Category: Gen, canon
Characters/Pairings: Merlin, Arthur
Rating/Warnings: K
Summary: A conversation between Merlin and Arthur after 1x13, in which Merlin has a small existential crisis and Arthur is less than sympathetic.
Notes: Fata organa — n. a flash of real emotion glimpsed in someone sitting across the room, idly locked in the middle of some group conversation, their eyes glinting with vulnerability or quiet anticipation or cosmic boredom — as if you could see backstage through a gap in the curtains, watching stagehands holding their ropes at the ready, actors in costume mouthing their lines, fragments of bizarre sets waiting for some other production. — Dictionary of Obscure Sorrows

My submission to the drabble exchange over on the Heart of Camelot. Written for Wilma. Special thanks to CaptainOzone for looking this over for me. :)

It had been a week since Gaius had come back with his miracle cure, a week since Merlin had said his strange non-farewell and then went missing with Gaius before returning several days later, quiet and subdued and even more awkward than usual. He sped through his chores with hardly a word, and then left without a dismissal, which Arthur thought was improprietous even for him until Gwen stopped by and mentioned that his mother was in Camelot and had almost died of a mysterious illness.

After that, Arthur stopped glaring at him disapprovingly and started inquiring after her health instead, and slowly Merlin lost the wild, fearful look in his eye and began to talk again, and even though Hunith eventually left for Ealdor and Arthur was still cooped up in his room to recover, things finally shifted back towards normalcy.

Until the storm hit.

Arthur, for lack of anything better to do, had been watching it brew outside his window all afternoon and was not at all surprised by the first clap of thunder; but Merlin had been moving around all day without a chance to look outside, and he jumped in his chair and dropped the sword he had been polishing.

"Careful," Arthur barked, even though it was only decorative, and Merlin was really only polishing it to keep him company.

But Merlin didn't seem to hear him; instead he picked up the sword and made his way over to the window without resuming the constant chatter that he'd been keeping up all evening. There was a flash of lightning, and for a split second Merlin was limned with light, and Arthur could see that he was taut as a bowstring, gripping his rag and the hilt of the decorative sword as if poised to do battle.

"Scared of a little thunder, Merlin?" Arthur scoffed, taking a sip of wine. "Too bad your mother just left, you can't run and hide behind her skirts." But still, even though Arthur was cringing at his own insensitivity — Merlin had, of course, been very upset when his mother went home — his taunt went unanswered and unacknowledged as Merlin continued to watch the downpour, and Arthur started to get concerned.

"Merlin," he said. "Merlin." And finally his servant jerked as if being pulled from a memory, and though he didn't turn around, he was no longer quite so still. "Merlin, what is it?" he asked exasperatedly.

"Nothing," Merlin replied distantly. "I was just wondering where... where lightning comes from."

Arthur stared.

Merlin continued as if he were talking to himself. "It's... it's light and heat and fire, and it just... it comes out of nowhere when it rains, but that's impossible, everything has to come from somewhere, and besides it wasn't even raining when I—"

"Have you been drinking?" Arthur interrupted, even though Merlin had been with him all day; and Merlin finally seemed aware that he had an audience and looked almost terrified to see that it was Arthur.

"No," he said. "No, of course not. But — where does it come from, Arthur? Where do you think it comes from? It's important," he added fiercely when he noticed Arthur's skepticism.

Arthur couldn't think of any reason why it would be, but Merlin looked desperate and over the past few days Arthur had come to hate that expression, so Arthur gave in and pondered it for a few seconds, shrugged, and said, "I dunno... the gods, probably."

Thunder rumbled in the background, and Merlin went very, very still.

"But — but no," he said hoarsely, looking ashen even in the torchlight. "No. I'm not — it can't be them. They can't be the ones who — who control lightning, because I — they can't be."

"Well, who else, then?"

"Sorcerers," Merlin answered without hesitation.

"Sorcerers can't control the weather," Arthur said scornfully, pouring himself another glass of wine. "They can't possibly have that power. Besides, even if they did, there aren't any left who are that powerful. There are hardly any sorcerers in Camelot, and if they could control the weather, Father would definitely have heard of them, and they'd be executed — as they should be. If they can call down lightning from the sky, they're obviously too dangerous."

"You're wrong," said Merlin, and Arthur stared again. Merlin was trembling. "I've ca — I've seen someone call down lightning, and he wasn't a threat — not to Camelot, anyway—"

"Not a threat to Camelot," Arthur repeated in disbelief. "Merlin, every sorcerer is a threat to Camelot. And I'm supposed to trust your judgement on this? I can hardly trust you to polish my armor properly, and now you're talking nonsense about lightning and sorcerers. And when would you have time to see this so-called friendly sorcerer, eh? Is that where you go when you're supposed to be cleaning the stables?"

"Don't think you know everything about my life, Arthur Pendragon," Merlin snapped, and Arthur almost dropped his goblet at the venom in his voice. A flash of lightning illuminated him from behind, and suddenly he looked dangerous and terrible, standing stiff and proud with Arthur's sword, and Arthur thought that he had no right to look that way but somehow — impossibly, illogically — it fit. "I have seen things — I have done things you know nothing about."

He stepped towards Arthur, hefting the sword, and for a moment Arthur felt a brief flash of fear —- but all Merlin did was drop it on the table in front of him with a clatter before turning towards the door. "Where are you going? I haven't dismissed you," Arthur called to his retreating back, latching onto propriety because he didn't know what to make of what Merlin had said, because how could he?

"Somewhere I'm wanted," Merlin bit out, slamming the door behind him and leaving Arthur alone, startled and bewildered and more than a little unnerved.

And outside, the storm raged on.