Title: The Pain Of Porcelain

Pairing: Arthur/Merlin, some Uther/Igraine

Summary: Merlin is cursed by his protege into a figurine in a music box, and watches through the years as he gets passed around, until he comes into the hands of the Pendragon family.

Notes: This is completely AU, therefore there was no Camelot back in the day, Merlin was born in the late 1700s, etc.

I own nothing.

He should have known better. He should have known. Never trust a pretty girl with magical powers.

Merlin enjoyed his life. He had a loving mother, and his strong magic, honed over years and years, allowed them to live comfortably.

Nimueh saw that.

She walked up to him one day, the sound of her petticoats swishing muffled by the loud chatter of everyone else at the party, but he knew she was there by the crackling under his skin, the buzz of another sorcerer in close proximity.

"Teach me," she had said. "Please teach me about magic."

So he did. He taught her all he knew.

He should have known better.

She took all she needed from him and cursed him. Warm flesh turned to cool porcelain, and flowing cloth melded to his form. His body twisted and shrunk, and Nimueh opened a brand new music box and placed him inside, his form morphing to adopt a ballet pose as his pointed toes latched onto the groove of the platform and refused to move.

His magic was locked inside him, and he was locked inside his body, and as Nimueh closed the lid of his prison, he could hear her laughing quietly to herself.

He should have known.

Nimueh sold him. Got a pretty penny for the lovely music box with the lifelike danseur and a crank that played Johann Sebastian Bach's Minuet in G major.

The tune was comforting, at least.

The man that bought him placed the box on display at his shop, open for all to see, allowing Merlin to watch the people mill around the store.

It was a while before he realized that when night fell, he could move again.

His body didn't change, and it was a strain to move his porcelain legs, but he was able to walk around and enjoy a little bit of freedom. Then the sun would begin to rise, and Merlin's body would act on its own, marching back into place in the box, one leg lifting up to bend and point across his other knee, his right arm stretching out alongside his bent leg while his left arm rose above his head to complete the vision of grace.

It wasn't long before Merlin's music box was purchased. The invention was still shiny and new, and the soothing piano notes were a welcome addition to any home.

He was placed on a mantle, out of reach of the grabby hands of the children running around the house, but still in easy reach of the house cat.

"Hello," he said to the cat, Freya, one night, not bothering to wonder how he was still capable of speech. "How are you tonight?"

Freya responded by yowling loudly in surprise and falling off the mantle.

She never came back up.

He was passed around the family for a long while. A family heirloom. He was taken good care of, and he enjoyed watching the children grow up. Watching the fashions change and technology advance.

The stock market crashed. Merlin didn't know what the stock market was, though he had heard some of the family members talk about it.

It was a bad thing.

The economy was shaken all over the globe, and Tom was already struggling to keep ends meet as they were, so he decided to sell some things off.

Guinevere cried for hours when he took Merlin off the shelf, and she clung to him for as long as she could, playing the melody over and over.

His heart went out to this child, and he regretted that he would never see her grow up and become the fine young lady he knew she would be.

He was bought as a trophy piece by a collector of a man who kept his lid closed. It wasn't a hard task to open it from the inside, but Merlin felt cold living there.

The man never even played the minuet.

Years later he was sold again. A high offer from a rich man, and a promise to treat it well.

Merlin found himself in a bedroom, placed on a vanity desk and the lid opened to reveal a lovely young lady with blonde hair and a bright smile.

"So detailed," she cooed, tracing a finger over the porcelain folds of his chocolate brown jacket, flared out as though he were in the middle of a spin. She turned the crank and smiled as the sound of a piano came smoothly through. "I love it, dear."

She spoke to someone out of sight, but soon a tall, dark haired man came into sight, pressing a kiss against the blonde's lips.

"Anything for you, my darling."

Uther and Igraine, they were.

A joyous couple. Loving, glowing.

Igraine never closed the lid, and when she had no chores to do, and nothing good was on the television, she would sit at her vanity and turn the crank until her hand got tired, rotating the cylinder within the music box and playing music while absentmindedly stroking her stomach.

She was pregnant.

"I'm going to name him Arthur," she told Merlin one afternoon, not really speaking to him, but he enjoyed it all the same. Her stomach was swollen now, barely concealed by the silk nightgown she wore. "Dr. Gaius is sure it's a boy, and I've always wanted a child named Arthur. Don't know what I'd name him if he ended up being a girl, though!" She gave a breathless laugh and stroked her stomach again. "Elena, maybe. Or Vivian. Those are nice names."

She sounded so tired.

"But Arthur just sounds right."

Uther hovered over her constantly, rubbing her swollen ankles and getting whatever strange craving she had next. He showered her with kisses and gifts and insisted he would do the chores whenever she looked a bit tired, which was all the time.

Her stomach grew and grew.

Merlin heard it, rather than saw it. Night was just beginning to fall, but they hadn't gone to bed yet, so he remained motionless. He heard a feminine gasp and a groan of pain, and Uther dropped the dishes he was doing into the sink. One of them cracked.

"I think he's coming," Igraine gushed out, a slight strain on her voice.

"Don't push yet!" Uther blurted out, panic and worry and excitement in his voice. Igraine laughed.

"I'm not that far along yet, honey. Just get me to the hospital."

Uther voiced his agreement with that plan and Merlin could hear a lot of shuffling noises. Uther slipping on a pair of shoes and grabbing his keys, opening the door and helping Igraine out and into the car.

The roar of the engine was the last thing he heard that day.

They weren't back the next day.

Merlin didn't think labour was that long.

Uther came back crying. Silent tears running down his face until he reached the bedroom. He saw Merlin and burst into sobs, falling to his knees and burying his face in the bed.

Igraine's side of the bed.

Uther left the day after that, and returned with his son. A wailing baby boy Merlin knew was named Arthur. He made phone calls to every one he knew, informing them of Igraine's failing health, and how delivering Arthur had been too much for her. She died holding her squirming baby in her arms, a tired smile on her face.

The funeral would be the following weekend.

Merlin wished he could go.

He got to see the baby once. Uther carried him into the bedroom, the boy already dressed in black. Uther dressed himself and looked over to Arthur, who seemed to be staring intently at Merlin. Uther paused, his stoic face wavering for a moment, before he strode over and closed the lid.

Merlin heard him pick up Arthur and walk out of the room.

The engine roared like it did that night.

Merlin heard the sound of duct tape one day. His equilibrium shifted, signifying he was being picked up.

When he found he could move again, he tried to open the music box.

It was weighed down by something.

What little freedom he had was gone.

He tried to sleep the next few years off, with varying levels of success.

There were muffled sounds from beneath him, voices and movement, and various faint scuffling noises around him.

He figured he was probably in an attic.

One day, he heard new noises, louder noises.

Tape being ripped off.

He could almost see the light sifting through the crack where the lid's hinges are, but he then thought he was probably imagining things.

He could tell he was being lifted up again, and then small fingers opened his lid, and he looked out into the chubby face of a fair-haired child. Arthur's mouth was hanging open and Merlin could see one of his molars had cracked in half from the new tooth growing in.

Merlin was placed on the ground while Arthur pulled out a photo album. He flipped through the pages in curiosity before Uther's voice drifted up from the kitchen.

"Arthur," he yelled to be heard. "Come eat your dinner!"

"Just a minute, father!" Arthur scrambled to make everything look the same as it did before, which was hard because of all the disturbed dust, and the fact that he put Merlin's music box on top of everything.

He forgot to re-tape it.

But Merlin knew Uther never came up there anyway. The memories are too much for him.

The attic became a familiar place to him, and the mice that lived there seemed to like his presence enough. Too small to be a threat. Their yellow teeth were more dangerous to him and his fragile body. He talked to them until he decided that made him sound crazy, and then would just spend as much time as he could petting them, wishing he could feel their fur underneath his palm.

He felt lonely.

He wondered how much more of this he could take before he went mad, then wondered if he hadn't gone mad already.

He decided he hadn't gone mad.

Yet.

The box was opened again. For a moment, Merlin wondered if this time it would be Uther, come to accept the memories of his wife, move past his grief, and get on with his life. He had overheard Arthur and Uther argue over the years, the son wanting to know more about the mother, and the father still too shaken by his loss to indulge him.

The lid was opened, and Merlin found himself looking at a bright young man, golden hair cut about his ears. His mouth was closed this time, but his expression was twisted into a sad smile. His fingers touched the crank for a moment, hesitating, but he turned it and let the music play, his expression growing ever softer.

He picked up the photo album and looked through it, a few tears leaking through for the mother he never knew as he looked at picture after picture of her.

He stopped at a page where Merlin could see Igraine, belly plump and face glowing, one hand resting over her stomach while the other turned the crank on the music box. Arthur hesitated again, then scooped both the photo album and Merlin's music box up, exiting the attic with them.

Night fell, and Merlin exited his box to get a feel for his new surroundings. He stood on the photo album in a desk dresser that was open just a crack. A sweatshirt had been tossed against it, and the pull-string reached down into the drawer, offering an escape.

He was in Arthur's bedroom, a messy thing filled with movie posters and sports trophies and discarded clothing. He couldn't see Arthur, asleep on his bed, but that was fine. He decided he was creepy enough without watching the boy sleep.

Sometimes Arthur would take Merlin out of the drawer and listen to the music box, pictures of Igraine propped up against his homework. Most of the time Uther would be at work, but sometimes Arthur would indulge in the ritual while Uther was locked away in his office.

Merlin thought he found it almost as calming as Arthur did.

Uther found out one day.

Arthur hadn't noticed him, too busy spinning the crank and listening to Bach to hear the quiet creak of the door as Uther stepped in. Merlin saw the older man for the first time in years. His hair had gone completely gray, and creases and wrinkles lined his face. He looked heartbroken for a moment, and then angry.

"Arthur," he said coldly, and Arthur jumped in his seat, twirling around to face his father.

They argued.

Arthur accused Uther of withholding information about his mother, which was true. Uther accused Arthur of sneaking around and disobeying him behind his back, which was true.

Voices were raised, and in a moment of passion, Uther grabbed the music box and smashed it to the ground. Arthur cried out and stared in horrific wonder as the hinges broke and the lid flew off. The force of the blow shattered the pieces of the cylinder, sent broken comb teeth flying through the carpet, and the crank bent.

Merlin's leg cracked, and he would have cried out in pain if he could feel it.

He watched from the floor as Uther left, his expression wavering between harsh and somber. Arthur knelt beside the wreckage and lifted Merlin up with tender hands.

"I'm sorry," he said with a wavering voice, not to Merlin, but to the spirit of his mother. He pressed Merlin's head lightly against his forehead.

If he had tear ducts, he could have cried.

As soon as Arthur fell asleep, Merlin rigged together a makeshift ladder. Arthur, not needing to hide him from his father anymore, left the box on top of his desk. He spent the night combing through the carpet fibres, finding bits and pieces of the music player strewn about, ignoring the almost throbbing the crack in his leg made. It was just phantom pain, and Merlin had a mission.

He knew Arthur would question it, but Merlin didn't care. He wanted to fix it for him.

It took him a long time before he was sure he had every piece.

But he did it.

Now he just had to assemble it.

Arthur left for college soon after Merlin began reassembling the music box. The blonde had fixed the hinges himself so he could close the lid and take it with him to his new dorm.

Merlin counted his lucky blessings that it was a single room. He didn't want to have to deal with sneaking around a second person.

Sometimes he wouldn't be able to work at all when Arthur pulled an all-nighter of studying or working on a project, or when he brought a girl back to his dorm and they spent the night on his bed.

Slowly but surely, though, Merlin was putting the music box together again, his affinity with the instrument guiding him to make few mistakes. The mistakes he did make were easily recognized.

Slowly, but surely.

Arthur fell asleep at his desk studying for finals. Merlin rotated out of his perch and hopped down to the wooden surface, taking note of Arthur's face squished into the desk, a pen crushed under his cheek. One arm was thrown over the papers and textbooks scattered around his head like a halo, while the other was cradled in his lap, fingers twitching every so often in the midst of a dream.

Merlin reached out and gripped the pen, tugging it out from under Arthur's cheek and placing the cap on.

When Arthur woke up later, there was a small line of blue ink in the corner of his mouth.

He finished the music box.

It had taken lots of time and some stolen crazy glue, but Merlin had done it. He was almost completely certain it would play perfectly, but he knew there was only one way to find out. He double-checked that the broken comb teeth were secure and fused seamlessly, then climbed out of the box and stood next to the crank. It was still bent unnaturally, but it would still serve its purpose, and Merlin hadn't the strength to beat it back into shape.

He grabbed the crank and began turning it, and there was a moment of hesitation from the box before the soft notes melted into the air. If it wasn't such a strain on his porcelain face, Merlin would have smiled. He kept turning the crank, letting the song progress, making sure there were no skips or jarring notes.

He listened so carefully, he didn't hear Arthur shifting in his bed, padding over to the desk to stare at Merlin in disbelief.

"What the hell-" Arthur cut himself off, running a hand over his face and blinking hard.

Merlin stopped in an instant, the music fading away as he pirouetted around to see Arthur staring at him wide-eyed. There was a moment of silence.

"You're dreaming," Merlin said, and waved his arms around mystically for added effect. "Go back to bed."

"I'm pretty certain this is real," Arthur said, but he pinched himself to make sure. From the wince and the shake of his arm, Merlin was certain Arthur was convinced.

"No, you're totally dreaming. It's just very complex and believable. But you're dreaming."

"Look, I'll be the one to decide whether or not I'm dreaming, and don't give me any bullshit about being a division of my subconscious because I have seen Inception."

"What?"

Arthur let out an irritated sigh and ran his hands over his face, slowly turning around in a lazy circle. "Nevermind, whatever. I am going back to bed, because I am too tired to decide whether or not I'm insane."

Merlin watched as Arthur toddled over to his bed and curled up under the covers, muttering to himself.

He climbed back into position in the music box just in case.

The next morning, Arthur went straight to the music box and turned the crank. Bach filled Merlin's ears, and Arthur's words cut through the following silence.

"It wasn't a dream."

Over the course of the day, Arthur tried talking to Merlin. He would have answered if he could, but the sun had yet to set. Arthur got irritated enough that he ignored Merlin's existence for the rest of the day, burying himself in homework.

Merlin wanted to talk to him.

As soon as night fell, Merlin brought his arms down to his sides and stretched his leg out in front of him, stepping down from his perch. The movement caught Arthur's eye and he dropped his pen, staring at Merlin as the figurine made his way over to him.

"I can only move at night," Merlin said with a little shrug. "Part of the curse."

"Of course," Arthur said with a gulp, the whole thing starting to sink in.

"So," Merlin settled himself on the corner of Arthur's essay. "Any questions?"

"I'm still waiting for it to settle in my mind that magic really exists."

"Don't worry, it took me a while too, and I was born with it."

"I don't suppose you could zap yourself better?"

"Oh, gee, I haven't tried that yet, let's see if I can do that."

"No need for such sarcasm, Merlin."

"Prat."

"Ballerina."

Merlin grinned, his porcelain face beaming, and Arthur smiled back.

Arthur groaned and slammed his head against the desk, moaning incoherent choice words about a project that was tearing his brains out through his ears. Merlin laughed and hopped onto the desk. He patted Arthur's cheek in a comforting gesture, though it just seemed to make Arthur moan louder.

If it wasn't too much of a wasted effort, he would have rolled his eyes.

Instead he started playing the music box, and watched Arthur. The effect was instantaneous. He could see Arthur relaxing as he quieted, and after five minutes of just listening to the music, Arthur finally lifted his head.

"Did you know my mother?" he asked as he made a pillow for his chin from his arms.

"Yeah. Sorta," Merlin answered, still turning the crank. "I never talked with her, but she talked to me. Not the crazy way, the I-just-wanna-talk-to-someone-so-I'm-gonna-talk-with-this-inanimate-object way."

"I assumed she wasn't crazy," Arthur snorted, though Merlin swore the other man seemed a little relieved.

"She talked about you a lot. About how she was sure you would be a great man, how she wanted to be an annoying mother that poked her nose into your love life at every opportunity..."

Merlin told Arthur all he knew about Igraine, talking for hours as Arthur closed his eyes and rested his cheek against his arms. The man was falling asleep, and Merlin stopped doodling on a scrapped piece of paper when Arthur let out a sleepy sigh.

"I miss her..." he mumbled, and Merlin sombrely tapped the piece of pencil lead he was holding.

"Me too..."

"Give it up Arthur. I never blink."

"So you're magic-"

"Arthur, I thought we've been over this before," Merlin laughed.

"Shut up, I was going somewhere with this." Arthur glared at him, but it was soft in comparison to some of his other glares Merlin had seen.

"As I was saying," Arthur continued. "You're magic, and you've met other magicians-"

"Sorcerers."

"Sorcerers," Arthur said with a drawl. "You've met them, so while there may not be many out there, they certainly exist. Now," he said, sitting up a little straighter in his seat and grinning crookedly at Merlin. "Who's to say we couldn't find one to lift your curse?"

Merlin pondered this for a moment, his head tilting. "I suppose... They would have to be strong to break Nimueh's magic, but it's not impossible."

"Perfect!" Arthur grinned brightly and bounced a little in his seat. "I'll get searching first thing tomorrow."

"And how are you going to do this?"

Arthur rolled his eyes at the disbelief in Merlin's tone and leaned back. "My cousin dabbles in some new age Wiccan thing or so. I can spread the word through her."

Merlin didn't know how well it would work, but he would take any chance he could. The crack in his leg worried him some days.

"Don't worry, Merlin." Arthur smiled at him, as though reading his thoughts. "Everything's gonna be alright."

Morgana was a beautiful lady, with dark hair and a striking figure.

She was also completely uninvited.

So when she burst into Arthur's dorm one afternoon, it was totally understandable that Arthur gave a loud yelp and nearly fell out of his chair.

"Morgana! What are you doing here?"

"I came to see your cursed figurine," she said, a challenge in her voice. "You asked for my help, didn't you?"

"I need a sorcerer to break the spell," he hissed, glaring at her as she waltzed over to the desk.

"All you need is me," she said simply, a hand reaching out to touch Merlin.

As her fingers pressed against cool porcelain, Merlin felt electricity running through his little body. Hidden deep within the prison of a body was his own magic, and it was reacting to the magic coursing through Morgana's veins. He wanted to whimper when she took her hand away.

It had been too long since he had felt anything.

"What do you mean?"

"I mean," Morgana began, rolling her eyes and sitting down on Arthur's bed. "That I'm magic. I'm a Seer, and I know how to break Merlin's spell."

Arthur paused, looking at her. "I never told you his name."

Morgana smirked and wiggled her fingers. "Magic. I Saw this little meeting, capital letters and all, and I Saw how his curse gets broken."

Arthur narrowed his eyes. "Prove it."

"Think of a number between one and ten. Now say it out loud."

"One hundred and twenty-seven," they both said, simultaneously. Arthur narrowed his eyes and demanded more proof.

It went on for a while.

Finally, Morgana's magic was believed and she straightened up, looking between Arthur and Merlin. "Now what I say may sound alarming, but I assure you it is the quickest way to break Merlin's curse."

"What is it?"

Merlin listened harder.

"You have to crush him."

Arthur made a loud spluttering noise and rose to his feet. Morgana continued talking.

"Break him. Throw him against a wall, drop a book on him, it doesn't matter how you do it, you just need to shatter him."

They argued until Arthur's dorm neighbour knocked on the door and told them to keep it down. Morgana took that as her cue to leave, but left one last parting.

"If you don't do this, he'll never be happy again."

Merlin wasn't sure if she was talking to Arthur or himself.

"I can't do it," Arthur said as soon as night fell. Merlin looked up at him and walked over to the edge of the desk. "I can't. What if it doesn't work? What if it kills you?"

"Then I die. Arthur, I've been alive for hundreds of years, and while it would be nice to die of old age as a human, it wouldn't be a tragedy for me to die here."

"It would be a tragedy for me..." Arthur mumbled, almost too quiet for Merlin to hear. But he heard, and he climbed into Arthur's open palm, stroking his thumb soothingly.

"I believe her, Arthur. My magic just felt it." Arthur curled his palm around the figurine, not quite grasping him so much as supporting him.

"What if it doesn't break your curse? If you live as shattered pieces?"

"Then you can glue me back together again. A successful rendition of Humpty Dumpty."

"This is kinda like a fairy tale, isn't it?" Arthur snorted sadly. Merlin sighed and hugged Arthur's thumb.

"There are stories where the prince is transformed into a beast, and he has to ask the princess to cut off his head."

"Fairy tales are so much more morbid than when I was a kid."

Merlin smiled encouragingly up at him. "The decapitation isn't an act of violence. It's about trust. The princess has to trust the prince enough to do this, and the act of trust breaks the curse."

"I love Morgana, I really do, but I don't think I trust her with this..."

"Then don't trust her. Trust me. Trust me when I say that this will work."

There was a moment of silence, Arthur staring down at the figure in his hand and waging a battle in his head. He sighed and gripped Merlin a little tighter.

"I trust you."

Merlin relaxed his body, his arms and legs curling into a familiar position as Arthur changed hands.

But he closed his eyes when Arthur wound his arm back.

In no time he was flying through the air, cracking against the wall. The force of the blow crushed his hand, his head, his chest. His already fragile leg turned to splinters, and all the pieces of his body were falling, falling, shattering, pulverizing. The shards turned to splinters, turned to dust, and multiplied until a multicoloured haze was drifting down to Arthur's carpet.

Then Merlin felt.

He felt himself materializing, his body being birthed, reborn. He felt the cloth of his shirt and the press of the floor on his back. He felt stray strands of hair tickling his ears, and the rush of air as it inflated his lungs. He could taste his tongue and smell that Old Spice brand of deodorant that Arthur used.

And it was wonderful.

He opened his eyes and he could see Arthur's face above him, and then the blonde's hand was on his cheek, stroking his cheekbones, and Merlin leaned into the touch because it felt so good. Then Arthur's lips descended on his and Merlin was sure he would go into sensory overload. But he moaned and pressed back against him and raised his arms to bury his fingers in Arthur's golden hair and bring him closer.

They parted for air and Merlin took the opportunity to run his fingers over Arthur's jawline, his lips, his neck, and over his shirt, taking in the sensations he had been so long deprived of. Arthur dropped small kisses across Merlin's throat until his stomach growled. They both giggled, mad with glee, and Arthur helped Merlin rise onto unsteady legs, supporting him until Merlin flopped onto Arthur's bed.

They ate a banquet of honey garlic pork, chicken chowmein, wonton soup, and plenty of beer. They sat on Arthur's bed and watched television, Merlin shedding his clothes for a pair of sweatpants and a t-shirt of Arthur's, and they cuddled close to each other, fingers brushing together every so often as though to reassure themselves that this was really happening, that Merlin wasn't going to disappear.

They fell asleep in each other's arms and woke up the same way, grinning and kissing and glowing throughout the day.

Merlin looked up at Arthur when he returned from class, still a little dizzy from spinning in his chair. Arthur smiled and greeted him with a kiss, but his eye was soon distracted by the music box sitting open on the desk.

A picture of Igraine tenderly rubbing her stomach and playing the music box was tucked into the empty space when Merlin once stood.

"I thought it fitting," Merlin said with a shrug, his head leaning against Arthur's stomach. He felt Arthur take a deep breath, and then Arthur's hand was rubbing circles on his arm.

"It's perfect," he replied, and Merlin smiled against Arthur's shirt.

And it really was.