me around when I was a child," said Arthur. "It was such a nuisance. You'll never get rid of it now, by the way."
The bird stuck with Merlin for the rest of the day. It rode around on his shoulder, climbed atop his head to play with his hair, flew around exuberantly singing. It followed him to the workshop and was greeted by the engineers like a long absent friend. They tried to lure it closer, to pet it; the bird dodged them teasingly and hopped about the workbenches, playing with small springs and crumpling drawings with its claws.
Around lunch, it gave a sharp cry and soared high, toward the ceilings. They all crowded underneath to watch it scramble around the beams in distress and completely missed the king's arrival.
The king had not come to the workshop before, at least not in Merlin's memory. Everyone bowed; Merlin tried to copy them and nearly dropped his book. His notes went spilling from between the pages, rustling on the floor in the sudden silence.
The king dismissed everyone and beckoned Arthur closer.
"I see that the old problem has resurfaced," he said, eyeing the bird. It found a perch at the crossing of the beams and sat there very still, as if it was attempting to blend into the carvings. "And I see that the rumours were true. You are allowing your manservant into the workshop. You're even granting him the knowledge that should be reserved for those of noble blood."
"Yes, Father," Arthur said, straightening his back. "I'm sorry that I took the liberty, but we really need to talk about this."
"You call this liberty? I'd say it's dangerously close to treason."
"Sire," breathed Arthur, turning pale. "You know I have only the best interests of Albion at heart. Everything I do..."
"Explain to me how this serves Albion."
"If we're to restore everything, if we're to understand these machines, we need more engineers. The principles and the work involved grow progressively more complicated..."
"So you need more men?"
"A lot more, yes." Arthur exhaled in relief and hurried along: "I need people who can grasp the concepts that are so beyond anything we've..."
"And yet you turned away five candidates just this month."
"They were useless idiots!"
"Three of them were sons of the Lord of Northumbria. You've caused me a great deal of political embarrassment."
"It's not about politics," said Arthur with a grimace.
"Everything is about politics. Did you think that teaching engineering to a peasant was a harmless indulgence?"
"We need to consider it, at least! Father, you know that running machines on steam wouldn't be anything like going back to the time of magic. The mechanisms would have to be more complicated, and they'd be under a lot more stress. Just to service them we'll need an army of skilled mechanics. And we'll need so much coal, we'll have to mechanise mining, too. We can't keep sending more peasants to the mines."
"And why can't we, pray tell?"
"Because it's a waste! All those people spend their whole lives doing nothing but menial labour, leaving no mark on the world when they die. Yet any of them could have a gift for so much more! With proper learning, any of them could advance our science by decades, but we keep them tilling earth and digging coal like beasts of burden. We never give them a chance..."
"You'd educate the peasants and have them run the machines?"
"Well," Arthur stumbled, losing some of his steam. "Obviously, only the talented ones."
"And what would happen when enough of them learn? Will the day come when we can't run our machines without the help of the plebs?"
"Well, eventually, in the long run, that might..."
"Or will it get to the point where they can do it without us?"
All the engineers had quietly edged away as soon as conversation started. Merlin wanted to slink off as well, but he was boxed between workbenches and didn't want to walk past the king to make his escape. Arthur stood to attention before the king while being berated like a child; his face was burning red, and he was going to hate Merlin for having witnessed this.
"Camelot and the crown must be strong if we want Albion to survive," the king said. "We can't let the power slip from our grasp. That's exactly what happened with the magicians. Do you want to put our kingdom through another disaster like that when we're only starting to recover?"
"No, Sire," Arthur muttered, his eyes downcast.
The king's cloak was draped artfully over his right arm, but still Merlin was almost sure he could hear metallic clicking under that, the whisper of turning gears. When the king glanced at him Merlin tried to bow again but mistimed every single motion of his limbs so that it looked more like a drunken full-body swing and a nod. The king sighed.
“I understand why you had this lapse of judgement,” he said. “The boy is a clumsy day-dreaming lunatic. It's hard to stay vigilant when faced with something so offensively harmless. I'll leave you to deal with him as you see fit,” said the king, turning on his heel. The guards who followed him inside moved to positions to flank him as he exited. “I trust your decision won't disappoint me. And find the way to get rid of that thing. For all we know, it's cursed.”
After he'd left Arthur stayed in the same spot, staring at the floor.
"Arthur," called Merlin uncertainly. "Arthur, what..."
"Get out of my sight," Arthur hissed.
Merlin went to the alchemical laboratory, and uncle Gaius immediately roped him into grinding something smelly in a mortar. Usually the room would be filled with Morgana's energy, the sheer light of her presence. She'd flit around the laboratory, checking on bubbling reagents in numerous test tubes and swearing colourfully, dangerous and dazzling, a dark tempest. Now she slowly drifted around the room without settling on anything, and she was sickly pale and quiet.
"She's not slept well," explained Gaius. "Nightmares. My dear child, why don't you try going back to bed?"
"No," she said. Her voice was weak, cracking; even her lips were pale. "I'd rather not be alone right now."
Merlin tried cheering her up, babbling any nonsense that came into his head. He asked her to tell him about the dreams so they could both laugh at how silly they'd seem in the light of day, but she only shook her head.
"They're only dreams. There's no need to upset you as well."
In the afternoon Morgause and Gwen came in with bunches of flowers and some sweet cakes, and that finally put a wan smile on her face. Morgause gave everyone a curtailed account of the king's visit to the workshop. Merlin had almost managed to put that out of his mind for a time, trying to stay chirpy for Morgana's sake. But now he couldn't help thinking of the king's words and the way Arthur's voice'd caught when he'd dismissed him. He curled up in a nearest chair, drew his knees to his chest and let himself revel in his misery.
"I was told I'd only bring Arthur trouble," he said. "I should have listened."
"Nonsense," Morgana said. "Whoever told you that is only weaving an intrigue of their own. I would appreciate it if you gave me their name. I'd like to look into the matter."
He shook his head, and she didn't push. Gwen stepped closer and gave him a soft, tentative pat on the shoulder. He smiled as cheerfully as he could. The silver bird had been quietly investigating the top shelves in the room for the most of the day, but now it glided down, landed on the back of the chair and gently pecked at Gwen's fingers.
"He likes you," Merlin said, grateful for her friendship and eager to please her in return. "He's got great taste for a mechanical bird. It's a merlin, by the way. Ha ha."
She cautiously stroked the bird's head and got a cheery short song in return.
"Hello, merlin," she said. "Not seen you in ages. How've you been? Merlin, you know you don't have to work with the engineers. We can use you in the smithy. Lancelot and William would be so glad to have you with us."
"That's a good idea," said Morgana. "Or you could work with us. Isn't that right, Gaius?"
"Of course. There's always a place for you here, my boy," Gaius nodded with a smile.
"It would be better," Morgana continued. "To tell you the truth, Merlin, I don't want you to work with machines."
"You don't want anyone to work with machines," Morgause laughed and ran her fingers through Morgana's dark hair.
"I do have a reason for that. It's not just a fancy, and you know it."
"I know."
"I'm so glad that you don't touch those things anymore."
Merlin curled up tighter and dropped his chin on his knee, hating himself for being so ungrateful. It should have been enough to have such kind friends, but all he could feel was despair at the very thought of being away from Arthur.
"I need to be with Arthur," he said. "I mean, I'm supposed to be with Arthur. That's how it's supposed to be. And he only wants me around because I have a knack for the machines. Without it I'm just a clumsy day-dreaming lunatic."
"So what? All Arthur's engineers are day-dreaming lunatics," Morgause shrugged. "That's practically a requirement."
"And they're all terribly clumsy, bless them," laughed Gwen.
"It's true," Morgana nodded. "You should see them attempt courtship. It's tragic, really."
"But I can't be one of them," Merlin reminded them. "I can't even be there."
There was an odd pause. Gauis raised an eyebrow and gave Morgause a meaningful look.
"All right, I'm going to let you in on a little engineering secret," she said and took Merlin by the elbow. "Walk with me."
Outside in the hallway she stopped and turned him around to look him in the eye.
"Do you know why I don't work with the old machines?" she asked.
"Because Morgana doesn't want you to? It's nice that you'd do that for her. You must love her so much," he said, trying not to be a lecher and imagine that, the two of them moving together, their limbs intertwining, her blond hair unbound and brushing against Morgana's bared breasts. "But, uh, but it's a shame. I heard you were very good."
"That's just the thing. I was too good. It was suspicious."
He stared at her stony face, her beautiful, calm eyes. There was a line of dark paint around them, and that was the only feminine touch in her whole attire.
"Oh," he said slowly, as her words fully sunk in, and she nodded.
"You're too good as well," she said. "It's important to be very careful. Sometimes we have to sacrifice parts of ourselves to be with people we love. Our... gifts... are not all that we are. If you're meant to be with Arthur, you will be. There will be a way, but you have to be careful."
"Why are you telling me this?" he mumbled. She was Morgause, the great and the terrible. It didn't make sense for her to even talk to him, let alone tell him her dangerous secret.
"Because I, too, was young and scared once," she said with a shrug. "I too was told that I couldn't be here. Uther didn't even want Morgana to know she had a sister."
"You're sisters? Oh. I didn't know."
"You're not supposed to know that. I'm one of Camelot's dirty secrets. Uther puts up with me because Morgana needs me. Because Arthur needs me."
"Well, yes, you're you. You're noble-born and talented, and you're going to change the world with that abacus thing. I'm... without my gift, I'm nothing."
"I believe you're still Arthur's manservant," she said. "And I think it's about time you fetched his supper. Uther dined alone tonight; Arthur should be brooding in his room right now, and I'd bet he's hungry and cranky."
He paused at Arthur's door and put the food-laden tray on the floor. The silver bird immediately hopped on it, overturned a bowl of shelled hazelnuts and stared upwards as if expecting praise.
It still followed him everywhere; the guards, following the king’s standing orders, tried to catch or smash it, but it was fast and they never chased it for long. They kept warning Merlin that he shouldn't be seen playing with the bird instead of helping destroy it, he'd get it trouble. He tried to shoo it off throughout the day, but that was no use.
"Look," he told it. "This isn't going to end well for us if you're going to be like this. So let's at least make Arthur happy. Let's make his wish come true. All right? For Arthur?"
The bird's sapphire eyes were expressionless. After all, they were just two rough-cut gemstones set in metal, and the bird wasn't sentient or even alive. But Merlin told himself that it looked like it agreed.
He reached out and pulled on the magic inside the bird. It went so easily, like a simple inhale; all that old, bright power folded snugly inside his chest as if it belonged. He cradled the falcon's body as it went limp, put it on a tray and covered it with a napkin.
Arthur was already dressed for bed in his soft linen breeches and a lace-trimmed shirt that was so sheer Merlin could see the shadows of his nipples through it. He wasn't even sure why he looked; he'd seen Arthur's nipples just that morning without anything covering them, and he'd probably see them tomorrow, provided he wasn't sacked yet.
Arthur wasn't brooding. He was drawing up a complex design, meticulously, with rulers and compasses.
"Oh, Merlin," he said cheerfully, as if that conversation with the king in the workshop hadn't happened at all. "I think I've cracked the problem of powering the ploughs. Well, we still need to make the mechanics work, but this is going to be good. The only small snag is that all fields would have to be round."
"You're kind of obsessed with everything round, aren't you?"
"It's an optimal shape for many things. This also solves the problem of directing the plough's trajectory. By the way, how did they used to know where the fields ended?"
"There are runed stones buried at the boundaries of all fields, the ploughs were spelled to turn when they reached them," Merlin explained. "Oh, I know this because I tilled the fields, we used to find those stones sometimes..."
"Yes, I don't care. Stop babbling and listen. We have a busy day tomorrow. We need to figure out how to get you access to the workshop without annoying my father. You might have to work from drawings for a while, and we know you're abysmal at reading them, so you better get studying. Also, there is a castle-wide hunt going on for the merlin-bird..."
"Oh, that's not a problem anymore," Merlin said a pulled the napkin off the bird's still body. "Look. It just dropped off like you wanted. The magic ran out."
Arthur dropped the drawing tools on the desk and stared at the falcon, wide-eyed and silent.
"You can open it up," said Merlin brightly. "Do you want to do it right now? I'll help."
"No."
"Well, whenever you want, it's not going anywhere."
Arthur wasn't even touching the bird. He just looked at it with something like horror, as if Merlin put a dead rat on his supper tray.
"I really thought," he said slowly. "I believed it was all true. That it belonged to King Arthur. That the magic would never... But it was just a stupid toy after all. That was the last of the magic. It's all gone now."
"Well," said Merlin, shifting from foot to foot, a little confused. "That's okay, right? Now we have steam."
"Yes. Now we're all we have."
Arthur picked up the napkin and draped it over the bird again, hiding it from sight.
"Go," he said. "Go, sleep, do whatever you do."
"Arthur, are you-"
"Just leave."
Merlin sighed, shuffled for the door, pulled it open and yelped a little in surprise. The court physician stood on the other side with one hand raised to knock, the other cradling a stack of boxes to his chest. He gave Merlin a polite smile and brushed past him into the room.
"What is it?" asked Arthur, pushing to his feet. "Is my father well?"
"His Majesty is quite well, yes. Forgive me for disturbing you at this hour, Your Highness. Unfortunately, I must leave Camelot for a week or so - an urgent family matter, I'm afraid."
"Oh," said Arthur, easily falling into his princely demeanour. "I hope it's not sad tidings. If you require an advance on your wages, you need only say so."
"No thank you, Your Highness, you're most kind. Everything is taken care of, and my family will be just fine after I complete my errand. However, I regret to say that I won't be here to administer your next treatment on schedule."
"Don't worry about that, I'm sure I'll manage."
"We're expecting a cold spell, and that can be most taxing for injuries such as yours. I'd hate for Your Highness to go through unnecessary discomfort. With your permission, I'd like to treat you right now, before I leave, in the hopes that it should prevent a relapse. I have brewed a new potion that should prove most effective."
"Ah. Well then, by all means, go ahead. That's very good of you," Arthur's eyes clouded for a second; Merlin already knew that it meant he was struggling to remember the man's name, to add a little personal touch to his words. He always remembered; Arthur was great with names. "That's very good of you, Edwin."
Next Part
![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2010-08-31 06:00 pm (UTC)Nothing could be worth a whole live.
I think you mean "life"
On to finish this chapter! :)
no subject
Date: 2010-08-31 06:07 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2010-08-31 11:41 pm (UTC)That's the best description of Merlin's magic I've ever read.
I love Morgana, Gwen, Gaius and Morgause's little interactions in this section. Lovely. Also HELLO vaguely erotic sisterhood. Love it.
"The only small snag is that all fields would have to be round."
"You're kind of obsessed with everything round, aren't you?"
"It's an optimal shape for many things."
AHAHAHHA. Oh Arthur, I do love you.
no subject
Date: 2010-09-01 03:07 pm (UTC)