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ephitomisTitle: You can't see the shadow reflected (Through a shattered glass; The Remix)
Fandom: Merlin
Notes: Written for the prompt "Fandom!AU" for COWT10. So I've decided to remix a fic I wrote for the FIRST EDITION OF THE COWT for every week of the COWT10. Can I do it? Who knows. This one is a remix of Through a shattered glass. It follows the same IDEA but developed in a totally different way.
Wordcount: 5401
Summary: There is a secret in Camelot, one that Arthur keeps with all his heart.
There is a secret in Camelot. Well, there are many well kept secrets, in Camelot, Arthur is sure, but only one that he defends with his whole heart.
He's not sure why or when it became a secret, but it has been so for many many years that Arthur has started to forget how it came to be.
Is it really important? After all, it's a secret that only a handful of people know. Arthur, Gaius and his father.
Everyone else has been run off from the castle, or bought to keep the secret.
There is a secret in Camelot, one that would bring shame to the entire house and so Arthur never speaks of it.
Everybody knows that a boy reaches maturity the day his daemon finally reaches his final form. It's a day of great joy for the family, especially if the boy is a chavalier.
Especially if the boy is the crown prince of the reign.
The day Anthellion settles in his form, Uther calls the entire court and organizes a feast that would be replenished for three days straight. A joust is organized in Arthur's honor, all to celebrate the Golden Wolf of Camelot.
A lot of people come up to both Arthur and Uther to offer their congratulations and they always smile and say "Well, like father like son," looking at Helia and Anthellion, standing side by side.
They're right, of course, and if not for the colour of their fur, Anthellion would be a perfect copy of Helia.
Arthur smiles and boasts. He's fifteen and he's the prince of camelot and soon he'll be the best knight of the realm, there's much for him to celebrate.
He wins the joust, of course, and everyone cheers him on. He's on top of the world, the golden son of Camelot, the prince that everybody loves and desires.
What else could he even want?
It's a party he won't soon forget, and after it's done, he excuses himself from the rest of the castle and runs to his own room.
Arthur makes sure to lock his door, and close the curtain on the windows and for the first time in three days, he breathes.
Anthellion howls, behind him, and in a moment he changes form quickly. A cat at fist, then a panther, then a falcon and then... then a dragon.
He settles there, panting and looking in Arthur's eyes with a desperation that's common between them.
Arthur knows well what would happen if his father discovered Anthellion's preference for strange forms, for mythical creatures that want to harm their reign, but there's nothing they can do to stop him.
Anthellion hates staying trapped in a single form, even one as appropriate as his father's daemon. After three days forced to keep the same form, Arthur can't really tell him to stop.
They don't know why dragons (or chimeras, or griffons, or any of the magical creatures they've learned of in books) but they're always the forms Anthellion migrates towards the most.
They're not perfect, but he feels comfortable in them, as if they were a comfy pair of shoes. What did that say about Arthur?
Anthellion wines and then, slowly, crawls towards Arthur. The first time his daemon changed into a dragon's form, Arthur had been scared and revulsed.
Now, after years, he reaches out and caresses the red scales on Anthellion's face. Is it really his daemon's fault if Arthur's soul is warped in this way?
"It's okay," Arthur murmurs, quietly, "thank you."
Anthellion shakes his head and then crawls in Arthur's arms. His tail wraps around Arthur's tight and his wings close on them, almost as if to protect them.
"After today," Arthur says, petting his daemon, "we'll have to be careful. Even more than we've been until now."
Anthellion nods, and his form shrinks, almost as if he's trying to hide himself from the world. "I won't disappoint you," he promises, his voice low and scared.
Arthur doesn't know how to tell him that the only one he will ever be disappointed in is himself.
He doesn't know why Anthellion can't settle. Normal Daemons settle when their human reaches ten years old, some push it to fourteen, but Anthellion only grew more restless with time.
"It's not a good look," Uther told him, disappointment and anger in his tone, "to have the heir to the throne with an unsettled daemon at fifteen, Arthur. People have already started to talk."
He knows, of course. He can hear the callous whispers in the corridors, the derisive comments made when they think Arthur isn't paying attention.
The prince is weak, they say with a sneer, he's just a cub, He won't be able to guide us all.
While Arthur knows it's not true, knows he's put more hours into training than any other person in the castle, there's nothing he can do to change their mind.
Nothing but lie.
It goes against everything in his soul, and he can see the disappointment in Gaiu's eyes. But what can Arthur do?
He's already enough of a disappointment for his father. Gaius tells him he's wrong, but Arthur knows perfectly well that if his father was proud of him, he wouldn't avert his eyes the moment Anthellion came into his line of vision. Helia would be more affectionate towards Anthellion, at least when they were alone.
But the truth is that Uther is the same as the malevolent whispers in the night. He doesn't believe Arthur can lead the reign, not with an unsettled daemon, not while he's not a man.
So Arthur and Anthellion hide. What's one more secret on top of the one they already have?
Gaius told him it would be difficult, sometimes more painful than they could ever imagine, but Arthur and Anthellion could have never imagined just how much.
There are days when Arthur can physically feel the pain Anthellion is in. When their connection aches and strains, even when they're right next to each other.
Those days, when they retire to their rooms, Anthellion is an unstoppable force. He changes and changes and he restlessly moves as much as he can in their room.
Arthur leaves him be, feeling the relief like a literal punch in his gut.
It's so hard, he thinks. Harder than his training, harder than his studies. But it's worth it to see the approval in his father's eyes.
Right?
Arthur doesn't really know what to feel about Merlin and his ermine, Kalika. They don't seem to be afraid of Arthur and Anthellion, on the other hand it seems like they reveal in the idea of antagonising them.
It's unusual, to say the least. Even when someone doesn't know who Arthur is, Anthellion is a rather imposing figure at his side.
He's a massive wolf, just like Helia, and one of his paws is as big as Kalika's head. Yet the ermine snipes at the wolf without fear.
Maybe they would have been able to be themselves, Arthur thinks recklessly. It's a stupid thought, after all he can't really compare his situation to one of a servant. What kind of responsibilities does Merlin even have on his head? Arthur and Anthellion have an entire kingdom that depends on them. And they won't let anyone down.
Still, Merlin and Kalika antagonize them, and then they save his life.
It's... a rather peculiar turn of events.
"How can we repay you," Uther asks, while Anthellion is busy growling at the dagger that almost pierced Arthur's heart.
It's strange to think that without Merlin, Arthur might have died. That if only the other had hesitated, Anthellion would be dust in the wind.
"I don't need..." Merlin starts, but Uther is sure of his decision.
"Non-sense, I know, you'll be my son's servant. What greater honor?" Uther finally declares, and the room dutifully claps.
Arthur would say something to stop this madness, but he knows better than anyone that it was impossible to change his father's mind.
He wonders, however, how much harder it would be to hide Anthellioin's secret from Merlin, now.
Merlin isn't a respectful servant, He barges in Arthur's room whenever he wants, and tends to ignore the concept of personal space.
Arthur and Anthellion have had many close calls.
Once, Merlin had knocked while Anthellion was relaxing in a Grifon form. Anthellion had changed so quickly that he forgot the little patch of white hair that his usual wolf's form had. Kalika had watched that patch of fur intently for five minutes, before Arthur had managed to drive the two of them out of the room.
"I don't think we'll be able to hide from them forever," Anthellion said, that night. He was curled all over Arthur, his bear form warm at his back.
Arthur knew that he was right, of course, that their secret was like a ticking bomb, waiting to explode. But he couldn't accept it.
Morgana's daemon, Hisk, settled when she was seven. The day her father died, Hisk started hissing at one of the nobles there to take Morgana away, and never changed form.
It deeply unsettled most of the people at the castle, but Arthur had never been too bothered. Anthellion took many stranger forms at night, and Hisk never striked at anyone that didn't deserve it.
He knew what it meant to have a peculiar daemon, and even if no one knew about Anthellion, Arthur never took his luck for granted.
Morgana was kind, witty and Arthur loved her.
So Anthellion growled harder at people who watched Hisk too long, and made sure to be extra intimidating when someone started to say anything.
"You know," Morgana said once, while Hisk was wrapped around her neck like a scarf. "I don't need to have the golden boy of Camelot protect me. I'm a big girl."
"I know," he replied, caressing Anthellion's fur. "But I don't want this kind of stupidity to spread in camelot. Judging someone for their daemon shouldn't be allowed. The mark of a man's soul isn't in the form it takes, but the way it acts."
Morgana didn't say anything then, but Arthur didn't really need her to. After all, he said that for himself as much as her.
"You know, I'm not really surprised that your daemon is just like your father's" Merlin tells him one day, Kalika hissing on his shoulder, "after all you're just like him."
They're fighting because of a law his father has made. And Arthur... understands Merlin's point of view. It's true that his father edict is unfair and way too strict, but what Merlin doesn't understand is the way to get his father to agree to anything.
The more someone opposes him, the more Uther Pendragon firmly sets his mind on something.
Arthur would have loved to explain this to Merlin, but his words cut him too deep. Anthellion has been a wolf for more than ten years now, but the form never feels right to them. It's like an ill fitted suit that they dome every day.
Having it so callously thrown back in their face, stings.
It shouldn't be an insult, Arthur knows, but at the same time... Arthur would love to be just like his father. To not have to worry about the strange forms Anthellion takes at night, about the nightmares that keep him up at night.
How can Merlin understand the fear of the secret Arthur keeps? What if Anthellion settles into one of the beasts that his father so hates?
What if Arthur is destined to bring the fall of Camelot just by being himself. Just by having a corrupted soul?
"You don't know anything about me, Merlin," he replies, feeling the burn of the anger flicker at his heart. Anthellion growls, deeper than he normally sounds. His claws screech against the pavement, where they cut in the wooden floorboards.
For a moment all they can see, all they can feel, is all of the sacrifices they've ever done. How dares Merlin?
How dare he?
"I know you're too scared to stand up to your own father," Merlin continues, "I thought you were a better man, but anyone looking at your daemon can tell exactly who you are, can't they?"
Before Arthur can even register the words, Anthellion has launched himself as Kalika, growling with all the bitter feelings that have been building inside them. He's not going to hurt her, and his fangs close far from her body, but the threat is clear.
There's thorn in Arthur's heart, scales and venom growing in his soul. Literally very soon.
Arthur can feel the need for Anthellion to change.
He wants to morph, to grow scales and breathe fire upon Merlin. He wants to grow spikes on his tail, and venom in his mouth and reveal to Merlin just what kind of person they are.
"Remove yourself from my sight," Arthur says, while he orders Anthellion to come back to his side. "You're dismissed for the week."
Anthellion follows his command, but his movements are erratic. Restless. He'll change soon, and Merlin's presence won't stop him.
Nothing will now.
"You think you're relieving me?" Merlin asks, with a scoff, "you couldn't get me to come back even if you crawled at my feet."
Merlin takes Kalika in his hands and storms off, closing the door behind him. The moment he's gone, Anthellion becomes a dragon, bigger than the usual form he takes.
Then he becomes a sphinx and then a wyvern. He changes, and changes, and roars with anger and frustration.
Arthur hopes that no one is listening, because none of the sounds coming from Anthellion's mouth would ever be made by a wolf. but Arthur can't stop him.
He watches his own soul roar with pain and wonders how he even got there.
Merlin and Arthur don't talk about that afternoon again. They can see in Merlin and Kalika's eyes, sometimes, curiosity and a spark of courage, but they never ask.
Arthur keeps living his life, and tries to forget about the day he almost lost control right in front of his servant.
It's dangerous this game he's playing, and everyday he feels like he's losing a little bit more.
He wonders, sometimes, what would be worse: revealing his secret to the entire camelot or losing himself to the lie.
Anthellion asked him once what would happen if he actually got stuck as a wolf. And Arthur... he hadn't known how to answer then, and he certainly doesn't know now.
Most days he's even more convinced that Anthellion's true form comes more from sorcery books than from normal forests. If they ever find his true form they would be hunted and shunned, he's sure.
There aren't many people in the world with magical creatures as daemons. Usually, or so the saying goes, they're cursed people with a soul that has been inked in magic and tragedy,
Arthur doesn't know why he shares the same fate, but he can't really deny the obvious.
The truth comes to him from an unlikely source.
After all, he thinks, how can he be talking to his own mother? Magic, he knows, and a powerful kind. One not to be trusted, but how can he not when she looks so alive and oh so dear.
"Oh, my Arthur," she says, taking a step closer. The first thing Arthur notices is the absence of a daemon. He doesn't have any memories of his mother's daemon, of course, but Gaius told him about the white dove that usually fluttered around Ygraine's.
But, of course, she's dead. And Oscar is nothing but dust now.
"How can it be?" Arthur asks, even if he knows the answer.
"Magic, my dear," she immediately replies, looking in Anthellion's direction. "So much of our life, after all, has been controlled by it. Shaped by it. Guided by it. And you most of all, my boy."
"Me?" Arthur wonders, blinking.
Ygraine simply smiles, and looks towards Anthellion again. "But of course, after all, you were born because of magic and because of it you live. Your entire soul is touched by it."
Arthur stands there, while his mother reveals to him the reality of his birth, and all he can think is the pain and the fear. All the times his father had watched him, disapprovingly.
And yet.
This is all his fault. Uther's fault.
Anthellion growls beside him, and for once Arthur doesn't stop him.
They storm inside the crown room and Arthur has his sworn drawn before he can even realize it. Uther looks so shocked, watching him like he can't even recognize him, but Arthur won't stop.
"This," he says, low and pained and hurt, "it's all your fault and you made me feel like I was wrong. Like I was to blame." "I don't know what you mean," his father pleads. "Arthur, listen to me..."
Arthur doesn't want to listen. He doesn't want to be patient or to just understand his father's position. He wants justice and he wants to be free.
He... he.
All the guards seem frozen to the spot, unable to comprehend what it's happening in front of them. Some obviously want to intervene, more loyal to his father than to Arthur, but most of them are obviously on Arthur's side.
He's loved, he thinks, respected. But they don't know him. No one does, and all because his father made him hide himself from everyone. All because of his mistake.
But before he can do what his heart's desires, Merling storms into the room, yelling at him to stop. That he's controlled by magic, and he shouldn't do something he'll regret.
Arthur doesn't feel controlled, feels free in a way he never has been before, but when Merlin puts his hands on his wrist to stop him... Arthur relents.
That night Anthellion takes forms that Arthur has only seen in his nightmares.
"We were too quick to act," Anthellion says, shame and worry coiling in his gut. "We were so eager to believe there was an explanation... that maybe..."
"That maybe it wasn't our fault," Arthur finishes for him, caressing the spikes on Anthellion's back.
But it is. This is what they are, he thinks, and maybe he should stop looking for someone to blame, and start accepting it.
"I think... I think we can be okay," he murmurs. He thinks about his mom, or at least the ghost he saw. She was seen through and empty without her soul by her side.
And for all they are, at least Arthur and Anthellion have each other.
The first thing that Arthur notices about Gwen's daemon, Arnom, is the posture. He walks around with a posture fit of a queen and not the dog daemon of a servant.
The second thing he notices is how normal he looks. He's a cocker spaniel, his fur black and full of curls.
Arnom looks like a daemon fit of a noble woman, if not in appearance then at least in generosity and elegance.
Arthur likes spending time with both Gwen and Arnom, but Anthellion less so.
"I love her," Arthur tells Anthellion, but his daemon huffs.
"I don't," he admits, a little ashamed. A little sad.
He thinks he knows why Anthellion doesn't like Arnom. His daemon has never liked canine forms, possibly because of Helia, but most of all, he has never been interested in normal.
Arnom represents the life Arthur wishes he could have. In another life he would marry her, he thinks.
In another life where he's not branded, where his soul isn't living proof of every bad thing his father had ever thought about him...
In another life, Arthur could have been happier, he thinks.
The thing about Morgana, Arthur thinks, is that everyone has always warned him about her. Her daemon, they would say, is an ill omen. She's not to be trusted.
And Arthur, who is loyal to a fault, has always defended her as best as he could.
Now. Well, now.
She's sitting on Uther's throne, Hisk slithering around the room, ready to strike at anyone who would get too close.
Morgana's changed, Arthur thinks, she used to be happy. He wonders when she stopped smiling, and why he didn't notice.
"Morgana..." he pleads, but she silences him immediately.
"This throne is mine," she says, her voice more of an hiss than Hisk's velvet tone. "I won't let you take it, Arthur. I won't let anyone steal what's mine, not even you. It's my birthwright."
She looks manic, and for a second Arthur aches for her.
Anthellion, at his side, takes a step forward. He wants to go to her, reach her. Maybe it's not too late still. Maybe...
At the same moment, Hisk hiss and Kamilia stops Anthellion from taking a step forward.
Merlin, at his side, puts a hand on his arm. "We've to go, Arthur... it's too dangerous here."
Arthur wants to tell him that it's not true. Morgana has always worried too much about him, fussed over him like a sister. He loves her, impossibly so.
"Go, Arthur," Morgana says, her eyes cold and uncaring. "I don't want to have to kill you too."
She doesn't want to, but she will. It's then that Arthur truly understands the gravity of the chasm between them.
Merlin guides him away and immediately begins to think of a plane to take back Camelot, but all Arthur can think is the pain. Blinding. Encompassing.
"Arthur, come on!" Merlin says, shaking him. "I understand this is shocking, but we need to plan. We need to react. Your people need you, and I know you're not the kind of man that would let them down."
It's such an impossibly optimistic thing to say that Arthur laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
"Okay," Merlin murmurs, slowly, "so Arthur has lost a couple of marbles..."
"No!" Arthur shouts, the irony still coursing through his veins. "You don't know anything about me, Merlin. No one does. You all think you do, and you try but it's all an act, why can't you see that?"
"Come on, Arthur, don't..." Merlin starts, but before he can finish he feels Anthellion change. It happens fast, like all blows do.
A moment and the fight is over, blood spilled all over the battle floor.
Life doesn't take prisoners and never concedes favours.
Arthur doesn't know what Anthellion changed into, but he can look into Merlin's eyes and gather from his shocked expression that it was one of the mythical creatures that he so favours.
They're angry, hurt and sad, and the need to change into one of those in these times is always stronger.
"This, Merlin," he says, with a sneer, "it's who I am. So don't say you know me. No one does."
He crouches on the ground, closing his eyes against the ongoing storm of feelings. Anthellion is drowning in them, growling to let some of them out, but it doesn't seem to be enough.
After al this time, nothing seems to be enough.
Since he has his eyes closed, he doesn't immediately know what is the fur that gently touches his hand. He thinks, for a second, that it's Anthellion trying to give him some comfort, but he soon realizes that's not the case.
The sensation is completely different than touching Anthellion. There's a second heartbeat there, a second breath.
In a moment he's flooded with feelings that he knows are not his own. There's admiration, loyalty, encouragement and then there's something else, running inside his soul like a fleeting rabbit, always too far to even catch a glimpse of it.
He opens his eyes and he sees Kamilia's face leaning on his hand, as if it was the most normal thing.
Arthur can't breathe. And then he can't stop.
"Why are you doing this?" he asks, feeling the panic build in his chest. "Can't you see what I am?" I'm..."
"You're our prince," Kamilia says, and it might be the first time Arthur actually hears her voice this clearly. "It doesn't matter the shape of one's soul, but how it acts and you and Anthellion act like a king should."
"Does a king hide from the world?" he can't help but scoff. He's not like they describe him. He's a monstrosity, down to his very soul.
"A king," and it's Merlin that talks this time. Arthur looks up, and he can see the redness of the other's cheek. He doesn't even need to see them, really, he can feel the other’s embarrassment, "protects his people even at his own detriment. You wanted to be strong for them, didn't you?"
"And beside," Kamilia continues, with a little bit of humor, "we never thought that that shape suited you guys."
Before they can comment, Kamilia hurries back to Merlin, climbing on his shoulders and nesting there.
Arthur and Merlin watch each other for a minute before the other nods. "Think about it, we'll be here when you have a plan," and then he walks away, like he didn't just open his entire soul to Arthur.
Like he didn't just lay himself naked for him.
Anthellion, now calmer than before, sits by him in his jaguar's shape.
"Did you just..." he asks, and Arthur looks towards his own hand.
Love, he thinks stupidly. That was the fleeting feeling, hiding from him. Running away, but still attracted.
Merlin loves him. Isn't that something?
Arthur does the only thing he can after revealing his biggest secret to a servant, discovering said servant loves him and losing his kingdom to his sister. He takes his sword and trains.
He allows the rhythmic repetition of training to focus him. There's no time to think while you're training. You have to concentrate on your form, the weight of the sword and the way your feet move.
If sometimes he falters, there's no one there to watch.
He thinks about Merlin and his unshakeable loyalty and trust in Arthur. He thinks about his subjects, waiting for him to save them. He thinks about his father, trapped alone somewhere.
"It's true, you know," Anthellion says from the side, "what they said to us a long time ago. We're not this," he says, taking the familiar shape of the golden wolf. "We tried too hard to be, and that was our mistake." He's right, of course, but Arthur never learned how to be anyone but Arthur Pendragon, future king of Camelot.
"What else can we be?" he asks, unsure, letting go of his sword to come close to Anthellion.
He needs to touch him, he thinks. "We'll always be crown prince, and we'll always be king in the end."
Anthellion nods, grave. "Yes, but we can be king in our own way." While he says that he changes, his shape gets bigger and his entire demeanor changes with it.
When it's done, Arthur knows Anthellion will never change shapes again.
"Really?" he can't help but wonder. "A little on the nose?"
"Not on the nose enough," Anthellion replies, smirking, while his mane gets blown by the breeze.
When they go to find Merlin and Kalila, she's the first one to notice them, but she simply studies them. She's probably trying to figure out if Anthellion is going to change anytime soon.
The truth clicks into her face after a couple of seconds.
Merlin turns back as well and for a second doesn't say anything. Then, he laughs, "You're the most overdramatic prat I've ever seen. Of course, of course you have a lion as a Daemon. Because why not, really. You've made a decision at least?"
Arthur smirks and nods. "Let's get back my kingdom."
There is a secret in Camelot. Well, there are many well kept secrets, in Camelot, Arthur is sure, but only one that he defends with his whole heart.
He's not sure why or when it became a secret, but it has been so for many many years that Arthur has started to forget how it came to be.
Maybe when he was too scared to stand up to his own father, or maybe when he let the expectations of society dictate how he should act.
Arthur doesn't know, but when he storms back into Camelot, Anthellion in his new form shining by his sight, he feels invincible.
He defeats Morgana, takes back his kingdom and then shows Anthellion to the whole city. He apologises to everyone for deceiving them, but everyone cheers him on.
They don't care, he thinks, surprised. They really don't care. They cheer for him, creates songs on the spot and chant of the Lionheart of Camelot.
There was a well hidden secret in Camelot, but when it finally is revealed, Arthur can't be unhappy about the results.
Of course it will take days for the city to recover, but Arthur is ready to put in the work and doesn't really mind the extra effort. Still, he thinks, there's something else he needs to do.
That night, when Merlin finishes preparing his room and goes to exit like every other night, Arthur extends his hand.
He doesn’t know what he wants to do with that hand. Maybe he just wants to grab Merlin’s arm and stop him. Maybe… He hesitates, thinking that maybe it would be too forward, but then Kilika surges forward and brushes her whiskers on his hand.
The cacophony of feelings invades his head again and this time Arthur can read them all clearly. Even the love.
"Why don't you stay," he asks then, scared even more than when he revealed his secret. This, after all, affects them in ways they will never be able to recover. It’s not just his secrets to reveal, it’s Merlin’s as well.
However, Merlin simply nods and climbs into the bed with him.
Who would have thought, Arthur thinks, that he would end up here. He can't really say he's unhappy.
And in the morning, with Merling still asleep in the bed, and Kalila sprawled all over Anthellion, Arthur and his daemon will look at each other and close their eyes.
Whatever else will happen, they'll always have this and each other, and it's more than some people will ever have.
Fandom: Merlin
Notes: Written for the prompt "Fandom!AU" for COWT10. So I've decided to remix a fic I wrote for the FIRST EDITION OF THE COWT for every week of the COWT10. Can I do it? Who knows. This one is a remix of Through a shattered glass. It follows the same IDEA but developed in a totally different way.
Wordcount: 5401
Summary: There is a secret in Camelot, one that Arthur keeps with all his heart.
There is a secret in Camelot. Well, there are many well kept secrets, in Camelot, Arthur is sure, but only one that he defends with his whole heart.
He's not sure why or when it became a secret, but it has been so for many many years that Arthur has started to forget how it came to be.
Is it really important? After all, it's a secret that only a handful of people know. Arthur, Gaius and his father.
Everyone else has been run off from the castle, or bought to keep the secret.
There is a secret in Camelot, one that would bring shame to the entire house and so Arthur never speaks of it.
Everybody knows that a boy reaches maturity the day his daemon finally reaches his final form. It's a day of great joy for the family, especially if the boy is a chavalier.
Especially if the boy is the crown prince of the reign.
The day Anthellion settles in his form, Uther calls the entire court and organizes a feast that would be replenished for three days straight. A joust is organized in Arthur's honor, all to celebrate the Golden Wolf of Camelot.
A lot of people come up to both Arthur and Uther to offer their congratulations and they always smile and say "Well, like father like son," looking at Helia and Anthellion, standing side by side.
They're right, of course, and if not for the colour of their fur, Anthellion would be a perfect copy of Helia.
Arthur smiles and boasts. He's fifteen and he's the prince of camelot and soon he'll be the best knight of the realm, there's much for him to celebrate.
He wins the joust, of course, and everyone cheers him on. He's on top of the world, the golden son of Camelot, the prince that everybody loves and desires.
What else could he even want?
It's a party he won't soon forget, and after it's done, he excuses himself from the rest of the castle and runs to his own room.
Arthur makes sure to lock his door, and close the curtain on the windows and for the first time in three days, he breathes.
Anthellion howls, behind him, and in a moment he changes form quickly. A cat at fist, then a panther, then a falcon and then... then a dragon.
He settles there, panting and looking in Arthur's eyes with a desperation that's common between them.
Arthur knows well what would happen if his father discovered Anthellion's preference for strange forms, for mythical creatures that want to harm their reign, but there's nothing they can do to stop him.
Anthellion hates staying trapped in a single form, even one as appropriate as his father's daemon. After three days forced to keep the same form, Arthur can't really tell him to stop.
They don't know why dragons (or chimeras, or griffons, or any of the magical creatures they've learned of in books) but they're always the forms Anthellion migrates towards the most.
They're not perfect, but he feels comfortable in them, as if they were a comfy pair of shoes. What did that say about Arthur?
Anthellion wines and then, slowly, crawls towards Arthur. The first time his daemon changed into a dragon's form, Arthur had been scared and revulsed.
Now, after years, he reaches out and caresses the red scales on Anthellion's face. Is it really his daemon's fault if Arthur's soul is warped in this way?
"It's okay," Arthur murmurs, quietly, "thank you."
Anthellion shakes his head and then crawls in Arthur's arms. His tail wraps around Arthur's tight and his wings close on them, almost as if to protect them.
"After today," Arthur says, petting his daemon, "we'll have to be careful. Even more than we've been until now."
Anthellion nods, and his form shrinks, almost as if he's trying to hide himself from the world. "I won't disappoint you," he promises, his voice low and scared.
Arthur doesn't know how to tell him that the only one he will ever be disappointed in is himself.
He doesn't know why Anthellion can't settle. Normal Daemons settle when their human reaches ten years old, some push it to fourteen, but Anthellion only grew more restless with time.
"It's not a good look," Uther told him, disappointment and anger in his tone, "to have the heir to the throne with an unsettled daemon at fifteen, Arthur. People have already started to talk."
He knows, of course. He can hear the callous whispers in the corridors, the derisive comments made when they think Arthur isn't paying attention.
The prince is weak, they say with a sneer, he's just a cub, He won't be able to guide us all.
While Arthur knows it's not true, knows he's put more hours into training than any other person in the castle, there's nothing he can do to change their mind.
Nothing but lie.
It goes against everything in his soul, and he can see the disappointment in Gaiu's eyes. But what can Arthur do?
He's already enough of a disappointment for his father. Gaius tells him he's wrong, but Arthur knows perfectly well that if his father was proud of him, he wouldn't avert his eyes the moment Anthellion came into his line of vision. Helia would be more affectionate towards Anthellion, at least when they were alone.
But the truth is that Uther is the same as the malevolent whispers in the night. He doesn't believe Arthur can lead the reign, not with an unsettled daemon, not while he's not a man.
So Arthur and Anthellion hide. What's one more secret on top of the one they already have?
Gaius told him it would be difficult, sometimes more painful than they could ever imagine, but Arthur and Anthellion could have never imagined just how much.
There are days when Arthur can physically feel the pain Anthellion is in. When their connection aches and strains, even when they're right next to each other.
Those days, when they retire to their rooms, Anthellion is an unstoppable force. He changes and changes and he restlessly moves as much as he can in their room.
Arthur leaves him be, feeling the relief like a literal punch in his gut.
It's so hard, he thinks. Harder than his training, harder than his studies. But it's worth it to see the approval in his father's eyes.
Right?
Arthur doesn't really know what to feel about Merlin and his ermine, Kalika. They don't seem to be afraid of Arthur and Anthellion, on the other hand it seems like they reveal in the idea of antagonising them.
It's unusual, to say the least. Even when someone doesn't know who Arthur is, Anthellion is a rather imposing figure at his side.
He's a massive wolf, just like Helia, and one of his paws is as big as Kalika's head. Yet the ermine snipes at the wolf without fear.
Maybe they would have been able to be themselves, Arthur thinks recklessly. It's a stupid thought, after all he can't really compare his situation to one of a servant. What kind of responsibilities does Merlin even have on his head? Arthur and Anthellion have an entire kingdom that depends on them. And they won't let anyone down.
Still, Merlin and Kalika antagonize them, and then they save his life.
It's... a rather peculiar turn of events.
"How can we repay you," Uther asks, while Anthellion is busy growling at the dagger that almost pierced Arthur's heart.
It's strange to think that without Merlin, Arthur might have died. That if only the other had hesitated, Anthellion would be dust in the wind.
"I don't need..." Merlin starts, but Uther is sure of his decision.
"Non-sense, I know, you'll be my son's servant. What greater honor?" Uther finally declares, and the room dutifully claps.
Arthur would say something to stop this madness, but he knows better than anyone that it was impossible to change his father's mind.
He wonders, however, how much harder it would be to hide Anthellioin's secret from Merlin, now.
Merlin isn't a respectful servant, He barges in Arthur's room whenever he wants, and tends to ignore the concept of personal space.
Arthur and Anthellion have had many close calls.
Once, Merlin had knocked while Anthellion was relaxing in a Grifon form. Anthellion had changed so quickly that he forgot the little patch of white hair that his usual wolf's form had. Kalika had watched that patch of fur intently for five minutes, before Arthur had managed to drive the two of them out of the room.
"I don't think we'll be able to hide from them forever," Anthellion said, that night. He was curled all over Arthur, his bear form warm at his back.
Arthur knew that he was right, of course, that their secret was like a ticking bomb, waiting to explode. But he couldn't accept it.
Morgana's daemon, Hisk, settled when she was seven. The day her father died, Hisk started hissing at one of the nobles there to take Morgana away, and never changed form.
It deeply unsettled most of the people at the castle, but Arthur had never been too bothered. Anthellion took many stranger forms at night, and Hisk never striked at anyone that didn't deserve it.
He knew what it meant to have a peculiar daemon, and even if no one knew about Anthellion, Arthur never took his luck for granted.
Morgana was kind, witty and Arthur loved her.
So Anthellion growled harder at people who watched Hisk too long, and made sure to be extra intimidating when someone started to say anything.
"You know," Morgana said once, while Hisk was wrapped around her neck like a scarf. "I don't need to have the golden boy of Camelot protect me. I'm a big girl."
"I know," he replied, caressing Anthellion's fur. "But I don't want this kind of stupidity to spread in camelot. Judging someone for their daemon shouldn't be allowed. The mark of a man's soul isn't in the form it takes, but the way it acts."
Morgana didn't say anything then, but Arthur didn't really need her to. After all, he said that for himself as much as her.
"You know, I'm not really surprised that your daemon is just like your father's" Merlin tells him one day, Kalika hissing on his shoulder, "after all you're just like him."
They're fighting because of a law his father has made. And Arthur... understands Merlin's point of view. It's true that his father edict is unfair and way too strict, but what Merlin doesn't understand is the way to get his father to agree to anything.
The more someone opposes him, the more Uther Pendragon firmly sets his mind on something.
Arthur would have loved to explain this to Merlin, but his words cut him too deep. Anthellion has been a wolf for more than ten years now, but the form never feels right to them. It's like an ill fitted suit that they dome every day.
Having it so callously thrown back in their face, stings.
It shouldn't be an insult, Arthur knows, but at the same time... Arthur would love to be just like his father. To not have to worry about the strange forms Anthellion takes at night, about the nightmares that keep him up at night.
How can Merlin understand the fear of the secret Arthur keeps? What if Anthellion settles into one of the beasts that his father so hates?
What if Arthur is destined to bring the fall of Camelot just by being himself. Just by having a corrupted soul?
"You don't know anything about me, Merlin," he replies, feeling the burn of the anger flicker at his heart. Anthellion growls, deeper than he normally sounds. His claws screech against the pavement, where they cut in the wooden floorboards.
For a moment all they can see, all they can feel, is all of the sacrifices they've ever done. How dares Merlin?
How dare he?
"I know you're too scared to stand up to your own father," Merlin continues, "I thought you were a better man, but anyone looking at your daemon can tell exactly who you are, can't they?"
Before Arthur can even register the words, Anthellion has launched himself as Kalika, growling with all the bitter feelings that have been building inside them. He's not going to hurt her, and his fangs close far from her body, but the threat is clear.
There's thorn in Arthur's heart, scales and venom growing in his soul. Literally very soon.
Arthur can feel the need for Anthellion to change.
He wants to morph, to grow scales and breathe fire upon Merlin. He wants to grow spikes on his tail, and venom in his mouth and reveal to Merlin just what kind of person they are.
"Remove yourself from my sight," Arthur says, while he orders Anthellion to come back to his side. "You're dismissed for the week."
Anthellion follows his command, but his movements are erratic. Restless. He'll change soon, and Merlin's presence won't stop him.
Nothing will now.
"You think you're relieving me?" Merlin asks, with a scoff, "you couldn't get me to come back even if you crawled at my feet."
Merlin takes Kalika in his hands and storms off, closing the door behind him. The moment he's gone, Anthellion becomes a dragon, bigger than the usual form he takes.
Then he becomes a sphinx and then a wyvern. He changes, and changes, and roars with anger and frustration.
Arthur hopes that no one is listening, because none of the sounds coming from Anthellion's mouth would ever be made by a wolf. but Arthur can't stop him.
He watches his own soul roar with pain and wonders how he even got there.
Merlin and Arthur don't talk about that afternoon again. They can see in Merlin and Kalika's eyes, sometimes, curiosity and a spark of courage, but they never ask.
Arthur keeps living his life, and tries to forget about the day he almost lost control right in front of his servant.
It's dangerous this game he's playing, and everyday he feels like he's losing a little bit more.
He wonders, sometimes, what would be worse: revealing his secret to the entire camelot or losing himself to the lie.
Anthellion asked him once what would happen if he actually got stuck as a wolf. And Arthur... he hadn't known how to answer then, and he certainly doesn't know now.
Most days he's even more convinced that Anthellion's true form comes more from sorcery books than from normal forests. If they ever find his true form they would be hunted and shunned, he's sure.
There aren't many people in the world with magical creatures as daemons. Usually, or so the saying goes, they're cursed people with a soul that has been inked in magic and tragedy,
Arthur doesn't know why he shares the same fate, but he can't really deny the obvious.
The truth comes to him from an unlikely source.
After all, he thinks, how can he be talking to his own mother? Magic, he knows, and a powerful kind. One not to be trusted, but how can he not when she looks so alive and oh so dear.
"Oh, my Arthur," she says, taking a step closer. The first thing Arthur notices is the absence of a daemon. He doesn't have any memories of his mother's daemon, of course, but Gaius told him about the white dove that usually fluttered around Ygraine's.
But, of course, she's dead. And Oscar is nothing but dust now.
"How can it be?" Arthur asks, even if he knows the answer.
"Magic, my dear," she immediately replies, looking in Anthellion's direction. "So much of our life, after all, has been controlled by it. Shaped by it. Guided by it. And you most of all, my boy."
"Me?" Arthur wonders, blinking.
Ygraine simply smiles, and looks towards Anthellion again. "But of course, after all, you were born because of magic and because of it you live. Your entire soul is touched by it."
Arthur stands there, while his mother reveals to him the reality of his birth, and all he can think is the pain and the fear. All the times his father had watched him, disapprovingly.
And yet.
This is all his fault. Uther's fault.
Anthellion growls beside him, and for once Arthur doesn't stop him.
They storm inside the crown room and Arthur has his sworn drawn before he can even realize it. Uther looks so shocked, watching him like he can't even recognize him, but Arthur won't stop.
"This," he says, low and pained and hurt, "it's all your fault and you made me feel like I was wrong. Like I was to blame." "I don't know what you mean," his father pleads. "Arthur, listen to me..."
Arthur doesn't want to listen. He doesn't want to be patient or to just understand his father's position. He wants justice and he wants to be free.
He... he.
All the guards seem frozen to the spot, unable to comprehend what it's happening in front of them. Some obviously want to intervene, more loyal to his father than to Arthur, but most of them are obviously on Arthur's side.
He's loved, he thinks, respected. But they don't know him. No one does, and all because his father made him hide himself from everyone. All because of his mistake.
But before he can do what his heart's desires, Merling storms into the room, yelling at him to stop. That he's controlled by magic, and he shouldn't do something he'll regret.
Arthur doesn't feel controlled, feels free in a way he never has been before, but when Merlin puts his hands on his wrist to stop him... Arthur relents.
That night Anthellion takes forms that Arthur has only seen in his nightmares.
"We were too quick to act," Anthellion says, shame and worry coiling in his gut. "We were so eager to believe there was an explanation... that maybe..."
"That maybe it wasn't our fault," Arthur finishes for him, caressing the spikes on Anthellion's back.
But it is. This is what they are, he thinks, and maybe he should stop looking for someone to blame, and start accepting it.
"I think... I think we can be okay," he murmurs. He thinks about his mom, or at least the ghost he saw. She was seen through and empty without her soul by her side.
And for all they are, at least Arthur and Anthellion have each other.
The first thing that Arthur notices about Gwen's daemon, Arnom, is the posture. He walks around with a posture fit of a queen and not the dog daemon of a servant.
The second thing he notices is how normal he looks. He's a cocker spaniel, his fur black and full of curls.
Arnom looks like a daemon fit of a noble woman, if not in appearance then at least in generosity and elegance.
Arthur likes spending time with both Gwen and Arnom, but Anthellion less so.
"I love her," Arthur tells Anthellion, but his daemon huffs.
"I don't," he admits, a little ashamed. A little sad.
He thinks he knows why Anthellion doesn't like Arnom. His daemon has never liked canine forms, possibly because of Helia, but most of all, he has never been interested in normal.
Arnom represents the life Arthur wishes he could have. In another life he would marry her, he thinks.
In another life where he's not branded, where his soul isn't living proof of every bad thing his father had ever thought about him...
In another life, Arthur could have been happier, he thinks.
The thing about Morgana, Arthur thinks, is that everyone has always warned him about her. Her daemon, they would say, is an ill omen. She's not to be trusted.
And Arthur, who is loyal to a fault, has always defended her as best as he could.
Now. Well, now.
She's sitting on Uther's throne, Hisk slithering around the room, ready to strike at anyone who would get too close.
Morgana's changed, Arthur thinks, she used to be happy. He wonders when she stopped smiling, and why he didn't notice.
"Morgana..." he pleads, but she silences him immediately.
"This throne is mine," she says, her voice more of an hiss than Hisk's velvet tone. "I won't let you take it, Arthur. I won't let anyone steal what's mine, not even you. It's my birthwright."
She looks manic, and for a second Arthur aches for her.
Anthellion, at his side, takes a step forward. He wants to go to her, reach her. Maybe it's not too late still. Maybe...
At the same moment, Hisk hiss and Kamilia stops Anthellion from taking a step forward.
Merlin, at his side, puts a hand on his arm. "We've to go, Arthur... it's too dangerous here."
Arthur wants to tell him that it's not true. Morgana has always worried too much about him, fussed over him like a sister. He loves her, impossibly so.
"Go, Arthur," Morgana says, her eyes cold and uncaring. "I don't want to have to kill you too."
She doesn't want to, but she will. It's then that Arthur truly understands the gravity of the chasm between them.
Merlin guides him away and immediately begins to think of a plane to take back Camelot, but all Arthur can think is the pain. Blinding. Encompassing.
"Arthur, come on!" Merlin says, shaking him. "I understand this is shocking, but we need to plan. We need to react. Your people need you, and I know you're not the kind of man that would let them down."
It's such an impossibly optimistic thing to say that Arthur laughs. And laughs. And laughs.
"Okay," Merlin murmurs, slowly, "so Arthur has lost a couple of marbles..."
"No!" Arthur shouts, the irony still coursing through his veins. "You don't know anything about me, Merlin. No one does. You all think you do, and you try but it's all an act, why can't you see that?"
"Come on, Arthur, don't..." Merlin starts, but before he can finish he feels Anthellion change. It happens fast, like all blows do.
A moment and the fight is over, blood spilled all over the battle floor.
Life doesn't take prisoners and never concedes favours.
Arthur doesn't know what Anthellion changed into, but he can look into Merlin's eyes and gather from his shocked expression that it was one of the mythical creatures that he so favours.
They're angry, hurt and sad, and the need to change into one of those in these times is always stronger.
"This, Merlin," he says, with a sneer, "it's who I am. So don't say you know me. No one does."
He crouches on the ground, closing his eyes against the ongoing storm of feelings. Anthellion is drowning in them, growling to let some of them out, but it doesn't seem to be enough.
After al this time, nothing seems to be enough.
Since he has his eyes closed, he doesn't immediately know what is the fur that gently touches his hand. He thinks, for a second, that it's Anthellion trying to give him some comfort, but he soon realizes that's not the case.
The sensation is completely different than touching Anthellion. There's a second heartbeat there, a second breath.
In a moment he's flooded with feelings that he knows are not his own. There's admiration, loyalty, encouragement and then there's something else, running inside his soul like a fleeting rabbit, always too far to even catch a glimpse of it.
He opens his eyes and he sees Kamilia's face leaning on his hand, as if it was the most normal thing.
Arthur can't breathe. And then he can't stop.
"Why are you doing this?" he asks, feeling the panic build in his chest. "Can't you see what I am?" I'm..."
"You're our prince," Kamilia says, and it might be the first time Arthur actually hears her voice this clearly. "It doesn't matter the shape of one's soul, but how it acts and you and Anthellion act like a king should."
"Does a king hide from the world?" he can't help but scoff. He's not like they describe him. He's a monstrosity, down to his very soul.
"A king," and it's Merlin that talks this time. Arthur looks up, and he can see the redness of the other's cheek. He doesn't even need to see them, really, he can feel the other’s embarrassment, "protects his people even at his own detriment. You wanted to be strong for them, didn't you?"
"And beside," Kamilia continues, with a little bit of humor, "we never thought that that shape suited you guys."
Before they can comment, Kamilia hurries back to Merlin, climbing on his shoulders and nesting there.
Arthur and Merlin watch each other for a minute before the other nods. "Think about it, we'll be here when you have a plan," and then he walks away, like he didn't just open his entire soul to Arthur.
Like he didn't just lay himself naked for him.
Anthellion, now calmer than before, sits by him in his jaguar's shape.
"Did you just..." he asks, and Arthur looks towards his own hand.
Love, he thinks stupidly. That was the fleeting feeling, hiding from him. Running away, but still attracted.
Merlin loves him. Isn't that something?
Arthur does the only thing he can after revealing his biggest secret to a servant, discovering said servant loves him and losing his kingdom to his sister. He takes his sword and trains.
He allows the rhythmic repetition of training to focus him. There's no time to think while you're training. You have to concentrate on your form, the weight of the sword and the way your feet move.
If sometimes he falters, there's no one there to watch.
He thinks about Merlin and his unshakeable loyalty and trust in Arthur. He thinks about his subjects, waiting for him to save them. He thinks about his father, trapped alone somewhere.
"It's true, you know," Anthellion says from the side, "what they said to us a long time ago. We're not this," he says, taking the familiar shape of the golden wolf. "We tried too hard to be, and that was our mistake." He's right, of course, but Arthur never learned how to be anyone but Arthur Pendragon, future king of Camelot.
"What else can we be?" he asks, unsure, letting go of his sword to come close to Anthellion.
He needs to touch him, he thinks. "We'll always be crown prince, and we'll always be king in the end."
Anthellion nods, grave. "Yes, but we can be king in our own way." While he says that he changes, his shape gets bigger and his entire demeanor changes with it.
When it's done, Arthur knows Anthellion will never change shapes again.
"Really?" he can't help but wonder. "A little on the nose?"
"Not on the nose enough," Anthellion replies, smirking, while his mane gets blown by the breeze.
When they go to find Merlin and Kalila, she's the first one to notice them, but she simply studies them. She's probably trying to figure out if Anthellion is going to change anytime soon.
The truth clicks into her face after a couple of seconds.
Merlin turns back as well and for a second doesn't say anything. Then, he laughs, "You're the most overdramatic prat I've ever seen. Of course, of course you have a lion as a Daemon. Because why not, really. You've made a decision at least?"
Arthur smirks and nods. "Let's get back my kingdom."
There is a secret in Camelot. Well, there are many well kept secrets, in Camelot, Arthur is sure, but only one that he defends with his whole heart.
He's not sure why or when it became a secret, but it has been so for many many years that Arthur has started to forget how it came to be.
Maybe when he was too scared to stand up to his own father, or maybe when he let the expectations of society dictate how he should act.
Arthur doesn't know, but when he storms back into Camelot, Anthellion in his new form shining by his sight, he feels invincible.
He defeats Morgana, takes back his kingdom and then shows Anthellion to the whole city. He apologises to everyone for deceiving them, but everyone cheers him on.
They don't care, he thinks, surprised. They really don't care. They cheer for him, creates songs on the spot and chant of the Lionheart of Camelot.
There was a well hidden secret in Camelot, but when it finally is revealed, Arthur can't be unhappy about the results.
Of course it will take days for the city to recover, but Arthur is ready to put in the work and doesn't really mind the extra effort. Still, he thinks, there's something else he needs to do.
That night, when Merlin finishes preparing his room and goes to exit like every other night, Arthur extends his hand.
He doesn’t know what he wants to do with that hand. Maybe he just wants to grab Merlin’s arm and stop him. Maybe… He hesitates, thinking that maybe it would be too forward, but then Kilika surges forward and brushes her whiskers on his hand.
The cacophony of feelings invades his head again and this time Arthur can read them all clearly. Even the love.
"Why don't you stay," he asks then, scared even more than when he revealed his secret. This, after all, affects them in ways they will never be able to recover. It’s not just his secrets to reveal, it’s Merlin’s as well.
However, Merlin simply nods and climbs into the bed with him.
Who would have thought, Arthur thinks, that he would end up here. He can't really say he's unhappy.
And in the morning, with Merling still asleep in the bed, and Kalila sprawled all over Anthellion, Arthur and his daemon will look at each other and close their eyes.
Whatever else will happen, they'll always have this and each other, and it's more than some people will ever have.
