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Chapter Text

Arthur feels his mother’s touch linger, even beneath the waterfall. Even when the wind blew so hard against his cheek it was biting. Even back in Camelot, where the memory of Ygraine had been purged just as ruthlessly as magic had. He feels it most beneath the weight of Merlin’s gaze, layered as it is.

Arthur could have a hundred years and he would still never be able to decipher every nuance in Merlin’s face. There is grief, an overwhelming, stunning grief that threatens to topple Arthur over. An ache that echoes Arthur’s own. A concern that Arthur has to look away from before something terrible happens and deep, deeper than anything else, a simmering rage that Arthur grasps with both hands as he pushes through the Great Hall doors and draws his sword.

The words that are said don’t matter. The accusations that are hurled are irrelevant. The truth is too. Uther lies. His lips open and spill deceits and it’s only then that Arthur realizes how high the pedestal he had placed his father upon really was because when it tumbles, his entire world quakes, and splits right in two.

He’s living in two eras. Before, where he was ignorant and admiring and now, eyes blown open with the truth he can’t bear and a father who would rather his son carry the guilt of his mother’s death than admit his own mistakes.

“The witch has poisoned you.” Uther spits.

“She’s not a witch. She’s a woman. A person. A human being. Just like the thousands you have had murdered and hunted and persecuted for doing nothing other than be a reminder of your sins!” Arthur yells as their swords clang.

“Their very existence is a sin.” Uther hisses, his blade flying in an arc that a lesser man might be too slow to parry but Arthur may long for peace, but he knows his body was built for war.

Metal grates on metal and the two are pushed back, panting. “Magic can heal.” Arthur’s voice is low, expression darkening like a storm, “It can grow the crops, it can bring the rain. The magic of old brought prosperity to Camelot in an age you ended.”

“Magic has been used against this kingdom every day since the moment you were born!”

“Because you killed them!” Arthur shoves his father back, blood raging, “Because you created a world of vengeance when before, there was peace. You brought discord to Camelot, not them!”

Vaguely, he hears the door opening, hears Merlin shouting his name.

Don’t look at me, he wants to say. I don’t want you to see me like this. Turn away, turn away.

But Arthur’s feet are moving on their own accord, he steps forward, back, and then spins, ducking beneath Uther’s strike before slamming the blunt side of his blade against his wrist. Uther’s sword clatters to the ground, his father looking up at him with stunned eyes.

What was he expecting? He’s had Arthur trained to kill since birth. All his life he’d been told his first kill had been his mother, that he should spend his whole life repenting by taking the lives of those who wished harm on the kingdom she loved so dear.

More lies. He’s sick of them. He’s sick.  

With his left hand, Arthur shoves Uther into his seat, his gloved hand clenched around his shirt. With his right, he poises the sword right at Uther’s neck. They’re breathing hard, Arthur can’t see anything but Uther’s face, at the lack of apology, the disregard, the derision, even now. At the end of everything.

“You don’t deserve to live.” The words feel like knives in his mouth, “After everything you’ve done, the suffering you’ve caused, the murder you committed. You’re not fit to be king, you’ve lost your way, Uther Pendragon.”

They are not speaking as father and son. They are speaking as King and Successor.

“How dare you.” Even with a sword at his throat, Uther still behaves like Arthur’s just a child, with no power of his own and just a weepy heart. “I am the king and you will show me your respect.”

“Respect is not a given right; it’s earned and how have you earned it? By slaughtering innocents?” Arthur shakes his head, his eyes burning, his head pounding, “No. I can’t let you do that. I can’t let this continue. I have to protect the people of our kingdom before you do damage that can never be undone.”

Uther sneers at him, his hand gripping the blade, blood leaking through his fingers, “You would kill your own father?”

“I have only a mother.” Arthur whispers, “And you killed her. For a son you never knew how to love.”

His grip tightens around the pommel before he’s being jerked back, Merlin’s pleading face at his shoulder. “Arthur don’t! Please-”

“Let me go!” he commands, trying to shrug off his hold, but Merlin won’t budge, his knuckles white.

“I won’t!” And Merlin’s face is twisted in such a gut-wrenching display of heartbreak Arthur loses his footing.

They stumble away from the table and Merlin is holding Arthur’s wrist so tightly he thinks his fingers will go numb. Merlin’s hand slides down until he’s holding the sword with him. They’re face to face, Arthur’s cheeks are red, his lips pressed tightly to keep from trembling. Merlin is aching, his skin pale and waxy. Their gazes are trapped and Arthur doesn’t think he’s able to look away even if he wanted to.

“I saw her too.” Merlin whispers. “I saw the life you could have had. I know how much it hurts. I see it all over you.”

“You can’t know.” Arthur chokes, “Your mother would never-”

“But I know you.” Merlin says, his free hand tapping at Arthur’s cheek, “I know you. You won’t be able to live with this. No matter what he’s done, no matter who he’s hurt. He is your father and you will never be able to rule this kingdom the way I know you can with your heart tangled in tatters.”

“You don’t understand Merlin.” Arthur feels like he’s both dying and sinking, like the weight of his grief could plummet him right to the centre of the earth. “I killed them too.” He whispers, a shame too horrible to bring to words.

Merlin’s hand flattens against his cheek, it’s the only thing Arthur knows is real. “And now you’ll save them. So please Arthur.”

And his plea is so gentle, meant only for his ears and Arthur is tired. He’s wrung completely dry. His knees buckle as his sword hits the ground. He falls into Merlin and they sink to the ground, Arthur’s head at his shoulder, Merlin’s arms wrapped around his neck, pressing his cheek into Arthur’s hair. “It’s okay.” Merlin whispers, “It’s okay.”

But it isn’t, and it’s not and it will never be. Arthur is crying, he doesn’t care that he is. He feels his sadness soak through Merlin’s shirt, feels Merlin’s grip around him tighten like he could protect him from the worst of it. He hears Uther move from his chair, standing awkwardly above them. “You did the right thing Arthur, your servant-”

“I think you should leave, my lord.” Merlin cuts in and Arthur feels the way Merlin’s body tenses, how he switches from being inviting to threatening in just a moment.

No one’s ever protected him like this before.

“Let him recover. Please.” And it’s because Arthur knows Merlin just as well as Merlin knows him that sees through the veneer of politeness for what it is. “He needs time to process everything.”

“Make sure he gets to his chambers unseen.” Uther replies after a pause. “And if you speak a word of this to anyone,” the threat hangs in the air, “I’ll see you quartered.”

Arthur’s heart drops to the floor. Uther is never going to change. He can’t. He won’t. He refuses.

Merlin’s chin rests on Arthur’s head, eyes sharp, watching Arthur’s father go until he knows they’re well and truly alone. Then, and only then, does his gentleness return, his charming foolishness, and Arthur wonders about the Merlin that exists when he isn’t there to see it. The Merlin that prowls the halls when Arthur isn’t beside him, drawing out his fondness.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur says, pulling away.

Merlin looks confused. “What for?”

“I don’t know.”

“You don’t have anything to be sorry for.”

“Don’t I?” Arthur asks, eyes helpless and resigned.

“No.” Merlin says firmly. “Not a thing. Your father is wrong. He’s always been wrong. About this and other things. I used to wonder, how you could be you, when he was him.” Merlin smiles, Arthur’s lip twitches just by instinct, “Now that I’ve seen your mother, I understand a bit better now.”

Merlin tugs at Arthur’s hair, “You look like her, you know.”

Arthur trembles, “I do?”

Merlin nods, “Your nose, it’s a similar shape, your hair colour, obviously. The blue of your eyes. The way you carry yourselves, how your feelings are written right there for anyone to see, right all over your face.”

“You noticed all that?”

Merlin shrugs, suddenly shy, “It was hard not to.”

Arthur regards him for a moment and before he realizes it, a real smile, small it may be, pulls across his lips, “You really are a wonder, you know that?”

Merlin blinks in surprise before he grins back, “Is the wonder that I’m a bit of an idiot?”

“A bit is a little misleading, isn’t it?” Arthur returns the joke, trying hard to fall back into their routine. Into some semblance of normalcy.

Merlin snorts, getting up and reaching out a hand and leading him back to his chambers. “Let’s get you out of that armor, yeah?”

“You’re just worried I’ll ding it up more and you’ll have to spend more time polishing it.”

“You ruin your armor an unreasonably high amount.” Merlin counters.

“Saving lives, Merlin.”

“Having Kay beat you with a club to see how much damage you could take isn’t what I’d consider life-saving activities, sire.”

“It was research.”

“You’re the reason women think men are a different species.” Merlin retorts mercilessly and it’s so unexpected that Arthur throws his head back and laughs.

Merlin is his ray of light through the clouds. He’s the single sprouting seed in a forest burnt to ash.

Merlin looks absolutely delighted by his cheer, his eyes twinkling. In Arthur’s chambers, Merlin takes off his armour slower than usual, like they’re moving through a dream. Or not a dream, but the moment where you just wake up from one, caught between illusions and reality. At last, the final piece of his chainmail is removed. Merlin lingers around him, fussing. Arthur lets him.

“What do you say you go fetch us some bread and cheese. Grapes if they have any. We can play that dice game you’re so unnaturally good at.”

Merlin smiles, almost relieved. “You just can’t handle that I’m better at something than you. It’s sad really.”

“Oh I’m well aware that you’re better at things than me.” Arthur says in that tone that Merlin recognizes is a sign of rude things to come, “For example, you’re much better at making a fool of yourself, at saying the wrong thing at the wrong time,” he clicks his tongue, “at being at the wrong place at the wrong time.” Arthur looks up, genuinely concerned, “It’s actually a bit alarming how often that happens to you.”

Merlin snorts, “What can I say, it’s my stellar luck.”

“No, your stellar luck is always rolling high.”

“That,” Merlin retorts, “is my well-deserved karmic justice.”

Arthur rolls his eyes. Merlin makes a face. They both grin stupidly when the other looks away. The grin slips off Arthur’s face the second he’s alone and like Merlin was holding him up, he sags onto the floor, head hidden in his arms.

He’s good at distracting himself, always has been. It’s a skill of the trade when your life is spent fighting and battling. If you didn’t know how to hide from the fear, it would devour you whole and leave nothing behind but your brittle bones. He hears Merlin’s steps, tries to lift his head and force a smile but Merlin looks down at him with empathetic eyes.

“I knew you were forcing yourself.”

Arthur looks up with the weight of the world pushing him down. “My whole life has been upended Merlin, what am I supposed to do now?” he asks, entire heart bare on his face.

Merlin sets the tray down in front of them and settles himself at Arthur’s side. “You carry on.” He says simply, “And try to be better than those who came before.”

“I told my father I disowned him.” He whispers, only now realizing the gravity of what he has done, the things he said that he can’t ever take back.

Merlin leans on his knees, peering up at him from beneath his lashes. “Did you mean it?”

Arthur closes his eyes, ashamed at what he will say next. “I can’t bear it Merlin. I can’t bear thinking about the suffering I’ve caused to people who never deserved it when all I’ve ever wanted- all I’ve ever tried to do is-” he cuts himself off, looking pointedly away.

Merlin’s hand is steady on his arm, “You’re a good man Arthur. You can’t let Uther take that away from you.”

“A good man doesn’t slaughter innocents.” He says vehemently and Merlin flinches before pushing forward.

“You were taught your whole life that magic was evil and that those who practiced it were set on the kingdom’s destruction. Is it not the sign of a better man to change when he’s learned that he was wrong than to have always been raised with the correct ideals?”

Arthur doesn’t say anything in reply. “Thank you.” He says at last, turning to Merlin with a rare expression of true gratitude, “For stopping me.”

Merlin holds his gaze, “You’re welcome.”

“You’re a true friend Merlin.” He goes on and Merlin goes very still, like a single move might make him stop, “In fact, I think you’re my only friend.” Arthur blows out a breath, self-conscious and almost shy. “I was never really allowed any. My father always told me to keep my boundaries with the Lords and the knights, to ensure I never forgot my status and my burdens.”

Arthur glances at him, his lip quirking up, “But you don’t give a damn about any of that, and I think, if I’m being honest, that’s why I couldn’t leave you alone when we first met.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, he barely wants to breathe lest he break the moment. Arthur so rarely, rarely gets like this. He hides away the boy in him so protectively, in favour of the man.

“My father is wrong and he must either change or be stopped. My life is about to become extremely uncomfortable and extremely hard, so if you want to go, so you don’t have to face their ire as well, then you should.”

Merlin frowns, “You want me to leave you?”

Arthur frowns back. “That’s not what I said.”

“Then there’s nothing to speak about.”

Merlin looks at him, expression set. Arthur looks back with a ghost of a smile. He reaches over to break off a piece of cheese when he scowls, “Merlin you idiot, you brought the wrong one.”

Merlin makes a face, “No I didn’t-” Arthur stuffs the hard cheese they both hate into his mouth and Merlin sputters, wheezing as he spits it out, “Arthur!”

“Punishment.” He says remorselessly.

“You’re such an ass, you know that? I hope you suffer with hard cheese forever.”

“Well I hope you trip down the stairs, maybe it’ll knock some of your brains back into place.”

Merlin’s jaw drops and Arthur laughs and laughs.

The darkness inside of him grows gloomier, but somewhere in the distance, there is a tiny beam of light. Arthur has faith that one day he will the see the sun. He believes in a future where this guilt stops festering inside of him. If he could protect the people he couldn’t now, then maybe it will make up for all the red in his ledger. Maybe building a future where all can prosper will at least set the souls for those who died needlessly at rest.

Ever a man of action, Arthur doesn’t sit and plot or scheme. Instead, the next morning, he walks into the Council Chambers as he always does for the council meeting and takes a breath. Unconsciously, his gaze seeks Merlin’s out and his only friend looks back with steadfast eyes.

“Councilmen.” Arthur begins, “Recently, I’ve had an illuminating journey that I think you all will find worth looking into further. On the subject of magic, I believe that Camelot’s approach has been not only wrong, but ethically unviable. We must restore balance and-”

“ENOUGH!” Uther shouts, lurching up from his chair, face winding in fury. “Arthur,” he commands, “not another word.”

Arthur stands as well, not breaking eye contact, “Why? Afraid you will incur their disrespect as well as mine?”

Uther lifts a finger, “Arthur, I’m warning you. Any word on this matter will be considered treason against your king.”

Everyone in the room stiffens. Nobody moves. Arthur sees Gaius look at him, eyes wide, moving his head in a silent plea for him to stop. He sees Merlin, eyes glued to Uther, face dark, hand curled into a fist.

What does it mean to be a prince? Is it to do what you are told with the hope that you can use what little power you have to bend the curves of the river knowing full well you can’t control where it ends? To be a prince means to be secondary. It is to be a replacement the genuine figure can dispose of when you’re no longer necessary.

If Arthur felt less deeply, he might be able to play the game a little better.

But he’s never been good at being a prince, has always been better as a knight, so he faces his monster and says, “I cannot let injustice go unseen and abetted. You are wrong in your persecution of sorcerers and magic and if you could admit what you have done then-”

“Guards!” Uther yells, “Silence him!”

The sentries look at each other then at their King, eyes black like fog, veins pulsing. They grab at Arthur, clamping a hand over his mouth and holding his arms back. They won’t look him in the eye though as they do it and Arthur resents them for their cowardice.

“You have tarnished this castle with your disrespect for the last time.” Uther hisses, looking down at Arthur as the sentries bring him to his knees. “When you renounced me as your father yesterday, I let it go out of the goodness of my heart, but now I see that you will not be tamed. You have been poisoned Arthur and I fear that nothing I can say or do will rid you of it.”

Arthur doesn’t try to break from the hold though he knows he could if he wanted to. He stares up at his father with calm eyes, face impassive and unbowed.

“I will not have someone corrupted by sorcery seated at the throne.” The king’s voice drops and unlike the guards, Uther makes sure Arthur can see the coldness in his eyes, “From this day forward, I disinherit you as my son and you are banished from Camelot until you learn how to respect your betters.”

Arthur’s eyes widen and he thrashes upwards, brows furrowing in disbelieving anger.

“No! You can’t do that!” everyone’s heads whip around to see Merlin, jaw tilted upward like he’s looking to fight, “Arthur is your son.”

Uther takes a step, “One more word and you will be flogged in the square.”

Merlin opens his mouth again and Arthur wants to scream before Gaius stands, holding up both his hands, “My Lord, please, I beg you to reconsider, perhaps he just needs to be looked at from a medical standpoint-”

“I have made my decision Gaius. You would do well to abide by it.” Uther replies coldly.

“But sire,” Gaius’ heartbreak writes itself all over his face, “he’s just a boy.”

Softer, “He’s your boy.”  

Something ruthless settles over Uther’s face.

“No,” he answers, “I don’t know what he is. But he is no one I recognize.” Turning back to Arthur, Uther nods at the guards before walking away. “Take him to his room, let him pack his things and then escort him off the grounds. No one is allowed to see him.”

The guards haul Arthur up, his body hanging limply between them. “You would really banish your only child rather than admit your mistakes?” he asks, so quietly the court has to strain to hear him.

Uther doesn’t even turn around. “My only mistake is believing you could ever be worthy of the Pendragon name.”

Arthur flinches. Merlin’s fingers dig so far into his palms they draw blood. As the guards drag him away, Arthur watches Merlin run towards him before being pulled back by a knight. “Let me go! I’m his manservant, I need to-”

“You heard the king boy.” The knight bites back, twisting Merlin’s arm behind his back so that he winces.

“I’m not anyone important! I’m just a servant.”

A servant who spoke out against the king. A servant who had more honour than any of the nobility sitting around that table.

Arthur wants to shout something to him, he wants to run towards him and rip that knight’s hands off of him. He wants to do something, anything, but it feels like the life has gone out of him. He’s just a shell and when the guards throw him into his chambers, he doesn’t know what to do other than stare.

Everything, everything has gone horribly wrong. He should have thought things through, he should have reflected on the consequences of what he wanted to do. He should have sought to make allies first before making an enemy out of everyone.

On instinct, his hands start stuffing things into a rucksack even while he feels like his true self is floating above him, watching the proceedings from its detached perspective. He’s untethered to the world, has no conception of reality because it has fractured so beyond familiarity he’s sure Merlin will wake him up from this horrible dream and he will find that none of this has ever happened and he’s still Crown Prince of the only place he’s ever loved.

But the rooster doesn’t crow and the sun doesn’t rise and no one comes to wake him.

Arthur keeps stuffing things into bags, he has no idea if he’s packing anything useful, doesn’t even know what would be considered useful. Where is he even going? Where could he go? Will the news of the prince banished in disgrace spread far and wide? Will he be haunted wherever he goes by the ghost of his potential?

He hears yelling outside his door, “Let me in!” Morgana cries and Arthur’s whole entire heart squeezes, “I demand you let me see him! I am the king’s ward!”

The guards don’t let her in. She yells for an eternity more before being turned away at last, still fighting even as she’s dragged away.

He hears Guinevere next. Her scheme is far more clever, she brings a tray of food up, pretending to be sent by the king, but they don’t believe her either, knowing her to be Morgana’s maid and send her away as well.

Merlin doesn’t come.

Arthur tries not to be hurt by this. For all that Merlin is an idiot, he’s well aware the guards know exactly who he is. He probably didn’t think it was worth the trouble.

Arthur so very rarely is.

His door opens and a knight alongside two guards walk in, “It’s time.” Is all he says.

Arthur doesn’t look at him. He trained this one. Owain, his name was. He taught him his signature bit of footwork that helped set his opponent off balance enough to make a clean stab through the heart. Does he remember? Does he feel guilty? Does he feel anything at all?

Arthur walks through the corridors in shame, every servant and visitor and noble poking their heads out to watch him. He tilts his chin higher, refuses to be who they want him to. The only one who’s brought dishonour on himself is Uther. Arthur had truth and justice on his side. He had compassion and care and the burden of ruling that urged him to protect not just those who were like him, but those who were different as well. He’s in the right.

But what are ethics to power?

What is a disappointment of a son to pride?

Arthur walks out of the castle walls and through the Lower Town with his head held high even as the populace spits at him, even as they call him names, even as they boo him for being a traitor and a treasonous son, raised without integrity.

When he gets to Camelot’s outer wall, the guards give him a shove. “You can’t step foot past these doors ever again until you do three things.”

Arthur looks at him with eyes that promise pain and feels just the smallest bit of satisfaction when the man jerks back.

“One, you must apologize for your treasonous actions towards the king. Two, you must publicly profess the dangers of magic and your dedication to upholding the law. And three,” the guard catches his gaze and Arthur grits his jaw, “you must bring back the witch Morgause’s head, for spreading lies about your mother.”

Arthur bares his teeth and lurches towards him when Owain shoves him back. Arthur lands on the ground with a sharp thud and the gate comes crashing down before him. Roaring, Arthur bangs on the door with his palm, the wood scraping his skin, but he persists, yelling for them to face him like men and not cowards, but they’ve long since gone and he is alone.

Or he’s supposed to be anyway.

“Veryck, if you could just-” the sound of a very familiar chagrin catches Arthur’s attention as does the whinny of what sounds like an extremely annoyed horse. “Look, I know I promised you an apple, but it must have fallen somewhere and-”

Arthur turns around, walking a few metres into the wood where he sees Merlin petting a horse while holding the reins of the other.

“Merlin??”

Merlin drops the reins and spins around, “Arthur!”

Merlin beams. Arthur’s eye twitches.

“What, exactly, are you doing?”

Merlin makes a face, “What does it look like? I stole some horses.” His lip quirks up, “And some of cook’s pies. But that was just because she’s been such a harpy all this time and she deserved it.”

Arthur’s still looking at him like he’s grown another head.

“Arthur,” Merlin starts, in that fake concerned voice of his, “did the knights hit you on the head on the way out?”

“No.” he growls, “I just don’t understand what you’re doing here.”

Or rather, he does. He understands completely, he just can’t bear the hope of it all. In case he’s wrong.

Merlin gives him a look pitying his lack of intelligence, “I’m coming with you obviously.”

Like Arthur’s slow.

He should say something like, great! Wonderful! Thank you! Instead he says, “What about Gaius?” because gods help him he cares more about Merlin’s happiness than his own.

Merlin looks away, “It was hard to say goodbye.” He admits, “But we’ll see him again. I know it.”

We.

Arthur suddenly wants to cry.

“Does he know I would’ve said goodbye?” Arthur asks softly, feeling inept by his own vulnerability.

Merlin holds his gaze, “Of course he does, don’t be ridiculous. He sent me off with some poultices and herbs in case we run into trouble.”

Arthur smirks, it’s small and pained, but still, it’s there. “Who, us?”

Merlin grins back, “I know. How utterly unlikely.”

There is a moment of silence before Merlin breaks it, somewhat hesitantly. “He also wanted me to tell you that even though you were foolish and rash, he’s proud of you.”

Arthur blinks, his vision suddenly foggy and he takes a minute to compose himself. He can’t really address any of that so pivots to the most obvious thing.

“This is the last chance to go back.”

“I’m already here. I’m too tired to take all those stairs again.” Merlin quips.

Arthur looks up at the treeline, the sun is still high in the sky, there’s plenty of daylight left to execute a plan he hasn’t yet thought of. “I don’t know where I’m going.” He confesses and Merlin brightens.

“I thought you wouldn’t. Fancy seeing my mum again?”

Arthur looks up, “Do you think she…”

“Of course she would. For whatever reason, she’s quite fond of you.”

Arthur tries to smile. It comes out miserable.

“Come on Arthur, let’s get going. I’ll lead the way.” Merlin’s voice has gentled and suddenly, Arthur feels like he’s made of dust, about to be blown away by the smallest breeze.

The trouble with horse rides through the forest is that they’re a magnet for drawing up your deepest thoughts, things you wanted to keep hidden and tucked safely away. Too much has happened in only two days and it feels like Arthur’s body isn’t big enough to contain it all. Worse, it feels like he’s underwater, experiencing his feelings like he’s weightless and dazed.

It’s shock, he realizes with a pang.

The kind he usually only ever feels when he’s been slammed so hard with a broadsword his ears ring. He never knew his heart could feel a pain like this. He didn’t think it was capable of such grief. Of such life-shattering betrayal.

He and Merlin ride in silence, broken only by Merlin’s insistence that he drink something or take a break for the horses or his worried eyes, darting from him to the horizon so often Arthur’s lost count. Let Merlin worry about him, he thinks. Someone should. He for one, doesn’t care at all. He doesn’t care what happens to him anymore. Why should he?

He’s a failure.

He’s a nothing.

He had the potential to be a hero and he ended up just like everyone else. His people deserve to hate him, for having been given a chance and losing it.

The sun dips under the hills and the creamy orange of the sky settles on their skin like molten gold. Merlin finds them a small clearing and slides off his horse, tying him to a branch and doing the same with Arthur’s.

“There’s a river a little aways.” Merlin says quietly, like trying not to startle him. “I’m going to fill up our waterskins, why don’t you get some firewood?”

He’s trying to keep Arthur busy, that much is obvious. He must think that even the simplest actions will be enough to keep Arthur’s mind occupied. He wants to snap that Merlin doesn’t give the orders here, that he’s overstepping his authority. But his mouth opens and the words don’t come out because they’re no longer true.

Arthur startles from his stupor, staring after Merlin as he goes down to the water, watching him leave wondering why he would ever come back. Arthur calls him friend, but they both know everything else comes secondary to Arthur being prince and Merlin being servant. There is a routine that binds them, that sets the stage for their banter and their camaraderie and without it, Arthur feels lost, unable to navigate the distance between them without the familiar tread lines of paths already traveled.

He picks up sticks and branches because maybe he really does need to be doing something to stop the anxiety in his heart, but the truth of the matter is Arthur doesn’t know how to be a person and not a role. His whole life he’d been sculpted, molded, and now he’s being told he can be free and oh, this is why the caged bird sings; we find comfort in our prisons.

Arthur dumps the wood on the ground, stacks them clumsily into a passable cone. He rummages through one of his packs until he finds a flint and strikes it, over and over, until at last, a spark bursts and the clump of leaves in the centre catches flame. He falls back, wrapping his arms around his knees and stares at the fire as though it could give him the answers he needs to continue on in this horrifying, strange, brand-new world.

Merlin comes back, watches him with sad eyes. He tries to cheer Arthur up, tries to crack jokes, tries to chat, but Arthur is unresponsive, the flames flickering in his eyes. Merlin unties Arthur’s bags from his horse, dumping them out, trying to goad him into speaking, “Let’s see what you packed without me then. Nothing useful probably.”

He pulls out some shirts, some pants, there’s a set of daggers, “What did you bring this for exactly? Who are we getting into knife fights with?” Merlin muses, almost entirely to himself before he stops speaking altogether and bursts out laughing, “Arthur, what in the bloody hell did you pack this for?”

Merlin brandishes the candelabra with a flourish and Arthur’s so startled by its presence, amongst the mud and the leaves and the stars that he can’t help the crazed laughter either. “I have no idea.” He looks at the candelabra then back at Merlin, the glitter glimmering in his eyes. “I was just grabbing anything and everything. It’s all a blur really.”

“Well,” Merlin hums, “I suppose we can always sell it, get a pretty penny or two.”

Merlin blabbers on, dividing Arthur’s belongings into things to keep and things to sell and Arthur just doesn’t understand what’s going on and he blurts out, “I can’t give you anything, you know.”

Merlin stops, tilting his head, confused. “What?”

“I mean, I suppose I can give you the candelabra.” Arthur amends, “But that won’t go very far.”

“Arthur, what are you talking about?”

“You. Being here. I can’t- I’ll never be able to-”

Merlin’s eyes widen in realization before he sighs, “And you call me an idiot.”  

Arthur blinks and then glares. Merlin smiles at the sight. “We’re not supposed to have to say anything, you and me.” Merlin gripes, leaning backwards on his palms, “We let our actions do the talking.”

“This is different.” Arthur says quietly, “I don’t want you giving up your life for me when you don’t have to anymore. When it’s not your job. I’m no longer a prince, I can’t give you anything anymore.” He sees Merlin start to speak and holds up a hand, “I know you’re going to say that you’re my friend and I want you to know that I appreciate that. I do.”

“Then what are you trying to say?” Merlin presses, voice tight.

“I’m trying to say that you’re my friend too and I want you to be happy.” Arthur replies, suddenly realizing there’s just nothing left to lose anymore.  

Merlin doesn’t say anything for a while, hiding a helpless smile behind his hand.

“You say you can’t give me anything,” Merlin answers at last, firelight flickering over his face, “but if you would still give me your friendship, then that would be enough.”

Arthur’s expression fractures, lip trembling.

“In between our duties, we spoke of another time and place where things might have been different and we could be happy like regular people are.” Merlin pokes at the fire and sparks unfurl in the air, “We won’t ever be regular people though. Not really.”

“I know you will be king one day.” Merlin meets Arthur’s gaze, “I know it as surely as I know where the sun rises in the morning and sets at night. You will be the greatest king this land has ever known and you will rule it fairly and justly. This,” Merlin sweeps an arm around them, “is just the middle of a legend children hundreds of years from now will never forget.”

Merlin smiles, small and hopeful, “But before we get to the legend, can we not pretend to be regular? Just for a while? Let’s leave Camelot as just two men, who want to be together because they choose to, because it makes them happy.” Merlin lays out his soul before him, breaking their gaze, shy at his vulnerability. “You’ve come after me time and time again. Let me come with you once more.”

The water inside Arthur’s heart recedes. Just a little. Just enough for him to take a gasp of air.

“Then there’s nothing to speak about.” Arthur says and Merlin blinks in surprise before smiling.

They eat in silence, except to gloat about stealing the pies. When they’re done cleaning up, they spread out their bedrolls, head to head, aligned with the fading flames.

“Merlin.” Arthur whispers.

“Mm?”

“I know that I’m broken, but I’ll fix it, so don’t worry yourself into the ground.”

Merlin shifts, “M’not worried.”

There’s a flash of hurt inside him for a second. “My mistake then.”

“Because you’re not broken, Arthur. You will overcome this and you’ll be better for it. I promise.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, just reaches back a hand to tap Merlin gently on the head.

Chapter Text

Arthur wakes up to the smell of breakfast and he blinks groggily awake. “Morning si-” Merlin cuts himself off, forcing a smile, “sleepy head! Rise and shine then! We still have two days’ worth of riding to do!”

Arthur groans, falling back onto the ground, “Nooo.” He moans.

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Will you ever stop complaining in the mornings?”

Arthur makes a grunting sound and Merlin sighs, trudging over to him and yanking the covers off. “You’re acting like a servant.” Arthur says snidely, hoping to make Merlin go away.

“Nice.” Merlin replies dryly, “Real clever. Unfortunately for you, me waking up earlier and making us breakfast is purely because I like being alive and considering you don’t know how to cook or forage, it’s probably for the best.”

Arthur scowls, swatting at Merlin’s hands and sitting up, having been too harassed to go back to sleep now.

“You can do the washing up!” Merlin says cheerily and Arthur groans again.

He can go on about how much more mature he’s gotten all he wants, but no one who’s been used to having to do none of the chores to having to do half is going to be happy about it. Especially when, as it turns out, he isn’t particularly good at any of them.

“Do they really teach you nothing when you’re growing up?” Merlin asks in awe, showing him that he has to actually scrape the plates, not just run them in the river water and hope for the best.

“Can you recite all four battle strategies that won the War of High Valley?” Arthur snipes back.

“No,” Merlin’s quick to retort, “but I can tell you the difference between a funeral bell mushroom and an oak polypore mushroom, which is an actual useful bit of knowledge.”

Arthur raises his brows haughtily, “As can I.”

“Really? Do tell.”

Arthur bites his lip.

“Red.”

Merlin giggles, clapping a hand over his mouth before a wave of laughter overtakes him. “Red? That’s your best guess?”

“I don’t know! They always draw mushrooms as red when they’re poisonous!”

“In story books maybe.”

Arthur flushes, turning away and beating at the plate in his hand with a vigor Merlin can only describe as violent. “You can tell the difference between a hare and a deer too, can’t you Merlin? Though I imagine it’s rather pointless since you can hunt neither.”

Merlin’s lips pucker and Arthur snorts.

“That’s what I have you for, to do all the brutish work I’m far above.”

“If I could throw you into the stocks I would.”

“Too bad we’re in the woods then, isn’t it!”

It wouldn’t matter where in the world they were though, and the thought dampens the mood.

“Shall we go then?” Merlin asks and Arthur nods, drying off the last spoon.

Today, their ride is a little less dismal. Arthur and Merlin chatter the way they always do, the way it was always so easy to. Arthur finds comfort in their words, starts to realize that maybe their dynamic had nothing to do with their roles and had grown not because of it, but in spite of it. He lets himself think of a different life, one where they all grew up together in a small village that always had enough to eat. Where he and Merlin ran through the fields together laughing, looking for Gwen and Morgana hiding. Where he returned to a home with his mother waiting, hugging him against her, kissing his brow.

All his life, Arthur had suppressed his thoughts of another life lived in favour of perfecting the one he currently had. He put his country first, his people first, his birthright first. He doesn’t know how to be just Arthur, has never been given the privilege of even dreaming about it.

Merlin laughs at something Arthur says.

What does it mean to be a prince? It’s to live in a cage of your parent’s making. Arthur’s taken a single step out, has spread his wings but not yet leaped. Soon maybe.

Soon.

One and a half days later, Ealdor is exactly as he left it, if a little more prosperous. The villagers toil away, in their animal pens, in their little plots of farmland, and over their washing buckets. When they see the two of them ride on their horses, everyone stops what they’re doing, rushing to meet them, smiles all around. “It’s Merlin!” they cry, “And Prince Arthur! Quick! Someone call Hunith!”

Arthur tries not to wince as everyone welcomes them; he feels like a fraud. He slips off his horse, barely even nodding as a boy takes his reins and leads both horses to a watering post. A man claps Arthur on the back, “How is Camelot then? What brings you back to our neck of the woods, sire?” Grant, a man Arthur recognizes from their battle, smiles at him as he asks and Arthur aches.

“I,” he starts, unsure of how to continue.

He decides to just be honest. The gossip will find them soon enough anyway, “My father banished me from Camelot, when I said that all sorcerers couldn’t be evil and that I no longer wanted to facilitate the murder of innocents.”

Grant blinks at him, “Well then.” Is all he says.

Arthur nods, “Indeed.”

“Merlin!” Hunith cries, absolutely shining with joy.

Arthur watches with both fondness and a terrible sadness, as Hunith sweeps Merlin into her arms and presses him close, pulling away only to put her hands to his face and kiss his forehead, “My beautiful boy, I’m so glad to see you.”

Merlin wraps his hand around her wrist, smiling fondly, “Me too mother. How have you been?”

Hunith smiles, “How I’ve always been.” Her eyes look past her son to see Arthur and she smiles wider, “Prince Arthur! How lovely it is to see you again.”

Arthur gives a nod to Grant, walking over and trying hard to smile, “Hello Hunith, it’s a pleasure.”

She takes his hands, gives them a squeeze, “Have you been well, my lord? We’re honoured that you would choose to come by our small village once more.”

He squeezes her hands back, “Please don’t call me that, from now on, I am simply Arthur.” His lip quirks up sardonically, “I’ve been banished you see.”

Hunith’s expression shatters and she lets him go. “What?” she turns to her son, “Merlin?”

Merlin tries not to let her sadness reflect back on his face, “I wish it wasn’t true. I um, it’s a long story but I thought that maybe…could we stay here? With you? For a little while?”

Arthur clears his throat, “I apologize for the burden and I swear I’ll find a way to-” he doesn’t get to finish.

Hunith has swept him in her arms, holding him just as tightly as she held Merlin.

“I’m so sorry Arthur, I can’t imagine how you must be feeling.”

Arthur’s wide eyes meet Merlin’s, who smiles at him as though telling him to just let go and enjoy the moment. Hesitantly, like he’s asking for permission, Arthur hugs her back, letting his head fall at her shoulder. “Thank you.” He barely manages to reply.

“Both of you can stay as long as you need. It’s no burden.”

Arthur pulls away, feeling a lump in his throat. “You cannot know the depth of my gratitude.”

“You once came to this village to help save it though you had no obligation to. We help our own here in Ealdor.” Hunith smiles, “I think you’ll find there’s much to love here, despite how different it is to home.”

I’m my own home now, he wants to say, before his eyes stray to Merlin and he wonders if that’s really true.

“I’m not very good at anything apparently,” he confesses with an embarrassed twist of the lip, “but I can learn.”

Hunith pats his cheek, “One thing at a time darling, let’s get us all settled in first.”

To sleep, they’ve set up some pallets made of hay with their bed rolls on top, Hunith keeping her bed. Arthur stacks his belongings in the corner, marveling at how a man who had everything can now count the number of items he owns on his fingers. The thought should make him feel sadder he thinks, but he’s never cared much for things beyond just the comforts of living. This isn’t the worst of it.

He doesn’t really know how to articulate the worst of it.

Hunith asks if he can go fetch some firewood to cook dinner. He agrees, partly because he’s relieved not to be asked to do something more complicated, but also because a walk might do him some good. It’s stifling inside Hunith’s home. He feels like an intruder, like he’s weighing them all down.

When he returns, the wood bundled in his arms, he catches the tail end of Hunith and Merlin’s conversation and though he doesn’t mean to, ends up loitering rather than interrupt.

“I hate seeing him like this.” Merlin says, the sound of the knife on the chopping board interspersed with his words. “What Uther did…to his wife and to his own son, I-” the knife slams into the board, “I could kill him. For what he did.”

“Merlin, you musn’t speak like that.” Hunith chastises.

“Why not? Because he’s king? He doesn’t deserve your goodwill. He never has.”

“Maybe not. But what the world needs…what Arthur needs,” she amends, “is not more rage, but compassion. Channel those feelings not into vengeance, but into helping him heal.”

There’s a pause, the knife slides down the board and the vegetables fall into the pot. “I’m not sure I know how.” Merlin says quietly.

“Just be yourself. Help him find his own way out. He has to choose his own path, all you can do is support him.”

Arthur pushes open the door, trying not to show that he’d been there for longer than he should’ve.

“Arthur!” Hunith greets, “You’ve brough the wood, wonderful! We’re just about ready to start the stew.” she smiles and helplessly, a rush of fondness bursts through him.

“Did you get lost in the woods Arthur.” Merlin teases, “Only took you ages.”

Arthur curls his nose, “Hunith, are you sure Merlin should be allowed to use a knife? He’s more likely to cut himself than the turnip.”

Hunith laughs, “You two haven’t changed at all, have you?”

“Thank you, mother. You’re not even going to try defending my honour then?” Merlin pouts and Hunith pats him on the arm.

“There isn’t no truth to what he’s saying love.” She says gently.

“Mum.” Merlin’s aghast and Arthur’s laughing.

“But you did take rather long getting the wood dear.” Hunith chides and Arthur stops gloating just as Merlin snickers.

Well then.

When the stew is ready, the three of them sit at a table that wobbles and the food is quick to finish, but there are smiles all around and the fire is crackling and in Arthur’s head, the water lowers just a little more. He takes a gulpful of air and thinks, maybe he can survive this. Maybe it’ll be okay.

Arthur wakes up the next morning feeling dead inside. It’s the fear of having too much time and not enough to do. He’d been so focused on the journey he had paid no attention to the destination and what was he here for?

What is he made for now?

Vaguely, he hears Hunith say something about having no more water and Merlin beckons Arthur over, smiling softly. “Come on lazy daisy, I’ll show you where the well is. We’ll get some water for tea and the washing up.”

It’s another one of Merlin’s little kindnesses, distracting him so Arthur can’t think anymore.

Together, they make their way to the outer part of the village, stopping every few feet or so to greet someone new. It’s a cramped feeling, having all these people who know you, but their eyes are welcoming and kind and no one wants anything more from him than just a hello and how are you.

When they get to the well, they fill their buckets in silence before Arthur looks up at Merlin, annoyed at his millionth not so subtle glance his way, “Merlin.” He grits out, “I’m not going to shatter into a million little pieces so would you please stop looking at me like that.”

“I’m not looking at you.” Merlin lies.

Arthur gives him an incredulous look.

Merlin smiles sheepishly. “Okay fine. I was looking a little. Could I lie and say it’s because you look rather dashing today?”

Arthur rolls his eyes, “I’m not Morgana Merlin, try again.”

Just saying her name sends a stab of pain through his heart and he turns his face away so Merlin won’t see it.

“I’m just…” Merlin pauses, “I don’t know. Sometimes I look at you and your face is so heartbroken it would make the snow melt from sadness and then other times I think, you’re handling this a little too well and I get concerned that you’re going to snap like a madman.”

Arthur lets out a snide breath, “I might.” He concedes bitterly, “A part of me wants to rip out an entire forest by the roots. The other part wants to curl up at a riverbank and just watch the water rush by and hope the current takes me with it.”

Arthur switches the full bucket out to make way for an empty one. “I don’t know Merlin.” He says harshly, “Is there a normal way to go about adapting to being banished by your father?” Arthur runs his fingers through the water, watching as the droplets slide down his hand, “Want to hear something a little terrible?”

Merlin leans in with wary eyes.

“On day one, I was in shock, my body felt like it had undergone a war. On day two, I felt myself waking up and on day three, we were almost here. I’ve had enough sleeps now to realize that the truth is, I’m not even surprised about any of this.” Arthur runs a hand through his hair, trying to hide his face, “The truth is, I was always a disappointment to my father. I could never be good enough, be good as him.” His voice drops and that anger he’d been trying to repress bubbles up once more.

“I had looked up to him my whole life, he was the wall I was trying desperately to climb, the person I was trying to become. And now that we’re here, that the running is over, that the uncertainty of what the hell I was supposed to do is gone, all I feel Merlin, is anger.”

The water dribbles over the bucket but neither of them notice. It drowns the grass at their feet, the soil darkening in discontent.

“I’m angry that I ever thought his example was the one I wanted to follow. I’m angry that I never thought to question my upbringing. I’m angry that he would do this to me- that he would do this to my mother- who I never got to meet and never really will and who probably would have been better for the world than I’ll ever be. But I’m here and she’s not and I have to live with that every day.”

Now that Arthur’s started he finds that he just can’t stop. It gushes out of him, a relentless wave that it is staggering in both its pure animosity and sheer heartbreak.

“I’m angry that I’m so powerless that I could do nothing but leave. I’m angry that no one stood up for me except for you and Gaius, that these people that raised me and grew up with me and trained with me never gave a single shit and that I had to realize that I’ve always been alone- that I was so desperately, pathetically lonely my whole entire life because there’s obviously something horribly defective about me if even my own father can’t stand the sight of me.”

Arthur’s panting now, the fury rippling through him, his skin flushed and mottled.

“So yes, am I about to snap? Maybe. But it’s only because there’s so much rage inside of me that I don’t know what to do with it. And all this fury does is remind me that even though I’m terrified of it, I’m still only my father’s son and everyone will always think so.” He looks up, wild and bitter and wretched, “I wanted to be better. When am I going to be better??”

Merlin takes the pail from his hands and sets it down. “Stay here.” He says, instead of addressing a single thing Arthur has just said.

Bewildered, and having just poured out his entire heart and soul, Arthur watches him leave, mouth agape until Merlin returns with a single axe.

“Come on,” he calls, “there’s something you should do.”

Merlin leads him out of the village and into a small wood. “Matilda needs a new fence. She has no sons so you’re going to chop down the wood for her.”

“What are you on about?”

“You’re angry right? You feel like you want to kill something?”

Arthur doesn’t speak, the rage thrums beneath his skin and rattles his bones.

“Then do something good with it. Take it all out Arthur, yell and scream and knock every tree down so we can use it for something useful. Uther was twisted by his rage, but you’re better than that. You’re already better than that, don’t you see?”

Merlin hands him the axe, it hangs between them like a promise. Arthur grips the handle, his hand resting above Merlin’s own.

“Hold the anger in your hands and then let it go. You’re more than kindling Arthur, don’t set yourself alight to keep your hatred warm.”

Arthur takes the axe and swings. The reverberation rolls up his arm and the pain of it is exhilarating. He rips the metal out of the wood and smashes it, again and again. The tree creaks from his blows until it cracks, the sound snapping through the forest and it falls to the ground with a satisfying tremor.

It’s not enough. He whirls around, hits another one, over and over, the axe grinds against the wood, ripping it apart until the tree can no longer support itself and one good kick sends it toppling. It takes four trees for Arthur to be panting. His axe is lodged in the middle of a stubborn trunk. He tugs at it, his muscles aching, but he pushes through regardless. The axe flies free and he swings once more, his strength so depleted, each strike is barely perceptible. The tree won’t budge, he throws himself at it, roaring and crying, but maybe it’s just the sweat, he can’t tell anymore, and nothing really matters.

He batters himself against the wood, sawing his way through until finally the trunk snaps and he falls with it, heaving on his knees. He looks around at his destruction, feels a pang of something like regret. The wood will be turned into something useful but still, the product of his rage is only this, a mighty forest felled. A beautiful thing ravaged.

This is the price of anger. He would be wise to remember it.

Arthur gasps for air, his shoulders rising and falling with every breath he chokes in. “I don’t want to be him.” He croaks.

“And you won’t ever be.” Merlin promises, holding out his hand.

Arthur’s hand tightens around the axe before he lets it go. Merlin’s fingers are warm against his wrist. “Let’s go home now Arthur.”

And though his arms are throbbing, Arthur picks up his two buckets and Merlin picks up his own, the axe balanced atop one, and they walk back to the house in a silence much lighter than before.

When they get back, Merlin wraps Arthur’s hands in bandages dipped in herbal paste to soothe the blisters all along his palms.

“Thank you.” Arthur says quietly.

Merlin simply smiles.

When Merlin is done, he takes Arthur’s hands and brings them closer to his face, inspecting his handywork. Satisfied, he lowers his hands to his knees, Arthur’s still within them.

“Better?”

They both know he’s not asking about the wounds.

The anger still lurks within him like a beast on the prowl. But Arthur won’t leave any more prey for it to hunt. He hears Hunith in the kitchen, she’s humming to herself. It’s a beautiful sound. His muscles are tired and sore, he misses training, resolves to start again. Merlin’s fingers are warm around his own and his eyes are so blue, even in the dying candlelight.

“Yes.”

Merlin softens, squeezes his hands just the slightest bit before pulling away. “Good. Because we really only have so many trees, you know.”

Arthur lets out an amused breath, leaning back, trying hard not to smile, “You’re an idiot Merlin.”

Merlin’s lip flicks up, “So I’ve been told.”

When Arthur goes to sleep that night, he realizes with a start that he’s not drowning anymore. There’s no more dark water in his heart. Arthur glances at Merlin, sleeping a few feet away. I am more than kindling. More than grief. He holds those words against his chest like a mantra.  And when he sleeps, he doesn’t dream, and he’s so grateful he wakes up close to tears.

The next day, when Arthur presents the wood he’d since chopped up into reasonably sized pieces to Matilda, she tucks him into her like he weighs nothing, squeezing him until he can’t breathe. “This is absolutely kind, thank you boys, I really do appreciate it. I don’t suppose you wouldn’t mind helping me build it?”

Arthur has absolutely no idea how to go about building a pen fence. Neither does Merlin. But Amelia from three doors down does and she guides them through it. She brings her young son, Frederick, with her and he can’t be more than thirteen, still waifish and undefined. At first, he’s standoffish, sullen and withdrawn, but when Merlin praises him for a job well done helping Arthur hold the planks steady, he blushes, and Arthur feels a sudden fondness, sharp and surprising.

Frederick touches Arthur’s sword, turning shining eyes to him, “Can I hold it? Please, Arthur, pleaaaaase!”

Unsure of how to proceed, Arthur glances up to Amelia who simply shrugs, “Don’t poke an eye out Freddy.” She advises and he promises profusely that he would never ever.

Arthur draws out his sword carefully, setting it in Freddy’s open hands. “Be careful,” he warns, “it’s heavier than you think.”

Freddy slumps over when he carries the full weight, laughing from the absurdity of it. It takes him two hands to lift it waist high and he takes a few practice swings, almost tripping as his momentum takes him into a full spin.

Arthur can’t help it, a laugh bubbles out of him and the silly child beams. Freddy reminds him of all the little squires, bounding behind their knights, begging for just a chance to learn. Freddy is still just a boy, barely has the strength to hold a sword, let alone wield one, but there’s a grit in his eyes that Arthur likes, a certain shine that he knew he could have polished into a gem had they been home.

But they’re not. And Arthur will never be more than a wanderer and Freddy never more than a farmer’s son.

It takes them five days of straight working but when Arthur puts the last nail in and watches the pigs stroll into their enclosure, for the first time since he’s left Camelot, he feels useful.

The joy lasts only a moment before he feels a rising disgust. He was a prince. He had held true power, both to help and to harm, and here he was comparing that usefulness to building a fence? It isn’t comparable! It doesn’t even come close! He had thrown away everything and nothing he does now will ever amount to the successes he would have achieved had he been better at politics. Had he been less emotional and more stable.

Arthur’s mood sours even more when two more families ask for his help with mending their fences. When it becomes apparent that Arthur won’t answer, Merlin puts on a blinding grin, “Of course! We’ll come by tomorrow to start.” He tells the first, before grabbing Arthur’s elbow and dragging him away.

“Arthur.” He hisses, “What’s gotten into you?”

“Nothing.” He replies mulishly, shaking off his hand.

“It’s not nothing, so can we just skip the whole back and forth and have you tell me?”

Arthur whirls around, eyes blazing, “Why? So you can tell me that I’m arrogant and spoiled and that I should feel grateful despite it all?”

Merlin frowns, “I didn’t-”

“But you will! Because I am. Because I should be grateful and I am but every minute I’m here feels like I’m a failure. I should be signing trade treaties not chopping down trees.”

“Why are you a failure for helping people? Even if it’s not to the same scale?” Merlin asks quietly instead of yelling back like Arthur had so clearly been trying to goad him into doing.

Arthur’s jaw tightens, he’s so wound up he doesn’t know what to do with himself.

“Tell me Arthur!” Merlin’s closer now, eyes flaring. “What is the problem??”

“Because it’s not enough!” he yells finally, “It’s not enough.”

“Arthur”-

“Nothing I ever do for these people will make up for the fact that I’m supposed to have been the king that was going to save them when no one else would. I was the king they were waiting for and every stupid, tiny thing I do here is just a pathetic imitation that will always fall short.”

Merlin stares at him, shaking his head, speechless. “That’s just- that’s not-”

“It is.” Arthur answers, “I’ll never be able to make up for my existence now.”

Merlin makes a strangled noise in the back of his throat and suddenly, his arms are wrapped around Arthur’s neck, tugging him in closer, holding him tight. “Don’t say that to me.” Merlin demands roughly, “Don’t ever say that. You don’t have to make up for anything. We’re all just doing what we can and right now, this is what you can do. That’s more than what a lot of people can say.”

Arthur shakes his head.

“Then help more people.” Merlin’s voice picks up, his hold tightening, “We’ll help everyone we meet. There are some things only travelers can do that kings can’t. Problems that kings won’t ever know of or see. Things that only you can do.”

Something flickers in Arthur’s heart.

“There are things that only you can do Arthur. Prince or king or knight or not.”

Arthur lets himself be held. Slowly, he hugs Merlin back, burying his face in his neck. “There are things that only you can do too Merlin, like being so soppy.” He says, unable to bear the sincerity of it all.

Merlin laughs and Arthur can feel it float against him, relishing in the sound. He knows his thoughts are entirely stained black. Knows that he’s being short-sighted. But it’s so hard to undo all the webs of expectations that have kept him tangled and confused. There’s an enormous pressure that he thought should have disappeared now that he is without a crown but that has only transformed into a different shape, still just as heavy as before.

He thinks of Matilda’s joy when he showed her the finished product, how high his own heart had soared at the sight. It’s not enough. Just one person. But maybe if he keeps on going, if he pushes himself to the brink, if he just never stops, relentless, he can get somewhere close to almost enough.

He just wants to have a purpose once more.

Arthur’s hands have been calloused with a sword, but they harden in new places as he hammers in nail after nail into the posts that stick out their neighbours’ land. Week in and week out, he builds fences and then helps to repair homes and suddenly he’s developing skills he’s never thought about, thinks about the angles of support beams and how long it will take clay to set.

Arthur just wants to help people. It’s all he’s ever wanted to do. What’s harder is trying to accept that power wasn’t the way, it was just the tool.

“You seem like you’re in a better mood.” Merlin comments when they’re all eating dinner at the end of another very long day.

“You’ll laugh at me.” Arthur replies sullenly and Merlin kicks him under the table.

“Will not.”

Arthur looks stubbornly away. Hunith hides a smile behind her hand, “Come on darling, we promise not to laugh. I’ll give you Merlin’s portion of the shortbread if he does.”

“Mum!”

Excited at the possibility of having anything of Merlin’s at his expense, Arthur answers, “I didn’t know I could be useful if I wasn’t a prince.” He shrugs, looking down at his food and missing the sorrowful look mother and son shared. “It’s a good feeling is all, to know that I can still help.”

“Of course you can Arthur.” Hunith says gently, “Kings with more power than you have helped their people less. You have a good heart and a never ending current of determination. That is what makes you better than all of them.”

Arthur blinks, emotional and trying desperately not to be. Perhaps sensing it, Merlin grins, kicking Arthur again, but more delicately this time, “Fancy going for a ride tomorrow morning? Might be good for the horses to stretch their legs a little.”

Arthur brightens, “It’s rare Merlin, but occasionally, you really are hit with brilliance.”

Merlin fake preens, “It’s one of my many talents, si-” he breaks off, biting his lip.

He does this sometimes and then looks at Arthur like he’s afraid to incur his wrath. But what’s Arthur supposed to say? That sometimes he barks an order before cutting himself off? That there are times when he looks for Merlin to do something for him before remembering he has to do it himself? Of course he does, old habits die hard.

“You don’t have to look like that Merlin.”

Merlin mumbles something unintelligible and Arthur sighs, “If you keep looking so pathetic, I’ll start to feel bad for making fun of you.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Wouldn’t that be a pity.”

“It would actually, thank you for caring.”

Merlin kicks him once more and so Arthur kicks him right back and that’s that.

A part of Arthur knew that their peace in Ealdor couldn’t last forever. Good things never do. It takes three months for word to spread about the banished prince. Enough time for it to have reached Cenred’s ears that the little princeling was hiding out in his territory, right under his nose.

Arthur wakes up to the screaming. Years of training and instinct has him lurching awake, grabbing first Merlin and then his sword. He runs to Hunith’s side of the house, checks that she’s alright. “Stay here.” He instructs her, turning back to make sure Merlin is following.

He runs out the door, sees a stream of black and brown horses rushing through the village, knocking over barrels and cutting down clothing lines. They trample over the vegetable patch he knows Oliver has spent days curating. They break apart the little clubhouse Freddy and his friends have made in the square, they destroy everything they can get their hands on and Arthur’s filled with that familiar Pendragon rage.

He whips his sword out in an arc, slashing at the stirrup of one of the horses going by, its rider falling out of his saddle and rolling across the dirt. Arthur spins as his companion tries to hit him with a mace, ducking the bow. Arthur slides his sword against the ball, looping around the chain and tugging hard. The handle slips out of the man’s grasp and the mace falls right into Arthur’s hand. In three blows, he’s disarmed the rider and stabbed his blade right through his chest. He counts four more men and twirls his blade in his hand.

They should’ve sent twenty.

“Merlin!” he yells, “Get everyone away!”

The four riders turn their horses around and Arthur lifts up his sword, leaning back in his stance. There is no fear in his eyes. His breaths are steady. He was never a better warrior than when he had something to protect. And for this village? For its people who sheltered him and taught him and welcomed him when he was flush with shame? Arthur would not stop until every single one of them was dead.

Arthur ducks beneath a blow when he hears a charging war cry. Eyes widening in horror, he watches Freddy swinging a metal bar, it collides into one of the men’s chests but the blow is too weak and the man simply scowls, gripping the bar and tugging it out of his hands. 

“Freddy!” Arthur yells, sprinting as fast as he can.

The man is mid-swing at Freddy’s little head but Arthur shoves him out of the way just in time, feeling the cold iron slam into his back. He howls, gritting his teeth to keep the pain at bay and twisting around to slash a slit in the man’s stomach. Blood gushes into the ground and Arthur wastes no time hauling Freddy up, “Get out of here now!” he orders but Freddy’s eyes fill with tears.

“I wanted to help you!”

“You can’t help if you’re dead, now go! I can’t let something happen to you Freddy, go!” 

Two more leap off their horses and charge at him. The clang of swords ricochets in Arthur’s ears and he stumbles to regain balance. He can’t waste a single second but he spares just one to see Freddy dart away and the breath fills his lungs once more. He dodges and he swings but he’s surrounded and it might be too late when a blade pierces through the stomach of one of Cenred’s men and he tumbles to the ground gasping. Behind him, Merlin pulls out the bloody sword.

“You really thought I was going to leave you alone?”

Arthur laughs, high and relieved, “Excellent timing Merlin, for once.”

They go back to back, Arthur draws as much strength as he can from Merlin’s warmth. He flies forward, locking swords with one raider before ducking the blow of another. He jumps in close, elbows the first in the neck and while he heaves, sticks his blade right where his armor interlocks, piercing his liver. To the second, a single stab in the heart.

Merlin takes the third, parrying the blows as best he can before Arthur pulls his sword out and stabs him from behind. The last of Cenred’s men falls and the two stand there, bloody and dirty and sweaty as the villagers come out of their homes, fear in their eyes.

“They were asking for you.” One woman says, holding her son close to her legs.

Arthur feels his heart sink. “I’m sorry.” He whispers, hanging his head, “I never meant for this-”

“It’s not your fault!” Merlin says fiercely, “If it wasn’t for you-”

“If it wasn’t for me, they never would have come.” Arthur turns to the villagers, bows his head, “Thank you for your kindness up to now. I won’t ever forget it.”

“Arthur.” Merlin opens his mouth to say more, but one look from Arthur and he is silenced.

Hunith runs out the door when she sees them, hugging Merlin and then Arthur, “I’m so glad you’re alright! Are you injured?”

Merlin shakes his head, “No, we’re fine mum, we’re fine but…”

Hunith’s lip trembles, “But what?”

“Cenred knows about me.” Arthur responds, taking no pleasure at the sadness that falls across her face. “He sent those men to come for me, probably for information. I have to leave, to make sure he doesn’t come here ever again.”

Hunith grits her jaw, eyes bright and fierce, “We’ll stay and fight. Just like last time. There’s no reason for you two to leave.”

Arthur shakes his head, adoring and gentle, “I can’t take that risk. I could never accept if something happened to you or Ealdor because I was too selfish to leave when I should have.”

Hunith entreats her son, “Merlin, say something.”

“I’m sorry mum.” He replies, throat burning, “He’s right. If Cenred sent his true power, there’d be nothing any of us could do.”

She hangs her head before taking in a breath, wiping at her eyes. “It’s been…you don’t know how much these weeks have meant to me.”

“And to us.” Arthur’s throat is dry. He tries to swallow, but the lump only gets tighter.  

“Let’s go find you some bags and let me pack you some food, there’s no good hunting grounds for miles.”

Arthur lingers outside, glancing at Merlin who stops for him. “Is there still nothing for us to speak about?”

Merlin lets out a little breath, smiling up at him, “Look who’s finally catching on.”

“Once again, I have no idea where to go.”

“Once again,” Merlin replies, “I have an idea.”

They pack up their things in silence, Hunith placing bits of food into jars and bags. When they’re done, the sun is halfway to setting and Arthur nods at them both, “I’ll give you both some time to say goodbye.”

He goes and gets the horses and lingers there, wanting to give them as much time as he can. Hunith and Merlin come to join him eventually and before Merlin gets atop his horse, Hunith grabs him in for one last hug, “Be careful my darling boy, I love you always.”

“I love you too mum, be well. I’ll write as soon as I can.”

Merlin’s smile is tender as he pulls away and when Hunith turns to look at him, Arthur finds that he desperately doesn’t want to leave. He takes her hands, squeezing them and hoping that in his eyes, she sees how grateful he truly is, how much he appreciates everything she has done. “Thank you Hunith, for being you. For making this easier. For being so kind, despite everything.”

She wraps her arms around him, holding him tight. “Be safe Arthur. One day, you will achieve a great destiny and I’m proud of the man I got to watch you become.”

Arthur’s chest tightens. He hugs her tight.

“You may not feel like you have a place to return to, but no matter where you are, know that you can always come back here. That to us,” Hunith says, eyes shining, “though we know you’ll one day be King of Camelot, you will always be Arthur of Ealdor.”

If Arthur’s eyes sting when he pulls away, no one says anything of it. Merlin and Arthur wave goodbye before turning their horses around and galloping away though every bit of them wants to turn back. Arthur feels like he’s leaving a part of himself behind, like he didn’t say thank you enough, to the village that helped soothe his heart and mend the gaping wounds inside him. He found acceptance in Ealdor. Rediscovered his purpose. They tempered his raging heart, a burnt down forest with a thousand new sprouts.

He won’t ever forget that. And one day…one day, if it ever comes, he will pay them back a hundred-fold, the kindnesses that they had shown to him when they had no obligation to give him any.

“Are you alright?” he asks Merlin, when night had fallen and they’ve set up camp, sitting around the fire.

Merlin shrugs, but he won’t look Arthur in the eye. “It’s not the first time that I’ve left.”

“That’s not really an answer.”

Merlin’s quiet a moment, “It felt…it was different this time.” He admits after a while, “I felt like we…it felt like leaving Camelot.”

“It felt like home.” Arthur finishes, voice low.

“Yeah. It did. And I never thought I’d feel that way about Ealdor again.”

The fire shoots out a slew of sparks.

“I’m sorry.”

Merlin shakes his head. “It’s not your fault.”

It is though. And it also isn’t. How both things can be true hurts Arthur’s head.

“You said you had an idea, of where you wanted to go.” Arthur pivots, trying to change the mood.

Merlin hesitates, “Can we talk about it in the morning?”

And it’s so unlike him, to sound so reticent, so meek. Merlin threw his opinion around like it meant something and never shied from telling Arthur exactly what he wanted him to say or do. To be honest, he’s not quite sure how to react to it, so Arthur simply nods.

“We’re in no rush. We quite literally have all the time in the world.” Arthur lets out a little laugh, “It’s…it’s a little liberating, isn’t it?”

“We never did have time.” Merlin agrees. “There was always such a fuss.”

“So many guests.” Arthur complains, “And parties and feasts and dignitaries and then on top of it all, always a crisis or a beast or some crazy enchantment. I’m exhausted just remembering it all.”

“We really did fight a lot of beasts.” Merlin muses. “Remember the one that looked like a giant spider?”

Arthur shivers, “I never want to think of that again.”

“Camelot’s greatest warrior, scared of a little bug?” Merlin teases.

“It almost ate you.” Arthur reminds him scathingly.

“And you laughed.”

Arthur has the decency to look mildly guilty, “Well, you did make the most inhuman noise.”

“Because it was trying to devour me.”

“I wasn’t really going to let you get eaten! When have I ever let serious harm befall you?”

“That’s not really the point!” Merlin argues and Arthur shoves him with his shoulder.

“It is one hundred percent the point. I’ve always protected you and I always will.”

Merlin falls quiet, his expression turning graver by the second. “What would you say if I told you I’ve protected you just as fiercely? That for every time you threw me behind you in a fight, I stopped an arrow from hitting you in the back?”

Arthur looks at him, brows furrowed. “I feel like you’re trying to say something without saying it.”

“I want to take us to the Druids.” Merlin blurts out and then looks immediately regretful that he did.

Arthur’s nose scrunches with his brows, “The Druids? What on earth for?”

“For magic. To teach you I mean. About magic.” Merlin says in a clumsy rush, “You know that magic isn’t evil now but what else do you really know about it? About all its potential, the- the good it can be used for.”

“What do you know about the good it can be used for.” Arthur retorts and Merlin winces.

“Arthur…I know we never say it, but at this point, you must know how much I…I’m not here as your servant. You know that.”

Arthur stiffens, unsure of where the conversation was going and certain something about it was going to hurt him deeply the way only love could.

“I would travel to the ends of the earth for you and I would never, ever betray you but I…I’ve lied to you. And I’m so sorry about it. Truly I am. From the moment we became friends, I’ve wanted to tell you, but I couldn’t. I just couldn’t.”

“And I wanted to tell you as soon as we left Camelot but there was just never a right time and you were already going through too much for me to burden you with this to and-”

Merlin’s voice disappears. It feels like there’s a puzzle in Arthur’s mind that he didn’t know he was making, the pieces dislodging themselves from corners and assembling right before his very eyes.

“You were the sorcerer in Ealdor. Not Will.” He breathes, facing Merlin head on.

Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and then nods, both of his hands grasping onto Arthur’s knee. It’s all Arthur can think about. It grounds him to a moment he’d rather fly far away from. “Let me tell you a story.” Merlin starts, “A story about a boy who was born with magic, who could make things float in the air with just his thoughts when he was only a baby. The story of a boy who grew up alone and without understanding of his power in a little village far away until one day his mother sent him off to a castle to live with an old friend who could teach the boy and help him use his power for good.”

“When the boy came to Camelot, he found the old friend but he also found a dragon, deep under the castle.”

“Are you telling me there’s a bloody dragon living under the castle??”

“He’s the last of his kind.” Merlin’s voice dips in sadness and Arthur’s eyes widen, “He told me there was a prophecy, it spoke of two people, bound by fate.” He points to Arthur, “The greatest king the world will ever know, who would unite all of Albion and bring magic back to the land, and the greatest sorcerer to ever live,” slowly, Merlin points to himself, “the son of the sky and the sea, the one the Druids call Emrys.”

Arthur’s too stunned for words. He doesn’t dare speak.

“So imagine my surprise, when the complete and utter prat who fought with me in the streets turned out to be my destiny. That the same prat was the reason for my magic, the purpose that I was born for. And then I actually got to know you and it all just made sense because I realized it didn’t matter about destiny or fate or any kind of dragon at all, I would’ve met you and befriended you and dedicated all of my magic and all that I am to you anyway, just because of who you are and what you mean to me.”

Merlin’s fingers curl around the fabric of Arthur’s clothes. “I know that I’ve lied but please don’t- don’t turn me away.” There is true fear in Merlin’s eyes, they’re ashine and pleading and so open Arthur wants to dive right into them.

Arthur thinks about the version of himself he was months ago, about what he would have said or done had Merlin been as brave then as he is now. Would he have screamed at him? Would he have raged and felt betrayed and yelled horrible things he could never take back?

“All those coincidences, those lucky breaks, they were just you all along?” he asks, hardly trusting his voice not to break.

“I brought the snakes out of Valiant’s shield, I created the wind that helped you kill the Afanc. I killed the Sidhe that had enchanted you to fall in love with Sofia and tried to drown you in the lake.” Merlin looks at him, shy and then decisive, his hand closing into a fist before opening it up to reveal a ball of light, “Even unconscious, my magic reached out to save you because that’s what it was born to do.”

Arthur gapes at the light, reaching out to touch it, enamoured by its gentle warmth, “This was you?” he breathes.

Merlin’s whole face softens with its honesty, “It’s always been me, Arthur.”

And before he knows what he’s doing, Arthur reaches for him and Merlin flinches before realizing he is being embraced, Arthur holding him right against his chest. He’s never been good with words, but maybe Merlin will hear what he’s trying to say anyway.

Merlin’s hands grasp at Arthur’s shirt, drawing tighter against him, “I thought you’d be furious.”

“Would you believe me if I said I was relieved?” Arthur sounds crazy saying it, he feels crazy.

Appropriately, Merlin sputters.

“Relieved??”

“I’ve been thinking, all this time, that I’ll never be able to do for you what you did for me. And I know this isn’t remotely the same but…I’ll match your nonsensical loyalty by telling you I accept you as you are and that I’ll fight for you. So you’ll never have to be afraid again.”  

Merlin buries his face in Arthur’s neck. “When did you get so eloquent?”

“Somewhere between building fence number four and five.” He jokes and Merlin’s grin brushes against Arthur’s skin.

“You’re really not mad?” Merlin asks again, pulling away and swiping at his cheeks.

“I feel more like an idiot. I don’t know how I didn’t see it. There were always one too many flying branches for it to be always the wind.” Arthur muses and Merlin’s laugh is choked and crazed.

“You’re all that I have in the world Merlin,” Arthur confesses, “what would I not forgive you of?” he looks away into the trees like he can find the words to describe this feeling he doesn’t understand, “There’s so much I don’t know.” He whispers.

The words pain him. Sometimes, he feels like there are barbs on the walls of his heart. That if his emotions get too big, too complex, they’ll be pierced clean through and so he tries to repress it all, to feel nothing but what he’s supposed to, but everything is all a mess and there are no safe feelings anymore, no routines or masks.

“Magic gave me life while ruining every moment of it. Magic has hurt me and its healed me. It wove itself with fate to create a destiny that led me to you.”

“It’s just one other force of the world Arthur.” Merlin answers gently, “Just as the rains can either birth the crops or drown them, magic can do the same.”

“But one relies on the whims of nature and the other, the fragility of the human heart.”

“True.” Merlin concedes, “But it’s you who believes in people’s inherent goodness.”

Arthur doesn’t say anything, the dying flames dance in his eyes. “I acted rashly, back in Camelot. I did no good to anyone.”

Merlin sighs. His hand comes up into Arthur’s hair, his fingers carving through from the front and falling onto the nape of his neck, squeezing it. “Will you ever stop striving for an unreachable perfection? It’s easy with months of hindsight to look at an emotional situation rationally.” His eyes flick upwards, “Gods know I’ve thought the same.”

Arthur’s gaze rises to his, “What do you regret Merlin?”

“Sometimes I regret stopping you.” He says honestly, pulling his hand back when Arthur’s eyes widen, “But then I think about you as a person and not as a king and stop. Camelot would be better off with you at the helm, but what is a kingdom worth if you destroy yourself?”

“You could have seen magic back in Camelot.” Arthur says quietly.

“And see you fade away alongside it. What good would that serve?” Merlin looks at him fiercely and Arthur’s whole entire chest aches.

His feelings bleed against the thorns in his heart but he embraces the pain, hopes if he bears through it enough, he can burst free and feel things like normal people do. Maybe he’d let more people in. Maybe he could make more than just one single friend. Maybe he could find it in his heart to forgive, to find mercy within his maelstrom of hurt and resentment.

“Let’s go to sleep.” He says after a long stretch of silence. “It’ll be a long ride to the Druids.”

Merlin perks up, looking at him with thinly veiled excitement, “We’re going then?”

Arthur smiles at him. I’ll go wherever you want. I’ll go where you go. I think all I really want is to be at your side. Instead, he says, “Occasionally you make a good point Merlin. Plus, I’m sure you could learn a spell or two. Those snakes took ages to come out of the shield.”

Merlin’s jaw drops, “Are you serious? I saved your ungrateful ass and this is the thanks I get?”

Arthur shrugs, “Feel free to live up to the title of ‘greatest sorcerer to ever live’ at any time Merlin. I give you my blessing.”

“Oh, I’ll show you greatest-”

Arthur fake yawns before bursting into laughter as Merlin chucks a stick at his direction. “You couldn’t even levitate it?” he teases and Merlin’s ears redden.

“Shut up. I’ve spent years not using magic in front of you. Old habits die hard.”

Arthur sobers instantly, brows settling in a line, “You don’t need to hide from me, Merlin. Ever. About anything. Do you hear me?”

Merlin’s scared, Arthur can see the traces of it in his face though he’s tried to hide it. But Arthur knows him, he knows the shape of his eyes, the iterations of his smiles, the exact point of reflection of the sunlight on his cheeks. This is new for both of them, this is a world without rules to fall back on, to use as excuses when their relationship frightened them in its intensity.

They might be poor and eternally hungry and always on the alert in this vast wood with no allies, but they were free to be only who they wanted to. And what a gift that is, for the boys with the weight of a kingdom on their shoulders.

“We’re just two travelers wandering through the forest, we don’t need to pretend anymore.” Arthur looks up at the stars, counts all the wishes he’s made and never gotten, “Aren’t you tired?”

“Are you?”

Arthur looks at him, “Yes.”

Merlin smiles at him, small and helpless, “Me too.” And then his eyes flash gold and the embers burst to life once more and both bedrolls unfurl, ready to be slept in.

Arthur blinks, “Now that’s more like it.”

He whistles. Merlin laughs. When they settle under the blankets, Arthur finds himself turning to his right and watching the fluttering of Merlin’s lashes as he sleeps. He’s drawn to the rise and fall of his chest, the certainty of it. Arthur’s had many things in his life; riches, nursemaids, knights, glory, and fame. Not one of them have lasted, not one of them has stayed.

Did the universe know his mother’s death would leave a scar he would never stop picking? Did it know he would grow up achingly lonely, tearing away at the skin because the wound was proof he deserved it? Did it weep for him? Did it wish to comfort him so much it put a piece of itself into Merlin, creating a tapestry of destiny just to tie together both of their strings? 

Without thinking, Arthur’s hand reaches out, the back of his fingers brushing Merlin’s cheek. Merlin mumbles his name, burrowing closer and Arthur feels his heart pulse. He draws his hand back quickly, before Merlin has the chance to wake and turns to the other side, drawing his hand against his mouth and holding it there, trying to calm his breathing.

He wonders if anyone else has ever touched Merlin like that. He doesn’t understand what it means when he wants to heave at the very thought. 

Chapter Text

When they wake up, it’s to a gentler version of themselves. There’s some dewy quality in the air, something peaceful and lethargic.

It’s time, Arthur realizes.

He’s never had enough of it and now he feels it in the warmth of the sun and the breeze on his cheek and in the slow trot of his horse, enjoying the change of pace if her happy whinnying was any account.

“What do you think they’ll teach you?” Arthur asks and smiles when Merlin purses his lip, thinking about it.

“It would be useful to learn how to scry.” He ventures, “Or honestly, some defensive enchantments would be nice. Imagine having unpierceable armour.”

“Yes well, I don’t really have any of that, so not much of a point is there?” Arthur replies drily.

“I’m obviously going to get you some.” Merlin retorts in that familiar tone where he thinks Arthur’s being dense on purpose.

“From where?”

“Well.” Merlin stumbles over his words and Arthur stifles a laugh. “Well!” Merlin repeats, “All I really need is some spare metal. I think I can, you know.” He mimes doing magic with his hands and Arthur’s laugh tumbles free.

Merlin makes a face. “You’ll see.”

“Oh, I look forward to it oh mighty Emrys.”

Merlin’s ears burn, “Arthur I swear to god.”

“What? I’m just referring to you by your title. I’m seeing how the other half lives.”

“The other half don’t call people titles when they don’t want them.” Merlin retorts.

Arthur raises a brow, “No, they just deliver them in tones implying only the most extreme disrespect.”

Merlin looks pointedly away, lips flicking upward, “I have no idea what you mean, my lord.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, “There are no lords here. Just a man who’s this close to knocking you off your horse.”

Merlin clicks his tongue, shaking his head, “One day you will learn to have an even temper.”

“Oh please, because you’re so mellow.”

“I’m just a cloud, happily floating through the sky.”

Arthur snorts, “Storm cloud more like it.”

They grin at one another, chattering about nothing and everything and Arthur’s heart simply feels at ease. He likes having a direction, likes having a purpose, likes being happy. How could he never know he was capable of calm like this?

Of course, nothing good ever lasts. Arthur should have known that by now. But for now, ignorance is bliss.

Like they knew they would arrive, Iseldir meets them at the edge of the camp, bordered by men and women Arthur has never met. He doesn’t look at Merlin, only dismounts and bows his head low, “I know you have reason to mistrust us, but we have come only to learn and to reconcile with you.” Making sure they can see the sincerity in his eyes, Arthur rises, “I apologize for how my father and I have treated you in the past and though you have no reason to, I hope one day to earn your forgiveness.”

He feels rather than sees Merlin come down to stand beside him, wonders if his hackles are raised or if he too, feels the sobriety of the moment. When he finishes, Arthur finds Iseldir staring straight at him, a look of contemplation on his face.

“I judge your sincerity to be true Arthur Pendragon. You have much to do to right the wrongs of the past. You are destined for great things and we would be honoured to help you along that journey. But first,” he says, “let me ask you a question, do you know with whom you are traveling with?” Iseldir asks.

“I do. The one you call Emrys.” Arthur smiles before giving a small shrug, “To me though, he’s just Merlin.”

“He is not ‘just’ anything.” Iseldir disagrees, “Like how you are not just a traveler.”

Iseldir spreads his arms, “The Druids will always welcome the Once and Future King and Emrys of prophecy. You may stay with us as long as you wish.”

Merlin and Arthur bow their heads once more, “Thank you.” Merlin says, voice low with gratitude, “If it’s possible, I’d love to learn more about magic from you.”

“Of course. And you Arthur?”

Arthur starts, mouth opening before closing. He hadn’t really thought about what he would do here beyond watch Merlin continue to develop his powers. “I thought I could learn about magic too.” He replies lamely.

Iseldir’s lip floats up in a good-natured ribbing. “Yes, but what will you do?”

“I can…I can train your men how to fight.” Arthur looks uncertain, staring at him with wavering eyes.

“The Druids are a peaceful people, as I know you know.”

Arthur looks away.

“Are you not tired of fighting Arthur? Were your hands only made to wage war?”

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“You know much of what it takes to poison the earth with blood. But what do you know about how to keep the land alive? The joy in your heart when the first seed sprouts. The achievement when the last nail in your home has been hit. You’ve mastered death Arthur Pendragon; would you like to learn about life?”

Arthur’s eyes widen, his heart opening, opening. “I would.” He whispers.

Iseldir smiles. “Very well. Come, let us show you where you will be staying.”

Merlin’s fingers brush over Arthur’s hand as he steps past him to follow the Druids and Arthur glances up at his encouraging smile and feels his own spread, weak, but there. The two of them are led to a small tent, filled with blankets and pillows and a small table. Almost as if they knew Arthur and Merlin were coming.

All things considered, they probably did. Maybe it had been foretold, as so much else of their life had been.

“Thank you.” Arthur says sincerely, “Your generosity will not be forgotten.”

“All we ask is that you don’t forget us when you are on the throne once more.”

Arthur nods, feels another bead slide on the necklace of duty that used to feel like a noose. It feels like a promise now, like a vow. With every person he meets, with every small bit of kindness he receives, he takes the wishes and hopes of the people with him. He can feel them stacking themselves up within him. Maybe if he gathers enough of them, he can build a tower high enough to reach heaven.

For the first time in his life, he feels connected to the people in a way he never has before. He’s always loved Camelot and its citizens, but has he known them? Has he broken bread at their tables and heard their tears and their uproarious laughter and be held by his face as he’s promised he will always have somewhere to return to, no matter how far he goes?

That night, Merlin and Arthur head back to their tent, lying down on their bedrolls and facing each other in the dark.

“Iseldir told me he’d begin teaching me tomorrow.” Merlin whispers, the excitement obvious in the trill of his voice.

“You should ask him about healing magic.” Arthur says absently, feeling a somewhat removed sense of disbelief that this is a normal conversation between him and his best friend.

How quick a life can change.

“I am pretty shite at that.” Merlin admits and Arthur laughs.

“Well not all of us can be good at everything.”

“Was it hard?” Merlin quips, “Stuffing down your natural arrogance all morning?”

Merlin yelps as Arthur kicks at him from beneath the blankets and huffs in satisfaction. “What are you doing tomorrow?” Merlin asks once he’s safely rolled out of kicking range.

“They said I could pick whatever I want.”

“Any ideas?” It’s obvious Merlin’s trying extraordinarily hard not to be pushy and assert what Arthur is sure are his many, many, opinions.

“This is going to sound crazy,” Arthur starts, turning on his side so Merlin can only see his back, “but sometimes, when I was still a prince, I dreamed about running away and becoming a farmer.”

Arthur’s gaze drifts off, focusing on the fading firelight filtering through the tent curtains. “I would get a piece of fertile land, somewhere near the water so I could watch the sunsets once the day is done. I’d build a cottage with big windows and a giant bed and then spend the day working in the field and haggling with old ladies in the market because I refuse to sell my barley for a single coin less than they’re worth.”

Merlin stifles a laugh and Arthur grins.

“Sounds like a lot of work for just a few coins.”

“Obviously I’d take you with me. That was always the plan.” It comes out so quickly Arthur doesn’t even realize what he’s said until it’s out between them.

It truly isn’t fair that he was blessed with zero magical talent at all. He could do with a quick earthquake right about now.

“I am better at talking to older women than you are.” Merlin agrees, “You wouldn’t be able to sell a damn thing without me.” 

Arthur turns over, his eyes sparkling. “I am absolutely more charming than you are Merlin.”

“Maybe, but you’re a prat. So it sort of all balances out doesn’t it?” Merlin teases and Arthur feels that familiar feeling in his chest, where it’s warm and tight and suffocating all at once.

“You never said you felt that way…before.” Merlin says, broaching and cautious.

Arthur doesn’t say anything for a moment, “There was nothing in the world I loved more than Camelot.”

“You love too deeply.” Merlin says quietly, “To put it all above yourself.”

“I don’t think you’re any different Merlin.” Arthur replies and Merlin quiets.

They go to sleep not long after that.

The next few days pass by all the same, but instead of the monotony being tedious, it’s exactly what they need. Arthur spends his time with Alana, a woman of about thirty or so, with dark hair she keeps in a bunned braid and a no-nonsense attitude that makes him strangely nostalgic.

“Planting a crop is no laughing matter, it requires an immense amount of labour and attention. You need a connection to the earth, to the weather, the plants.”

Arthur didn’t really understand what she meant until his hands were in the earth and he could feel it, feel how his efforts led to little miracles. It takes him longer than he cares to admit to properly plough the plot he’d been given. Each time he drags the plough through the dirt, his muscles scream in protest, but he pushes on, dragging it down every inch of the land. Over and over, until the soil was properly tilled and Alana gives him a single approving nod.

The sense of satisfaction he feels from that little bit of praise is almost embarrassing.

At night, he would reunite with Merlin, who would grab him by the hands and launch into an exciting tale of all that he had learned that day. He would conjure butterflies from thin air, tell him about healing spells to cure the sick and the dying, would transform Arthur’s shirt into different colours just to see the look of wonder in his eyes. They stay up talking for what seems like the whole night, falling asleep just inches apart, Merlin mid-story.

Their days are tiring and laborious, both for their minds and their bodies. Every day there’s something new to discover and ingrain into their worldviews and behaviors and yet all the work does is soften out their edges, smooth them into shiny stones. There’s a peace in ending each day sweating only to bathe in a crisp river and return home to someone you cherished. There’s an ease, a routine way of life that allows for other things to surface, hidden facets of their relationship that now has the breathing room to exist freely and without reproach.

It's terrifying. It’s exhilarating. It’s…peaceful. A soft inevitability, like the unfurling of a poppy in a meadow green.  

After a particularly grueling day, Arthur collapses onto his pile of blankets, groaning as his body sinks within them. He hears Merlin come in by the amused puff of his breath. “Tired already?” he teases, falling beside him.

Arthur merely grunts in reply, burrowing deeper into the blankets as he rolls onto his stomach.

“It’s okay, I think I have something that’ll help.” Merlin’s voice is low. It does things to Arthur he doesn’t want to admit.

He likes when Merlin gets like this, authoritative and decisive. It doesn’t happen often, at least not in his presence, but it’s a nice change of pace and Arthur’s so tired, he’s more than happy to have someone else take the lead.

“I’ll need you to take off your shirt though.”

Arthur groans at the thought of moving and Merlin lets out an amused breath, tapping him between the shoulder blades, “I know, I know, but trust me, you’ll feel better.”

Feeling like it’s taking him the equivalent energy of a thousand burning suns, Arthur shrugs off his shirt and falls back down, biting back a sigh when Merlin pours out a few drops of lavender scented oil and begins kneading his shoulders and neck.

Arthur feels like he’s sinking. Right down to the bottom of the earth.

Merlin’s hands run up and down his back, always putting the exact right amount of pressure to ease the knots beneath his skin. The smell of the oil permeates their tent, it makes the air heavy with its musky sweetness. He feels almost like he’s dreaming. He never wants it to end.

“Merlin,” he moans, “don’t stop.”

Merlin licks his lips before pursing them tightly, his hands digging into him with an intensifying pressure. “So bossy.” He murmurs.

“I’m the bloody pr- ” It’s on the tip of his tongue, I’m the prince of Camelot, I can be as bossy as I want.

Merlin’s hands freeze on his shoulders and Arthur wants to curse himself.

“I didn’t-”

He feels lips press at the top of spine, right beneath his neck. They feel like an oath. “You will always be the prince of Camelot. And one day, I will make you king.”

Merlin’s promise strikes through Arthur’s skin right to the bone. It washes over him like a shield, enveloping him in its certainty. Arthur turns on his back, hand reaching for Merlin’s own, “Merlin I-”

He’s interrupted by a swarm of giggling children bursting through their tent, “Arthur! Arthur!” they cry, “Will you come play with us again!”

The expression on Arthur’s face is enough to make Merlin burst out laughing, despite how violently their moment had shattered. “Do you want him to come after you blindfolded again?” he asks and the little troublemakers cheer.

Arthur looks at his friend, almost helplessly, and Merlin shrugs, “Well go on then, you don’t want to keep them waiting.”

There’s something unresolved in Arthur’s eyes, he balances from one foot to the other. “Go on Arthur,” Merlin softens, “we have all the time in the world.”

At this, Arthur finally smiles. As he walks past him, he brushes his thumb over Merlin’s cheek, “Will you sabotage me once more?”

Merlin grins, leaning into his touch, “It’s good to let the kids win sometimes, keeps up their morale.”

Arthur snorts, throwing open the tent to the children’s screams and tying a bright blue cloth around his eyes. One of them counts to twenty before a gaggle of kids swarm him, shrieking in laughter as he ducks and grabs them, letting himself be hit every once and a while, just for fun.

Merlin watches him from their tent, his heart in his eyes, endearment in his smile.

“He’s changed.” Alana says, coming up beside him.

Merlin shakes his head, watching as Arthur pretends to succumb to the horde, crying out in fake agony as they pile atop of him. “That’s the real Arthur. He’s just undone all the change his father wrought upon him.”

It takes him a while, but when Arthur remembers he suddenly feels like a fool, lurching up from his bedroll. Caught in his own panic, Merlin jumps up as well, looking left and right, searching for the threat.

“What is it!” Merlin demands and almost falls right to the floor when Arthur answers with a simple, “Where’s Mordred?”

Merlin gapes at him.

“What?”

“Mordred.” Arthur repeats, like he’s an idiot, “The Druid boy we rescued ages ago?”

“I know who you meant!” Merlin snaps, his voice betraying his rising frenzy, “I just meant, why?”

“What do you mean why?” Arthur’s expression twists with an impatient confusion, “We risked life and limb to get him out and I want to know that he’s alright. I thought he’d be here.”

Something in Merlin seems to disintegrate, like the foundations upon which he was built had collapsed. He sways in his spot before falling atop the bedroll once more. “I’m sure he’s well.” he says at last, “You know there are many different camps, he must be with another one.”

Arthur scrutinizes him, eyes sharp. Now that he knows that Merlin used to lie all the time and what he used to lie about, it’s gotten easier for him to notice. To see beneath the facades.

“What are you not telling me?”

“Nothing.” Merlin insists but he won’t look him in the eye.

I wonder, Arthur thinks, is it impossible for you to lie now? Have I become too dear?

“It’s not nothing.” Arthur frowns, crawling forward so he’s directly in front of him, unrelenting in his gaze. “Tell me.”

“Do you always have to be this pushy.” Merlin pulls his arms in closer, like shielding his chest. “I said it’s nothing, so just believe me!”

“I would believe you,” Arthur replies slowly, “if you were telling the truth. But you’re not. And I don’t understand why because what is there to lie about anymore? You can’t get in trouble for breaking the law in a Druid camp.” Arthur says it in a fit of exasperation, but his eyes widen when he sees how Merlin recedes, hunching in further.

“Merlin,” he repeats, in a quieter voice this time, reaching out a hand.

He thinks at first, with how fast Merlin moves that he will toss it aside but he surprises Arthur instead, grabbing his hand and pulling it against his heart, just holding it there. “You’ll hate me.” Merlin’s voice breaks and Arthur almost laughs from the absurdity.

“Hate you? I’d never hate you.”

But this only breaks Merlin’s heart more.

“Because I did something you’d find unnoble but you have to know that I-”

And Arthur sees it now. Everything falls into place. He sighs, letting Merlin keep a hold of his hand as he uses the other to draw him by the neck, cupping him against his collarbone. “I know,” he says, “you did it all for me. You always do.”

Their clutched hands are at Merlin’s lips and Arthur can feel how they tremble.

“Of course it was. It’s always for you. All of it.” Merlin stops, voice barely above a whisper, “Even when I knew you wouldn’t do the same.”

Arthur strokes his hair, trying to calm him without words.

“There’s more to the prophecies about us than simply being great kings and sorcerers.” Merlin confesses, voice low, “They speak also of your doom. Of your death by Mordred’s hand.”

Arthur can tell how every word forced out sharpened themselves on the lining of Merlin’s throat. How painful every syllable was to curl his tongue around. How shameful it is to even utter them.

Arthur stops his ministrations and Merlin swallows back a cry.

“You were going to let us get caught.” Arthur breathes and feels Merlin go stock still against him. “Merlin you-”

“Don’t say it.” Merlin begs, “I didn’t though. I thought about what was right, what you would do. What I wanted to do if I wasn’t cursed with knowledge but I think to myself all the time, all the time,” Merlin pulls away, terrible tears icing over his eyes, “what do I care about being good if it means I lose you?”

There are tears spilling down Merlin’s cheeks, Arthur’s hand is numb from how tightly Merlin is clutching it, and still, all Arthur can feel is awe that there is a single person in this world who loves him as much as he knows Merlin does him. It’s the last thing he should be thinking. It’s not the right moment at all. But this is the first and only time Arthur has ever felt like he is loved without condition, to the point of utter madness, and he pulls out of Merlin’s grip just so he can grab him by the shoulders and make him look.

“I’ve hurt the Druids far worse than you ever could Merlin. I’m no stranger to regret and in the end, you saved his life.”

Merlin’s brows furrow but Arthur just shakes his head. “This isn’t my moment,” he answers to Merlin’s silent question, “just listen to me for once, will you?”

Arthur slides his hands up to Merlin’s chin, cupping his face within his hands in a firm grip that refuses to be ignored. “These burdens are no longer just yours. Give them to me.” He commands, “I’ll carry them for you. Everything you want, you have.” He proclaims, leaving no room for uncertainty, “You’re still good and you still have me. You can have both. I’ll give you both.”

Merlin’s still looking at him with those encumbered eyes and Arthur tries to lighten the mood, lip lifting only a touch sardonically. “I’m a banished prince Merlin. What guarantee is there anymore that I will be king? If the prophecies are wrong about that then who knows what else they could be wrong about.”

This of course, is the thought that ruins everything later. This is the seed that grows the poisoned plant with the most tempting flowers. It’s the hope that will drive Merlin mad.

But they don’t realize that yet.

Tonight, Merlin lets himself fall into Arthur’s arms and lets Arthur tell him how brave he is. How strong. How he’s done so much on his own but no longer. How Merlin is good. He’s good, he’s good, and he’s protected Arthur the best out of everyone. He’s done so much, he’s allowed to just rest now.

When Merlin is all cried out, his eyes flutter shut and his breathing evens out. He can feel Arthur’s gaze even with his eyes closed. Arthur’s hands glide across his body as he lowers Merlin down to the floor and pulls the blanket up to his chin. He can’t be sure, but he thinks Arthur watches him, just for a moment, before heading out of their tent and into the dead of night.

There’s a bone deep exhaustion within him but there is nothing in the world that would motivate him more than the thought of Arthur alone and hurting and so Merlin gets up, poking his head out of their tent to see Arthur heading in the direction of the Elders. Merlin frowns, thinking about the heaviness in Arthur’s eyes when he alluded to something he wasn’t yet ready to share.

Quietly, Merlin lets the fabric flutter behind him as he walks out onto the grass, following behind Arthur like the shadow he used to be. As he suspected, he sees Arthur enter Iseldir’s tent, their outlines flickering across the tent canvas from the candles Iseldir was burning within it.

Merlin’s too far away to hear them but he can see Arthur falling to his knees, bowing his head, his silhouette looking sad and small. Iseldir rises and steps closer. Arthur’s shoulders begin to tremble and Merlin takes a step forward almost unconsciously. The moment stretches and Merlin’s heart squeezes, aching to run in and gather the golden boy pleading in his arms when Iseldir takes three steps forward and caresses Arthur’s hair, drawing his gaze upward.

Arthur’s shoulders stop shaking and his neck draws a perfect line upward, the candles almost burning brighter when he does. Eventually, Arthur stands, bowing low and Merlin realizes he’s going to be caught if he doesn’t make his escape in the next second.

Running, he throws himself under the covers just in time for Arthur to come in. He takes one look at the heap that is Merlin on the ground and sighs, “I know you’re faking.”

“M’not faking.” Merlin mumbles, trying to feign sleep but Arthur just kicks him in the leg gently and Merlin opens his eyes, staring up with a thousand questions.

When Arthur looks away, Merlin’s hand darts out, wrapping around Arthur’s own, “You don’t have to tell me.”

Arthur looks down first at their joined hands and then at Merlin’s face.

“You don’t have to say anything,” Merlin repeats, “but did you find what you were looking for?”

At this, Arthur nods, almost uncertainly, “There’s no absolution for what I did,” he says quietly, “but there’s reparations. There’s rebuilding. There’s a whole future ahead of me.”

Merlin squeezes Arthur’s hand. Arthur squeezes back.

Arthur will tell Merlin one day. About the raid he led when he was just fifteen. He’ll tell him about how putrid the blood had smelled, as it spilled over rocks and dolls. He’ll tell him about the screaming, how their voices echo in his mind every time he isn’t strong enough to push the memory away. He’ll tell him about the guilt, how it festered inside of him like an infection until Iseldir had carved it out and told him that goodness isn’t inherent, it’s work, and Arthur will work every day he’s alive.

One day, Arthur will tell Merlin about the worst thing he’s ever done and just like that night, Merlin will gather Arthur in his arms and tell him he loves him anyway.

Arthur decides to give Merlin no room for moping or sulking, throwing Merlin’s shirt in his face when the morning comes and insulting him for sleeping in. To his credit, Merlin merely blinks groggily at him before he rolls his eyes, seeing what he’s trying to do and playing along.

The only notice Arthur gets that yesterday hadn’t been just a dream is the slight way Merlin leans against his back as Arthur pauses at the entrance of their tent. It’s an intimate thing, this touch for no reason, bodies aligned like they fit just right. Without looking behind, Arthur raises a hand and runs it messily through Merlin’s hair. A quiet gesture. Just to say I’m here, I’m here, I’m here.

At the feel of Merlin beneath his fingers and against him, Arthur resists the urge to do something stupid. Like tackle Merlin to the ground and do gods know what. With great self-restraint and legend worthy effort, Arthur trudges back to his little plot of land and Alana’s unimpressed gaze.

Now that the fields are ploughed, it’s time for fertilizing. Alana grins as she tells him. Arthur’s nose crinkles, his body instinctively jerking away when Alana hands him the bucket of droppings.

“You can’t be serious.” He demands, disbelief mixing with his disgust.

“Is a flood serious about drowning you?” she retorts and slams the bucket into his stomach.

The smell alone makes Arthur want to hurl, but he does as he’s told, painstakingly spreading the so-called fertilizer across the whole plot. He thinks he sees Merlin walking by with Iseldir. Arthur knows it’s him when he hears Merlin’s hysterical laughter. Arthur throws him a glare but Merlin just makes a heart with his hands, snickering as Iseldir chastises him and leads him away.

Arthur hopes he gets a good lecturing. He hopes Merlin’s bored to tears.

Unfortunately, this was apparently the wrong thing to wish for as Arthur’s next task a few days later is to individually sow each and every seed into the earth. His neck aches at just the thought of it. But he supposes that’s just karmic justice.

“Every step in this process is important,” Alanna says, giving him the seeds, “but this is the most sacred. This is when you do your best to give each future plant a home where it will flourish. With these seeds, you will feed an entire people. These seeds can be the difference between starvation and survival. It’s a responsibility you must never take lightly.”

Arthur swallows, looking at all the tiny little things, each one so much more precious than his privileged life had let him fully realize.

“They won’t all grow. That’s the unfortunate reality. But we have to put in our maximum effort for each one anyway.”

“I understand.”

And he does. He looks at this land that he’s ploughed and worked and poured his sweat into and feels a surge of accomplishment he knows he hasn’t won yet. When these seeds are planted, this will become a legacy. With every vegetable that grows, one more child’s belly is full and that will be one more good thing he was able to put into the world. One more change that he could point to as the beginning of a life of redemption for all the sins he’d abetted.

For the first time, these hands would protect not through bloodshed, but through growth. He could be more than one thing. He could help in more than one way. He didn’t need a crown for this, just his own two hands.

Arthur makes one hole and then another, dropping in a single seed each time. He does this until his body gives up and he marks his spot and resolves to keep going tomorrow. Days pass and when it’s over, Alana gives him a proud look.

“Well done, Arthur.”

He’s sweaty and achy and smells horribly of dirt but Arthur is beaming.

And when the first of the seedlings start to sprout days later, he gets on his knees and ever so gently touches the leaves of just one. “I made you.” He whispers, letting his joy bubble up. “I made you.”

The leaves lean into his palm and just like that, the bird leaves its cage, it’s soaring through the skies. I’m my own person. It’s such a radical thought. I’m so much more than a knight and a prince. I can still be useful. I can still be good. Caged birds might sing but free birds soar, their music blending with that of the whole world’s. It’s an entire orchestra and he’s both the player and the conductor.

“Arthur, this is amazing.” Merlin stands behind him, squeezing his shoulder.

Arthur hadn’t even noticed him approach.

“Do you think they’ll grow properly?”

Merlin’s lips flick up at Arthur’s genuine concern. “I’m sure of it. And if not…” Merlin wiggles his fingers.

Arthur gets up to join him to the walk back to their tent when the sound of hooves grabs his attention. It’s too many for them to ignore and the galloping too intense for it to be friendly. There’s a warrior’s instinct to him that will never go away. Not even now, here on this field. He looks longingly down at his sprouts for just a moment before hardening into the soldier he was molded to be.

“The camp is under attack.” Arthur whips around, grabbing Merlin’s hand and running, “We need to warn everyone and I need my sword.”

“Arthur,” Merlin insists, “you still haven’t got any armour.”  

Arthur’s eyes are steel, “Then I better not get cut.”

The crowd looks up in a panic when Arthur and Merlin sprint into the centre of the camp, “Riders are coming! I need everyone who can fight to stay with me and the rest of you need to leave. Go somewhere safe, somewhere hard to find. We’ll come get you when it’s over.”

Iseldir rises from his seat, “What have you seen?”

“Nothing.” Arthur admits, “But I heard them and I’m certain they do not wish us well.”

“Do you think it is the knights?” Iseldir asks, voice grave.

“It doesn’t matter who they are.” Arthur replies fiercely, tightening his jaw. “You have done nothing wrong. I won’t let them harm you.”

He hasn’t even noticed Merlin had gone, but he’s appeared again with Arthur’s sword belt in hand, expression tight with worry.

“Don’t look like that Merlin.” Arthur’s grin is sharp and roguish, “I’m the fiercest warrior in all the land, remember?”

He turns to leave but Merlin grabs his hand, pulling him back. “I’ll be right at your side, as I always am. But Arthur, please,” Merlin raises Arthur’s hand to his lips, a featherlight kiss over his knuckles, “be careful.”

Arthur’s knees give out, his heart bursts right out of his chest. Merlin’s eyes don’t look away from Arthur’s own, and Arthur wants to throw himself in his arms, wants to kiss him and kiss him but there’s a fight coming. A fight Arthur cannot lose. Because Merlin is here and Merlin is never allowed to die.

“You too.” Arthur replies hoarsely, forcing himself to pull away.

Together, they run to the edge of the camp where a few of the men and women ready to fight have joined them. To his relief, it isn’t the knights he had trained himself, but a gang of bandits, waving their weapons like Arthur would ever find them a threat.

“Leave now and you won’t have to die.” Arthur announces, stepping to the front, drawing out his sword from his belt.

The first man laughs, it’s low and twisted and Arthur’s grip around the pommel tightens. The man is obviously their leader, with his expensive leather vest, well-kept dark hair, and gold earring. “Do you know who we are?” the man mocks, “We have raided more fearsome villages than this sorry excuse for a camp and we’ve only walked away with spoils, haven’t we?” he turns to his men who laugh with him, jeering down at them.

Arthur takes in a breath, leans back into his stance, “Have it your way.” He replies flatly, “But when you’re bleeding out on the grass, don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

He might have more to offer than just his innate ability to kill, but when peace wasn’t an option, he would have no regrets and would never hold back. Not when there was so much to protect.

He charges at the first man, blocking a blow from his sword while slashing at his saddle. The man flails and in the moment where he loses focus, Arthur goes in for the kill before his senses jerk him to the left, missing the swing of a machete just in time. He twists around, seeing a blonde man swing his weapon around for another hit and throws his sword up, twisting the blade so the chain wraps around it and tugging hard.

The man stumbles to the grass with a spastic cough, clutching at his chest like it would make the air flow in any faster. Arthur kicks him to the ground, pulling his sword out from the chain and spinning to catch the third bandit trying to surprise him unawares.

From the corner of his eye, he can see Merlin’s eyes flashing gold as bandits fly around him. The fearsome pride within him is almost violent in its surety. Look at him, Arthur wants to shout. Look at how powerful he is! Look at how mighty he is!

Look at him! And remember that he is mine.

The thought jerks Arthur back into focus, his arms flying up at the last second to counter a blow that would have been fatal. His feet fall into familiar footwork as he crosses into the man’s space, disarming him before stabbing him clean through.

Merlin is getting farther away now and the thought stresses him. He doesn’t want Merlin to be out of sight, doesn’t want him to stray too far. Arthur roars in frustration, hurtling through man after man, but Merlin only seems be getting father away.

And that’s when it happens.

The sword pierces through Merlin’s side, the blade poking out where Merlin can see it, his eyes dropping in confusion before his legs give out and he falls face first into the dirt.

For a moment, the world goes entirely still.

The clash of metal against metal disappears. The smell of blood and panic vanishes. The feel of the sweat dribbling down his forehead ceases to matter. The only thing Arthur feels is his heart pounding in his head and a primal rage that overtakes him in a staggering wave that makes him certain he could tear apart a man with just his bare hands.

“MERLIN!”

Arthur races towards him, his every combat instinct screaming to be heard. Every battle he’s ever fought comes roaring in his head, he sees everything, he feels everything, he will murder all of them. Anyone and everyone who gets in his way. Friend or foe, it doesn’t anymore. Anything standing between him and Merlin is an enemy. As Arthur’s feet spin across the grass and his blade goes flying, he hears the men screaming, hears them running to their horses.

There’s a monster on this field, invincible through rage alone.

“We’ll come back!” Their leader shouts, grasping at his wounded arm, “We’ll come back with a hundred men and wipe you off the face of the earth, do you hear me!”

But Arthur doesn’t hear them. He doesn’t give a damn.

As one of the bandits runs past, he throws a spear in Arthur’s direction. It’s a weak throw. Had Arthur trained him, he would have made him run ten laps around the field as penance. As it is, it pierces through Arthur’s thigh, just enough to draw blood, but not enough to stop him.

“If you’re going to kill me,” Arthur snarls, “you better hope you do it properly.” With a monstrous tug, Arthur pulls the spear out of his leg and launches it right into the man’s heart.

Arthur winces as he walks, the pain in his thigh and his body and in every bruise eclipsed by the panic in his veins. He can’t see Merlin anymore; he’s being crowded by a circle of Druids. Arthur hears chanting, sees a burst of light and then hears a beautiful, wonderful gasp for breath.

“Merlin.”

Arthur stumbles into the foray, falling and landing hard on his palms. When he looks up, Merlin is staring at him, relieved and annoyed all at once. “I told you not to get stabbed.” He berates, voice watery despite how hard he’s trying to keep it light.

Arthur stares at him for another moment, looks at the giant hole in Merlin’s shirt but the distinct lack of a wound. The relief that flows through him empties him of his strength. His neck drops and when Merlin’s hand reaches for his shoulder, Arthur’s name on his tongue, Arthur grabs at him, pulling Merlin into the arms that keep him safe. He presses every inch of Merlin into him, like if he feels enough of his skin, it’ll be proof that he’s alive. “Are you hurt anywhere else?”

“Arthur I’m fine, it’s you who-”

Arthur cups the back of Merlin’s head, silencing him as Arthur succumbs to his relief. “Thank you.” He says, brows in a line and eyes blue like the waves cresting ashore, “Thank you.” He repeats, looking at each and every one of the Druids who had saved Merlin’s life.

“It is us who should thank you.” Iseldir replies gravely, “For warning us in time to get everyone to safety.”

Arthur’s body sags against Merlin’s. “Is everyone alright?” he asks, the tiredness hitting him like a hammer to the head.

“Everyone except for you. You took almost all of them at once when you saw the little bird fall.” Alana says with a wry smile.

Arthur shrugs, trying to muster up a smile, “I’ve been told I’m bad at sharing.”

“Can we please get him treated now?” Merlin demands, looking particularly distressed. “He’ll just monologue all day if you let him.”

“Hey-”

“Hush. Let me fix you.” Merlin presses a hand to Arthur’s mouth and then jerks it back, staring at him with bewildered eyes. “Did you just lick me?”

“Your healing magic’s no good.” Arthur replies, just to be petty.

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Are you serious? You’re insufferable. I hope you bleed out.”

“Suit yourself.” Arthur looks pointedly up at the sky while Merlin glares at him until Iseldir sighs.

“How about I do it? Lie him down Merlin.”

With a huff, Merlin pulls Arthur’s head into his lap, petting his hair unconsciously. Arthur won’t say anything about it though because he quite likes it and doesn’t want him to stop. Iseldir’s eyes flash gold and Arthur can feel the wound in his leg begin to stitch itself back together. His eyes droop closed. He must have pushed himself more than he thought.

“Go to sleep Arthur. You’ll wake up feeling like yourself again, I promise.”

He hears Merlin murmuring to him in time with his fingers running through his hair. It’s a gentle feeling. Something almost like home.

When Arthur wakes up, he’s back in their tent with Merlin curled around his hand beside him, having so obviously fallen asleep trying to stay up. Arthur’s first thought is that he’s an idiot. His second, is that he hopes he gets to wake up like this every day.

That’s when he knows.

Careful to be quiet, Arthur leans over, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s brow. Merlin stirs, blinking awake, “Arth’r?”

“Go back to sleep Merlin, we’re both alright.” Arthur whispers, gently closing Merlin’s eyes.

They have all the time in the world after all.

It takes three days for Arthur to heal fully though he knows the quickness is due entirely to Iseldir’s magic. There’s a part of him that knows he and Merlin would be safe forever in these woods and among these people. They could live a long and happy life here. Merlin would eventually get so good at magic he’d become the next natural teacher, drawing in nomadic Druids from all over to learn from the mighty Emrys. Arthur would get to live his dream, living a peaceful life, building and planting and defending. He would swing the children over his shoulders until they got too tall for it and then take them hunting instead, watching them grow up, letting all that love fill up his heart.

But even Arthur, unconnected to the Old Religion and the very fabric of the world as he is, knows that isn’t their fate.

“I wish I could get to see them grow, but I can’t stay here knowing there are groups like that terrorizing the nearby villages and your own camp.” Arthur declares to a solemn Iseldir, with Merlin right beside him. “It’s been an honour living amongst you and allowing me to learn from you, both about what magic can do and about what more I can do.”

“You want to go fighting villains once more?” Iseldir asks.

“No. I just want to do what I can. And right now,” Arthur’s gaze meets Merlin’s, “this is something only we can do. But I won’t forget what I learned.” Arthur holds out his arm and Iseldir grasps it, holding firm.

“I wish you only good fortune on your journey Arthur. I know we will cross paths again, but in the meantime, may the heavens be with you. Know you will always have a friend with the Druids.”

Arthur nods at him, feeling a bond being forged within their hands. “And you with us.” He glances at Merlin, “I’ll leave you two alone.”

Merlin smiles at him gratefully and Arthur leaves Iseldir’s tent, going in search of Alana. He finds her at the stream, filling up a jug.

“You’ll be leaving I expect.” She says, without turning around.

“How did you-”

“You were never going to stay here forever.” She replies matter-of-factly.

“I could have.” Arthur confesses, his voice soft.

Alana stops, balancing the jug on her hip as she turns. “Ay. You could have. But that is not your way Arthur Pendragon. You’re on your own journey now.”

“I just want to help.” He says simply and she smiles at him, warm and kind.

“You can build things and plant things and fight better than twenty men combined. I’m sure you’ll help plenty.”

Arthur’s touched by her sincerity. At the simplicity of it. 

“Thank you. For everything you’ve taught me. You didn’t have to, and I appreciate it.”

She shrugs, though it’s fond. “You weren’t a bad student I suppose.”

He smiles at her and holds out a hand, “Need help?”

“Absolutely. And since you’re here, let me get two more jugs.”

Arthur’s expression puckers and Alana only laughs.

Merlin finds Arthur at the field he had toiled at until his fingers blistered. “Feeling mournful?” Merlin asks and Arthur snorts, bumping his shoulder into Merlin’s.

“No. Is it odd to say I feel like the seedling? It’s like I’m sprouting too.”

Merlin smiles at him, sitting down next to him, side by side. “You have an adorable side, you know that?”

Arthur shoots him a look and Merlin laughs, his eyes sparkling.

“I’m sorry I have to leave, but you can stay if you wish.” Arthur offers, though every part of him is begging to be silent.

Merlin frowns, “How many times must I say there’s nothing more to speak about when it comes to this?”  

“They’re your people.” Arthur says quietly.

“And you’re my person.” Merlin replies.

Arthur feels the slight flush on his cheeks and to distract from it, bodies Merlin with his shoulder, laughing at his sputter.

“Come on then, we have things to do.” Arthur extends down a hand and he pulls Merlin up, entangling their fingers as they walk back to their tent.

Neither of them comments on it, but Arthur can see Merlin keep glancing down at their intertwined hands and the smile he tries extremely hard to fight. It’s a good thing Merlin’s so preoccupied with his own self otherwise he’d notice Arthur’s own foolish grin, happy and silly as it is.

They pack up within the hour and are walking out to the edge of camp when the children run to them, tears in their eyes. “Are you really leaving us?? Emrys, you have to stay! Arthur too!”

Merlin bends down, pats them on their heads, smiling gently, “I know it may seem like goodbye, but I promise, it’s just a see you later, right Arthur?”

“Of course. The next time I see you all, you might just be strong enough to take me on.” He goads them out of their tears, smiling as they make faces and try to be brave through their sadness.

“Will you at least take these? To remember us by?” Meyorie, a girl of just eight, holds out two braided leather bracelets, each with a single bead.

To Arthur, she holds out the red and to Merlin, the blue. Arthur accepts it from her hand with emotions he can’t name blocking his throat. “Thank you Meyorie. I’ll wear it with pride.”

She beams at him and he strokes her head. “Now we have to go if we’re going to have any luck picking up the bandits’ trail. Be good to your parents.” Arthur mounts his horse, thinking about just riding away without looking back, but feeling his heart tug him backwards. “We’ll meet again.” He promises and with one look at Merlin, snaps his reins towards their future.

Arthur picks up on a trail of blood and broken branches. It’s exhausting, keeping himself on high alert for this long of a stretch of time, but he’s motivated and undaunted and keeps going until the sun sets and he can no longer see with any real sort of accuracy. He searches for a good place to rest, spotting a dip in the horizon where a small clearing possibly lay.

Merlin follows him down and they go about their familiar steps to making camp. The only variation of their night is when Merlin pulls out a small box and a bag of dice. “Fancy a game before bed?”

Arthur eyes him over the flames, “Only if you’re prepared to lose.”

Merin wags his brows and Arthur’s competitive spirit bursts free. They settle across from each other and at first, things were going in his favour before time and time again, the dice betrayed him. Arthur swears when he loses yet another round when he notices Merlin’s eyes go gold.

“Are you serious Merlin?” he demands, watching as Merlin looks away innocently.

“Serious about what? Beating you so embarrassingly?”

“You’re cheating.”

“Am not.”

“Give it up Merlin. I saw you using your magic, you absolute charlatan.”

Merlin looks up at him suggestively, his lips widening into a predatory smirk. “Prove it.”

Arthur takes all of two seconds to think about his actions before he throws himself at Merlin with the force of a hundred bulls, tackling him to the ground as they wrestle atop the grass. He locks a leg around Merlin’s knee, using it as leverage to twist him onto his back and grab at his arms, pinning his wrists among the violets.

Merlin’s laughing so hard he can’t breathe, taking in gasps of air as he looks at Arthur with eyes that sparkle. It’s like staring right into the lake on a sunny day and Arthur has to look away lest he drown within them.

“I yield! I yield!” Merlin laughs, wriggling in Arthur’s grip.

“That’s not good enough I’m afraid.” Arthur gives him a mockery of an apologetic look. “You have to confess to being a lowlife cheater who had to resort to dirty tricks to beat me.”

“Are you questioning my honour?” Merlin tilts his chin up, exposing the long line of his neck.

Arthur swallows.

“Have you any honour to question?” Arthur murmurs, he feels himself lowering to his elbows, watching as Merlin’s eyes flick from Arthur’s own to his lips then back.

“Maybe not.” Merlin whispers, tangling their fingers together above his head, “But you can take whatever is left of it.”

It’s gravity. It’s destiny. It’s the whole damn world in his hands. Arthur ducks down and Merlin moans into their kiss, it echoes right through his ribs. It’s warm and it’s bright and he can feel Merlin smile against his mouth. Arthur’s whole body is aflame. He slides a knee between Merlin’s legs, leaning on his elbow as his free hand tangles through Merlin’s hair to deepen their kiss, his tongue running against Merlin’s lips.

Finally, finally, finally. All of the lingering looks and longing touches and his heart fluttering like a hummingbird every time Merlin so much as smiled at him.

He can feel Merlin’s hands running up his sides to wrap around his neck, pressing Arthur closer. Merlin arches his body beneath him and Arthur loses all thought. Merlin consumes him, he feels his skin under his hand, his breath against his face, his hands, everywhere, everywhere.

Overwhelmed, but deliriously high, Arthur pulls away, Merlin’s hands rise to cup his face and he’s smiling so beautifully Arthur feels a little starstruck. “You,” Merlin declares, somewhere between teasing and genuine, “are an excellent kisser. I’m shocked.”

Arthur’s jaw drops, the moment shattering around them. “Excuse me. If anyone should be surprised, it’s me. The only reason you didn’t trip and cut my lip with your teeth is because I pinned you to the ground.”  

Merlin snorts, “That the best you can come up with Arthur?”

Arthur glares, pushing himself off the ground before Merlin grabs at him, “I’m joking! I’m joking! Stay!”

Arthur collapses onto Merlin’s chest, enjoying the oomph Merlin makes as he does. Arthur presses his elbows on either side of Merlin’s ribs, balancing his chin on his interlaced palms. “I hope I’m crushing you.”

“You are heavy.” Merlin agrees.

Arthur swats him. “Are you always this romantic with the people you’ve kissed? Or am I just special?”

“Of course you’re special.” The joking glimmer vanishes in Merlin’s eyes and Arthur finds himself frozen, obsessed with how quickly Merlin could change when he wanted to. With all the layers hidden beneath his façade.

“There’ll never be another like you, Arthur.”

Arthur can’t respond to that. Mostly because it’s untrue. Partly because even though it is, he wants Merlin to say it anyway. Again and again.

He pokes Merlin’s cheek, “I think you meant yourself, Merlin.”

“No.” Merlin disagrees. “I meant you.” And his hands are pulling Arthur down once more, spinning them around so Merlin has a leg thrown over Arthur’s as he presses his body alongside Arthur’s right half.

He kisses Arthur slowly, with purpose. He kisses him like he’s trying to speak without words, tenderly, lovingly, every fingertip thoughtfully placed, like he’s a treasure all himself. Merlin leans on his elbow, staring down at Arthur with a sincerity that pierces to the core of him. Merlin brushes Arthur’s hair from his face and it’s such a tender gesture Arthur grabs his hand and holds it against his lips like he can keep the moment enshrined in his heart forever.

“I’ve loved you for so long I forget that I haven’t known you my whole life. It feels like you’ve always been a part of me.” Merlin whispers, brushing Arthur’s face. “I wish when you looked in the mirror you could see what I see.”

“Merlin-” Arthur makes to move, but Merlin pushes him down, looking at him with fierce eyes.

“No. You need to hear it. I want you to hear it. You’re so focused on berating yourself for being human as if that’s a flaw when you’re all that is good in Camelot.”

Arthur shakes his head, trying to pull away and Merlin takes hold of his face, kissing his lips hard. “You’re courageous and it’s not for glory or for triumph, you look at the faces of people who can’t help themselves and you find courage in your desire to protect others, to be for them what no one was for you.”

Arthur’s eyes sting but he can’t look away. Merlin kisses his eyes, his lips brushing against his lashes. “You make jokes and do things indirectly because you can’t stand to be vulnerable and show where it hurts, but you’re kind. Right down to your soul. You love people and you love this kingdom and I know if you could, you’d hold it right to your heart to keep it safe from harm.”

Merlin takes his hand, kissing the palm, looking right into Arthur’s eyes. “Your hands are calloused from wielding a sword for others and for planting seeds, each one carefully placed. I watched you, you know. Saw you bite your lip in concentration. How you counted the inches between each of them. How hard you worked to leave behind something better than you found it.”

Merlin kisses Arthur’s cheek, his lips lingering over his skin. “You harass me when you think I’m upset because you want the people you care about to be happy even if you’re shite at talking about anyone’s problems, though it’s cute how you try.”

Arthur makes a face and Merlin laughs.

“You could navigate your way out of just about anywhere with nothing but your sword and your knowledge of the sun and stars. You laugh at all my jokes and won’t ever be outdone in a battle of wits and you always do the right thing, even when it’s hard. Because despite everything, you’re a good person Arthur. Who tries his best.” Merlin whispers, kissing his forehead gently.

“You always try your best and I see it. I see you. And I swear that you are good. That your heart is true and your faith well placed and that you are so much more than enough, you are exactly what you need to be.”

Arthur looks at him like a sunset does the horizon. Like it’s the home he belongs to, the place where he must return. The love he feels is almost overwhelming. All of nature cannot compete with the force of his feelings. No ocean or mountain or winter storm could be greater than what he holds right now in the palm of his hand. The birds can sing all they want. They’ll never weave a song more beautiful than the one composed in Merlin’s very soul.

“I know you Arthur.” Merlin says with certainty, “I know everything about you and each one of your flaws and I still think you’re perfect anyway. God, I think you’re perfect.”

And this time, when Merlin bends down to kiss him once more, Arthur surges forward, pressing his whole heart into their embrace, holding Merlin with the closeness of rain on your skin, so close together their heartbeats bounce against the other.

“I couldn’t look away from you the second I saw you.” Arthur confesses, “One word and I had to know you.”  

Merlin looks at him like he doesn’t dare expect him to continue.

“I knew what would happen if I let myself be your friend and I did it anyway because the minute I had you in my life I knew I could never live without you again. You’re the best person I know.” Arthur says, like it’s a fact, like it’s obvious, like Merlin should have always known. “The bravest man I’ve ever met. With his big foolish heart and sharp tongue and boundless loyalty.”

Arthur lets himself fall against the grass, holding Merlin closer as he curls in next to him, his head resting on his chest.

“I don’t know what I’d do without you honestly.” Arthur draws stars on Merlin’s back, “Exile would have felt like death with anyone else in the world, but with you, I feel free for the first time in my life, even with all the guilt.”

“There is nothing for you to feel guilty over.” Merlin scrambles upward so Arthur can see his face, “If Camelot wanted you so badly then where were all the Lords standing up for you? Where were the people who stood by and let us leave. Where was destiny and fate and whatever forces that be that claim to know more about us than we do?” Merlin’s vehemence is startling and validating and almost ferocious.

“They don’t know any better. One day, they’ll know the truth.”

“You’re their prince. They should have defended you.” Merlin argues, his eyes darkening, “They should have known.”

Arthur presses a kiss into Merlin’s hair.

“You’re the only one in the world who really knows me Merlin and look how long it took you.” He tries to lighten the mood but Merlin only curls around him tighter, like a dragon wrapping a tail around its trove.

“Cheer up Merlin,” Arthur says gently, “maybe when we find the bandits they’ll have some game for us to steal.”

Merlin groans, “Shut up, why would you say that, I’m starving again.”

Arthur laughs, apologetic and relieved, “Don’t we have any more berries left?”

Merlin burrows deeper into Arthur’s neck like he could hide there, “I don’t want berries. I want broth of all things.”

“Broth??"

“I really can’t explain it.” Merlin says so seriously Arthur has to laugh again, “I just want something warm and hearty.”

“Well…” Arthur says at last, “I could give you something-”

“Oh my god.” Merlin rolls on his back, mirth dancing in his eyes as he guffaws. “You might be a good kisser, but we’ll need to work on the talking bit. That’s never really been your strong suit.”

Arthur’s too mellow to shout, he just shrugs, “I’m what they call a physical type.”

“Oh I know.” Merin says appreciatively, “One thing I miss about Camelot is training. You were occasionally impressive.”

He glances quickly at Arthur, ready to duck and rolls away as Arthur tries to swat at him. He clicks his tongue, “So violent.”

“You’re just that charming Merlin.” Arthur drawls and they share a twin grin.

That night, Merlin snaps his fingers and the bedrolls lay out side by side. Arthur turns to look at him but Merlin is determinately looking away. Hiding a smile, Arthur settles on his side, waiting for Merlin to come and trying not to think about how endearing it is that Merlin lies down on the farthest most corner as though he’s ever been shy about what he’s wanted in his entire life.

Rolling his eyes, Arthur hooks a hand around Merlin’s elbow and tugs, enjoying his yelp of surprise before he’s crushed into Arthur’s side. “This is where you word types fail and the action type succeeds.” Arthur murmurs in his ear.

Merlin shivers and he smirks, tucking his head atop Merlin’s own. “No need to think of a witty reply, Merlin. You can try again tomorrow.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything before he wiggles around to settle in, cozying up quite comfortably. Merlin’s already always viewed Arthur’s personal space as his own but to be fair, it wasn’t like Arthur respected Merlin’s either. But there were no more pretenses between them now, no excuses and plausible deniability. If Arthur wanted to touch him now, he could.

The thought breaks free a dam he hadn’t known he had built inside him. It gushes through him, the excitement of starting something new with the person you had been longing for. The thrill of having them want you back. The peace in his heart that felt like it was full from love when it used to feel so cavernously empty.

He’s safe here. Of everyone who could have held his whole heart in their hands, he knows Merlin won’t ever break it. He’s safe to feel. He can let his love explode as loud and as wide as he wants it to, there will be no reproachment here.

Chapter Text

They can’t stop smiling as they ride out the next morning, caught up in the newness of their relationship and the relief it brings to not have to hide their feelings anymore. With a mix of Arthur’s natural tracking ability and Merlin’s magical prowess, they keep on the bandits’ trail until it leads them to a bustling village, bigger than Ealdor was, but still contained enough.

As they approach, Arthur is quick to draw a cloak around him, pulling the hood up over his face. Merlin frowns when he notices, but doesn’t say anything, knowing as they both did, all they stood to lose if Arthur were seen. After tying their horses to some watering trough posts, the two walk through the streets, trying to determine if the trail ended there or if this was simply a passive stop along a longer journey.

Merlin’s stomach growls and he presses a hand to it, as though he could push down his hunger. Arthur notices him with a small snort, “If you were hungry Merlin, you could’ve just said so.”

Merlin flushes, “We were busy doing something.”

The corner of Arthur’s lip flicks up, “Like that’s ever stopped you before, come on then, we passed by a tavern a few houses back.”

Merlin grins, pressing his side into Arthur’s who presses back. Truthfully, Merlin wants to tangle their fingers together as they walk, but despite their confessions and touching the night before, finds himself too shy to. Later, he promises to himself, as they walk through the tavern doors.

Arthur finds them a secluded table in the back, keeping to himself as much as possible until the barmaid comes to take their orders. Iseldir had given them a bag of coin before they went and though they’d be wise to be more frugal with it, there was really only so many things they could buy before it ran out, so why wait. Plus, the thought of a warm meal cooked by someone other than them was just too tempting of a purchase to pass up.

Arthur hooks his foot around Merlin’s ankle as they wait, smirking as Merlin jerks forward in surprise.

“Prat.” He says fondly, pushing back against Arthur’s leg as they play fight beneath the table.

“You should be constantly vigilant.” Arthur mocks, laughing at Merlin’s pained expression.

“Remember when you were so sweet the night before?” Merlin asks, “What happened to that man?”

“He got hungry.” Arthur replies in a deadpan and Merlin can’t help but laugh.

Arthur watches him, feeling an unbearable fondness in his chest. When the food arrives, they dig in with a gusto, interrupting their utter gluttony only to crack more jokes or talk about nothing at all. What an overlooked privilege, Arthur thinks, to have someone you never run out of words with. He’s never had that before. Not before Merlin.

He’s debating using the rest of their coin to rent a room, just for the night, and put the bed to good use when he sees a man enter the room. He’s distinctly familiar and with a jolt, Arthur realizes it’s one of the men from the raid, one who got away while he was too busy worrying about Merlin. He stands abruptly, walking over to the bar so he can get a better look and make absolutely sure.

Merlin comes to join him, staying back a few paces in case Arthur needed to pull out his sword. Arthur peers at the man, feeling more and more certain that he was part of the group and running through some options in his head. It would make the most sense to wait him out and follow him back to where he would hopefully join up with the others rather than confront him here.

Arthur’s so caught up in his strategy that he doesn’t notice when he steps right into someone else’s chest, bumping backwards with a start.

“Watch where you’re going.” The man growls and Arthur looks up from beneath his hood to see a fearsome man with a scar running down the length of his face.

“I didn’t see you.” Arthur replies tightly, “It wasn’t intentional.”

He knows he should just say sorry and be done with it, but something about this man rubs him the wrong way and he doesn’t want to give him anything, no matter how small.

The man scowls, “You’ll apologize boy or I’ll make you.”

Merlin snorts from beside him, “I’d like to see you try.” He quips and Arthur wants to both kiss him and strangle him.

A familiar, familiar feeling.

“You think you’re tough, boy?” the man jeers before his hands fly out, shoving Arthur with a force that sends him toppling into the barstools.

When Arthur jerks up, his hood gets caught on the wood and it slips off his head, his blonde hair gleaming. The man looks down at him with wide eyes before his sneer grows. “Is that who I think it is?" he taunts, beckoning the curious crowd closer.

Arthur’s jaw tightens, his eyes hardening as he stands, shoulders tensed. He wants to pull the hood back up over his face but knows it’s pointless now. And worse, how cowardly it would seem. Beside him, Merlin has come closer, the tension rolling off him in waves.

“You just had to say something didn’t you Merlin?” Arthur asks with a sigh, not even feeling mollified at Merlin’s sheepish grin.

“If it isn’t the banished prince.” The man announces, “You dare show your face here? After committing treason against your king?”

“I have no quarrel with you.” Arthur says quietly, “We’ll leave.”

He makes to push past but the man shoots out an arm, blocking his path. “I think you’ll find you have more to give than just those paltry words.”

“Like you said,” Arthur replies coolly, “I’m banished. I have nothing but the clothes on my back and you’re certainly too big to fit in those.”

The man scowls and Arthur tilts his head like a challenge before something splats against his face. A ripped piece of soggy bread slides down his cheek before falling to the floor. Arthur turns wide eyes to see a woman with crossed arms glaring at him amongst a sea of similar faces. “Get out of here!” she yells, “We don’t want no traitors in our parts.”

“You heard her!” another man yells, “You don’t belong here! The king should have banished you from the entire kingdom.” He spits on the ground and Arthur flinches.

The man with the scar laughs, heavy and sharp, “He should have sentenced you to death instead. Good riddance to cowards and traitors.”

Arthur doesn’t see Merlin move. One moment, he’s at Arthur’s side, the next, he’s flying at the man, landing a single punch to his face that has him careening to the floor. Arthur’s jaw drops. “Merlin what-”

But there’s no time. The man roars back to life, throwing himself at Merlin’s direction and Arthur reacts on instinct, landing a kick to his stomach before defending against someone else entirely. The entire tavern bursts with violence and it’s all Arthur can do to keep his wits about him.

Out of nowhere, there’s a swinging blow to the back of Arthur’s head that has him staggering. He turns around, eyes blurry, figures doubling and tripling before him. He’s going to get hit again and this time he might not get back up when a glass shatters against the man’s skull and he goes tumbling down. Arthur blinks only to see a man with shoulder-length hair and a roguish grin looking at him, “Don’t look too enamoured princess or you’re going to get clobbered again.”

Scowling, the annoyance at owing his life to this hooligan is enough to drive Arthur to want to get him and Merlin the hell out of there and in one piece as much as possible. Grabbing Merlin’s hand, he pulls them through the crowd, ducking and punching and fighting their way out. The man with the hair is right behind them, admittedly extremely useful and irritatingly good in a fight.

Finally, the three make it outside where they run for their lives, stopping only when it feels like their lungs can’t take a single more breath and their legs ache from exertion. Merlin collapses onto the ground, sprawled like a star and panting. “That was awful.” He wheezes and Arthur shoots him a glare.

“Merlin,” he says with barely contained anger, “it was all your fault.”

“What??”

And it’s Merlin’s genuine indignation that makes Arthur want to throttle him.

“What do you mean what??”

“He’s right,” the random stranger who had no business following them helpfully interjects, “you did throw the first punch mate.”

Merlin shrugs as though to say that shouldn’t really matter and Arthur pinches the bridge of his nose, “And who,” he deserves accolades for how level he is keeping his voice, “are you?”

“Me?” the man grins, “You can call me Gwaine. But if you’d like to refer to me as the dashing young gent who helped save your sorry arses that’d be fine too.”

Arthur lets out a very controlled breath.

“Thank you,” he says at last, “you were…”

“Incredibly helpful?” Merlin supplies, “I’ve never seen anyone fight like you.”

This, Arthur has to concede, actually is true.

Gwaine shrugs modestly. “I do what I can.”

Merlin has sat up at this point, rubbing at his arm where he’d gotten a particularly good thwack. “Why did you though?” he asks, “Help us, I mean.”

Gwaine just smiles, though there’s something incredibly sad about it. “Two guys against a whole bar? I think I just liked those odds.”

Merlin grins. “I like you.” He declares.

Gwaine grins back, “Thanks mate, I think I quite like you too.”

They both turn expectantly to Arthur who just sighs more.

“Not particularly friendly this one, huh?” Gwaine inconspicuously whispers.

Merlin snorts, “He’s only prickly on the outside.” He confides conspiratorially, “He’ll warm up to you eventually.”

“There’s no time for warming up.” Arthur snaps, “We lost our only lead on where the bandits are hiding. After the fuss, he slipped away.”

Merlin deflates a little at this but Gwaine only tilts his head, interest piqued. “What bandits?”

“There’s this roaming troop of them. They just recently tried to pillage a Druid camp but we stopped them. We’ve been traveling trying to catch up to them so we can put an end to their rampage once and for all.” Merlin answers, letting Arthur stew in his own thoughts.

Gwaine mulls that over, “I think I can help you with that.” He says after a pause.

Arthur’s attention snaps towards him, “Help how?” he asks intently.

“This might come as a shock, but I’m a bit of a vagabond myself, which means I hear things most people don’t.”

Arthur crosses his arms, hooked and baited. “Things like what?”

“There’s a man who’s come into town recently, Laudin. He’s been looking around for some swords to hire, rumor is he lost a lot of men recently.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, “Do you know what he looks like by any chance?”

“Sure I do.” Gwaine grins lazily, “Square face, a head taller than you, dark hair, and a golden earring on his right ear.”

Merlin and Arthur look at each other instantly. “That’s him.” Merlin says, “That’s too much of a coincidence otherwise.”

“Do you know where we can find them?” Arthur asks, turning determined eyes onto Gwaine.

“Ay.” He confirms, “But he still has about fifteen men. You can’t go after him alone, that’s madness.”

“Maybe.” Arthur acquiesces, “But the alternative is to do nothing and let him harm more of Camelot’s villages. They already struggle to get by as it is. If we let Laudin and his men pillage them, they’ll starve.”

Gwaine appraises him for a moment, crossing his arms as he leans against the stone wall. “Are you really Arthur the Exiled?”

Arthur flinches at the name. “I didn’t know they were calling me that.”

Gwaine gives him a mirthless laugh. “Not a fun name, is it?”

Merlin scowls in disgust, “They don’t know what they’re talking about. If they only knew-”

“Merlin.”

Arthur says his name calmly, without reproach or judgement. It’s a quiet appeal, a small ask. Merlin falls silent, but his ire remains clear.  

“Why did daddy dearest banish you then, Arthur?” Gwaine presses, “You’re ready to risk your life to bring a few bandits to justice just so some villagers you’ve never met might make it through the winter. You’re no coward then, so what did you do?”

Arthur looks at him a moment, “Does it matter? I’m still banished no matter what anyone thinks of it.”

A dour smile spreads across Gwaine’s face. “That’s true. But there’s still a difference between a good man and a rotten one.”

“Are you a citizen of Camelot?” Arthur asks instead and watches as Gwaine’s expression instantly turns guarded though he tries to hide it behind an easy smile.

“I’m from many places.”

Arthur raises a brow, “Then someone as ‘cultured’ as you,” he says with as minimal sarcasm as he can, “must know that Camelot has banned magic ever since my mother, Queen Ygraine died.”

Gwaine looks at him with contemplative eyes.

“I thought my father banned magic because it was evil and we needed to do it to protect the kingdom. Hundreds have been murdered and thousands more live in fear because of our laws only for me to discover that isn’t the case at all. When I tried to do something about it, my father banished me. It’s as simple as that.”

Gwaine looks from Arthur to Merlin, who unlike the former, lets all his emotions splay out over his face. He looks achingly sad but simmering just beneath that, there’s a ripple of righteous bitterness.

“Alright.” Gwaine claps his hands, cheery once more, “You’ve convinced me. I’ll help you get rid of the bandits.”

Arthur blinks. “What-”

“No need to thank me.” Gwaine waves a hand around dramatically, “Nothing this interesting has happened to me in a while and you two,” he declares, “are just fascinating. So! Where are we sleeping?”

Merlin isn’t quite sure why he’s surprised, but Gwaine is surprisingly ecstatic over the magic, demanding Merlin show him trick after trick like he was some sort of wandering circus acrobat. “Can you fly??” Gwaine asks eagerly, turning excited eyes to Merlin who only frowns, thinking about it.

“I don’t…think so?” he says hesitantly and Arthur makes a giant ‘x’ with his arms.

“Absolutely not.” He says immediately, “You’re clumsy enough on ground, let alone in the air.”

“Less things to hit up there though, no?” Gwaine prods, grinning at Arthur’s glower.

“Do not underestimate the kind of trouble Merlin can get into.”

Merlin makes a face, “I was only ever in trouble because of you.”

“That’s worse! You see how that’s worse, right?”

Gwaine snaps a finger, “Oy, Merlin! Back to me! Where did you learn magic?”

“I was born with it.” Merlin says softly, “I’ve only really learned about magic properly when we were at the Druids. They gave me some books actually, do you want to see?” his eyes dance with the joy of sharing something he loves and Gwaine beams.

“Absolutely I do. Actually!” he pauses, barely able to keep from vibrating with excitement, “Do you think I could learn?”

Arthur lets his neck fall back, staring right into heaven, “Gods help us.”

Unable to bear the heart attack of it all, Arthur lets Merlin walk off with Gwaine, watching them become as thick as thieves right before his eyes. Still, a little smile plays across Arthur’s lips as he watches Merlin laugh when Gwaine tries a spell to no avail, face furrowed in over dramatic concentration. He likes it when Merlin is happy. Even if it’s because of somebody else.

Gwaine, Arthur realizes, is simultaneously the most irritating yet most useful person he’s ever met. He’s talkative and ridiculous but thoughtful and discerning. He’s excellent with a sword, Arthur begrudgingly acknowledges. Almost unbelievably so.

He’s also stupidly handsome and charming to boot.

Arthur grumbles at the sight of Merlin’s delighted cheer when Gwaine disarms Arthur with a clever little move, his sword flying out of his hand and into Gwaine’s own. Gwaine grins rakishly, giving a little mocking bow, “Don’t feel too bad princess, you beat me the first time.”

Arthur scowls, “And I’ll beat you again, don’t you worry.”

Merlin cheers from the sidelines, “That was fantastic Gwaine! Where’d you learn that!”

There’s that shifty look in Gwaine’s eye again, the one he thought no one noticed. “Just something I picked up. It’s not as fancy as what the fearsome knights of Camelot are taught.” He teases and Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Oh please, like you don’t already know you’re better than most of them.”

Gwaine just beams and Merlin laughs though he stops when he notices Arthur’s sullen stare in his direction. As Gwaine wanders off to go take a quick dip in the river, Merlin walks over to Arthur, wrapping his arms around his neck from behind, “Don’t tell me you’re jealous Arthur. You’re very pretty too.” He teases and laughs when Arthur makes a particularly aggravated noise in the back of his throat.

When Arthur still hasn’t made a witty retort, Merlin frowns, pulling away to peer at him, “You’re not actually jealous are you? That would be incredibly stupid of you.”

Arthur makes a face, his hands reaching around to tug Merlin before him, fingers settling on his hips. “Would it?”

“Yes.” Merlin says with a smile, kissing him slowly and with purpose, tangling his fingers in Arthur’s golden hair. “Don’t make a fool of my love Arthur.”

At this, Arthur finally smiles, kissing him back with a sweetness that makes Merlin want to just envelop him and never let go. Merlin guards the tender part of Arthur that no one else gets to see like a state secret. This is an Arthur that belongs only to him and he’s happy to remind Arthur of that as many times as it takes.

“I think I’m just stressed.” Arthur confesses, pulling away but still holding him, thumb rubbing absently over Merlin’s waist.

Merlin smooths out the worry lines from Arthur’s face, “We’ll be okay. Between you and Gwaine’s swordsmanship and my magic, we’ll have it under control.”

“Don’t push yourself too hard.” Arthur warns, “Alana taught me all about the energy flow between you and the world. I’ll never stop haranguing you about it if you do.”

Merlin sighs, kissing him once more before pulling away. “I never should have let you learn about magic.” He bemoans, mostly joking, but also sort of not.

“You’re probably right.” Arthur replies cheerily, “But alas, here we are.”

“Here we are indeed.” Merlin says mournfully before laughing as Arthur grabs him by the shoulder, pressing sloppy kisses to his hair and brow.

When Gwaine returns, it’s to Merlin and Arthur seated around the fire, roasting a rabbit they had caught earlier and handing him his portion. “So tomorrow we do this?” Gwaine asks between bites and Arthur nods.

“We all know the plan and we’ve practiced the run-through perfectly.”

Gwaine makes a face, “And we all know how perfectly plans always go once they’ve begun.”

Merlin lets out an amused breath, turning to Arthur with their shared history in his eyes, “Oh don’t we know it.”

“You have some good stories to tell then?” Gwaine asks, sliding down his log so he can lie down, leaning his neck against it.

They share another amused glance, “A few.” A boyish mischief flickers in Merlin’s eyes, “People have no idea the kind of shenanigans their crown prince got up to back in Camelot with his wayward servant.”

Arthur’s lip quirks up, “When said servant could be bothered to show up for work.”

Merlin glares, pushing against his shoulder, “You now know very well where I was you absolute twat.”

Gwaine snorts, watching them with undisguised fascination. “Were you two always like this? Even back in the castle?”

Arthur’s grin widens as he wraps an arm around Merlin, bringing him in closer. “This one always had quite the mouth on him.” He attests, “Never knew how to be proper a day in his life.”

“Hard to be proper when I was constantly running after a reckless prince who was perpetually falling for love spells and other tricks.” Merlin shoots back and Arthur just smiles, stroking the underside of Merlin’s jaw.

“You’re the strangest people I’ve ever met.” Gwaine announces, already closing his eyes, “But I like you, Arthur Pendragon. Never thought I’d make friends with a royal, though,” his eye cracks open so Arthur can see their mirth, “guess I still haven’t.”

“Thanks.” Arthur answers drily, unable to help his own smile seeing Gwaine’s own.

“Oh, and if you’re hoping to canoodle a little before we turn in, feel free to do it anywhere else. I’d actually like to sleep tonight if you don’t mind.”

Both Merlin and Arthur blanch, pulling away from each other, ears turning red.

“Shut up Gwaine.” Merlin bites and Gwaine only laughs.

“Good night boys, don’t have too much fun.”

Mood totally ruined, Arthur and Merlin skulk back into their bedrolls only to find each other’s eyes and burst into laughter, hiding the sound behind their palms. Arthur rolls closer, tracing Merlin’s cheek with his hand. Merlin’s eyes reflect the cosmos above them, glittering and ashine and Arthur can’t help but lean forward and kiss him flush on his mouth, enjoying its softness, how it opens just for him.

Merlin’s hand rises to press against Arthur’s own, still cupping Merlin’s face. “We should sleep.” Arthur whispers, “Though I loathe it when Gwaine is right.”

Merlin sighs, snuggling in closer. Arthur shifts, allowing Merlin to settle against his chest, throwing his arm around Arthur’s middle and bringing him closer. Arthur loves the feel of Merlin curled around him, feeling his breaths rise in and out, the weight of him over his heart, his comforting warmth.

“I couldn’t look at you too much when you were practicing with Gwaine because seeing you as a knight again was too much for me.” Merlin whispers into Arthur’s ear. “I was this close to tackling you to the ground, witnesses be damned.”

A passionate heat swoops through Arthur’s body and his voice feels strangled when he replies, “You have the worst timing in the world, Merlin.”

“Or the best.” He teases, “Now you’ll wrap up tomorrow’s events all the quicker and then we can spend the rest of the day doing something far more pleasurable.”

To accentuate his point, Merlin moves his face so it rests in the crook of Arthur’s neck, licking the skin and sucking on it until Arthur is moaning, pressing his fist to his mouth to suppress it.

“You’re evil.” He whisper yells and Merlin laughs, pressing a kiss to Arthur’s neck, trailing the kisses down until he gets to Arthur’s chest, his shirt stopping him from going any further. “It’s been torture having to dress you all this time, having to touch you but not being able to do anything more than linger when all I wanted was to taste every inch of you.”

Arthur shivers and Merlin simply curls back around him. “I’ve had my suffering Arthur, think of this as your turn.”

“Evil.” Arthur repeats and Merlin just snickers.

“I know you are but what am I?” Merlin retorts maturely, “Now go to sleep.” he instructs and Arthur just sighs, trying to think of anything other than the feel of Merlin’s body against his.

The next morning, Arthur is oddly quiet. He goes through the motions of tying his belt at his waist and sliding in his sword into its scabbard. Almost instinctively, he turns to find Merlin to begin putting on his mail but falters when he remembers where they are.

It’s not that he’s never fought out of his armor before. He’s had more near-death experiences in just his tunic and whatever weapon he could find within arm’s reach than he cares to admit. It’s not even that he feels vulnerable. He knows full well that without that barrier of metal, a single blow could be the precursor to his final moments. It’s none of that.

It’s that when he looks down at his chest, the familiar curve of the Pendragon crest isn’t there. It’s that his battles used to be for noble purposes, given to him by divine providence as is a king’s right. Arthur used to stand for something. He used to mean something. Be a part of something. He used to know what it was all for, what he was doing now and what he was supposed to do later.

Arthur’s whole life has been mapped out for him long before he was even born. He’s never had any choices of his own to make. He’s never had other paths. Without his crest, without his destiny, pre-written alongside Merlin’s own, he feels doubt, for the first time in his life. Doubt that his heart really was true. Doubt that the moral compass he’d fostered truly pointed north. How is he to know anymore? And who is he? To bring in others into danger with him when he’s so uncertain about it all?

Gwaine says something and Merlin cracks a laugh, tilting his head in a tacit ask for Gwaine to finish his story. Arthur looks at them both, feels an unbearable ache inside him. He could just leave right now. Slip away unnoticed, take care of it all himself. Who was he to lead? He can’t do anything. He isn’t anything.

“Arthur?” Merlin calls his name, brows knit together.

“This is your last chance to back out.” Arthur replies, unable to look either of them in the eye. “You don’t have to do this.”

“And you do?” Gwaine shoots back instead and Arthur startles.

“Of course I do. They’re my p-”

They’re not though, are they? His people, that is. Not anymore.

Something changes in Gwaine’s eyes and he stalks over to him, grasping Arthur’s forearm and squeezing. Arthur feels Gwaine’s grip tighten and overcome, he squeezes Gwaine’s arm back.

“Now that that’s over with.” Merlin announces cheerily, to Gwaine he comments, “He always gets like this and I don’t know why. It’s just part of the process of actually getting out and doing anything I’m afraid.”

Gwaine barks a laugh, knocking Arthur on the shoulder before throwing an arm around Merlin, “Well come on then, lead the way oh fearless leader.”

Merlin makes a face, “I don’t quite fancy being the leader. You?”

Gwaine shakes his head, “Absolutely not. I’m not one for the nitty gritty details.” He takes an exaggerated pause, “Guess that just leaves you princess.”

Arthur knows obviously, what they’re trying to do. He feels very juvenile all the sudden. A child who needs the gentle support of those around him to take his very first steps into the world unknown. He scowls, knocking Gwaine around the head, “Show your leader some respect then would you Gwaine?”

Gwaine shrugs lazily, “One thing at a time. First, let’s go get some bandit bounty. Then we’ll talk.”

Arthur narrows his eyes, his insecurities melting away as they always did at the precipice of a battle. Sometimes, Arthur wonders if he was just built for war. But then he thinks about the way the soil felt beneath his fingers and hopes there’s more to him than that. “Come on then. They’re still a mile away.”

Laudin and his men had taken over a tavern, terrifying its owners into letting them occupy it as their own until they were done with this place. After having talked it through, all three of them knew the plan inside out and spectacularly, the first part of it actually goes just as smoothly as Arthur had hoped. The rest of it is an utter disaster but…Arthur can’t deny he doesn’t get a bit of a thrill at having the noose tied around his neck just to slice the rope in two.

Merlin sneaks in through the kitchens, quietly luring out the husband and wife and confirms no one else needed to be evacuated. When the matron asks him what they were planning to do, Merlin just gives her a small smile and says, “Enough to maybe merit a loaf of bread I hope.”

When Laudin demands another pint only to find no one waiting at the bar, Arthur and Gwaine take the moment of distraction to burst in through the front door, the guards having been magically put to sleep by their very own sorcerer. Laudin spins around and all at once, a dozen swords are drawn out in their direction.

“Show yourselves.” Laudin demands and Arthur throws back his hood and relishes at the way Laudin’s eyes widen.

“You’re that man…from the camp.”

Arthur nods, a dark smirk on his lips.  “I told you to kill me properly. You have no one to blame for what happens next but yourself.”

Between the moment Arthur swings his blade and it clashes against someone else’s, it feels like years have passed. He sees it all in slow motion, his every instinct heightened. He and Gwaine move like twin blades, when he ducks, Gwaine soars, when Gwaine parries to the left, Arthur stabs from the right. They fly across the room, Gwaine collecting swords as he goes, Arthur moving for the final blow.

When Arthur retreats, his back presses against Gwaine’s and he’s startled at the rush of anticipation that courses through his veins. It feels like stepping off a boat onto dry land, like finding your bearings after thinking you were lost. Arthur turns his head, watches as Gwaine shakes the hair from his eyes as he leaps towards an oncoming quarry and feels oddly, that this is exactly where Gwaine is meant to be.

Someone jumps at Arthur from behind and he whirls around, catching the man’s blade as it slides down his sword and connects with the hilt. The reverberation ricochets up Arthur’s hand and he fumbles with his grip, jumping back when the man presses his advantage. The man goes for a straight stab and Arthur blocks it, shouting with all his strength as he knocks the blow away and elbows him right in the face.

Blood gushes from the man’s nose and Arthur takes his opportunity to slice at his knees and watch him plummet to the floor. He’s panting hard, there’s blood pounding in his ears. He looks for Merlin across the room where he’s been tasked with tying up the ones who lived and making sure they don’t die if they didn’t need to. He sees Laudin too. Eyeing Merlin like prey, not knowing he was a wolf in sheep’s clothing.

Maybe Arthur should let Merlin fight his own battles. Maybe he should let him come into his own power at his own time. But though Arthur had been taught to hate magic since before he could speak, he’s always felt a kinship with the dragon stitched on his shirt. He too, looked for treasure in every day things and when he found it, he held on so tightly his treasure ran away.

Arthur swings his sword in an arc and Laudin is lucky he felt the breeze of it quick enough to spin around and stop the blade before it cut into his neck. Arthur pushes in close, their swords scraping against each other until they both jump back, circling one another.

“Arthur!”

Merlin’s shout is lost amongst the fray and Arthur can’t spare him even a second. Not yet. Not now. He fights with Laudin like the fate of the very world depends on it. It does, in a way.

Laudin swings. Arthur ducks.

No, not in a single way. In every way. In all the ways that matter and ever will matter. Arthur holds on too tight, it’s true. He’s clutched onto the clothes of everyone who’s left him, tearing the fabric with his fingers.

Arthur surges forward, parrying and attacking, pushing Laudin into a corner.

Sometimes his heart feels like it’s constantly gushing and it spills out of him, uncontrollable. The thing about love is that it needs somewhere to go. Too much of it inside you and it turns into acid, spilling out of your heart and onto your lungs and ribs, burning you from the inside out.

Arthur’s never been allowed to love anyone to the point of fulfillment. Never been able to share even a fraction of what he had to give and then Merlin came into his life and it feels like no matter how much he has inside him to pour, Merlin can’t get enough. For the first time in his life, Arthur isn’t the insatiable one. He’s found someone who wants just as much as he has to give and he won’t ever let anything get in the way of that. So he will fight Merlin’s battles and he will keep him from harm and he will do everything in his power knowing that the tighter he holds on the closer Merlin will burrow into his embrace and it’s such a staggering relief Arthur almost wants to collapse from it.

Instead, he buries his blade into Laudin’s heart and brings his head close enough he knows the man won’t miss it. “You could have chosen a peaceful path. Maybe you could have lived instead.”

Blood dribbles past Laudin’s lips and he falls to the floor with an unceremonious thump. Arthur looks around the room, it’s gone silent, the ones still left staring at him with blank eyes. “It’s over.” Arthur commands and though he has no authority, his voice resonates still. “Everyone we’ve captured here will be turned in to Camelot’s knights. You can either give up peacefully or we can cut you at the knees and take you like that.”

Of the five men left, three try to fight and Merlin takes them out with a single flash of his eyes. Cowed and tamed, the two left over silently put their hands in the air and Gwaine ties them behind their backs with an easy smile. Merlin goes over everyone’s injuries, not healing them with magic, but binding them up enough that they’ll live to see their punishment. Four men are dead, Laudin included, but Arthur can’t feel too sorry for them.

They end up binding them all together and having them sit on the floor. When Merlin calls the owners back in, they can’t help but gaze in shock at what greets them in their own tavern and when the matron finally has the wits to speak she simply shakes her head and says, “I think that’ll be two loaves of bread and some soup.”

Merlin only grins.

They send word to one of the ranging knight squadrons who will come and pick the bandits up when they’re able to. In the meantime, Arthur asks if they can use the tavern for just a few more days to watch the prisoners until they’re picked up.

The woman, Mary, gives him an odd look, “Are you sure it’s wise to…” she trails off, uncertain of how to continue until her husband, Godfrey just shakes his head.

“What she means is, they’re knights of Camelot and you’re the exiled prince, I recognize you now. Doesn’t seem wise.”

Arthur flinches. “I don’t want to cause trouble for you. But I can’t leave them without any oversight.”

“I’ll bring some of our neighbours, we can take care of it.” Godfrey says firmly, his distaste clear.

From beside him, Gwaine frowns, “A thank you for getting these thugs out of your hair might be nice. What does it matter who he was before. He’s helped you now.”

“We never asked for your help.” Godfrey snaps and Mary gives him a look.

“Please accept the dinner as our thank you,” she cuts in hurriedly, “we’re grateful for your help. We are. But if word got out that we were hosting you, I-”

Arthur raises a hand, “It’s fine.” He says dully, “I understand. Come on, Gwaine. Merlin.”

Arthur turns on his heel and steps out without waiting. Merlin glowers at Godfrey, about to go after Arthur when he stops, “When the knights come to collect them, tell them exactly who it was that saved you and this village. Uther should know that his son is a better man than he will ever be.”

“A better man wouldn’t have gotten himself banished.” Godfrey pauses, making sure Merlin’s really looking at him, “Or conspire with sorcerers.”

Merlin blanches and Gwaine is quick to put himself bodily in between them. “We’ll be leaving now.”

“If I were a younger man, I would do my duty to Camelot and tie you up for the knights as well.” Godfrey spits.

Gwaine gives him a glare that could topple mountains before taking Merlin’s arm and guiding him out. “Ungrateful arse.” Gwaine spits as they slam the door behind them, “What does he know about anything?”

Merlin doesn’t reply, focused only on finding Arthur, who’s loitering outside for them, hood back on. It’s the sight of his beautiful face being hidden, the cloth pulled over Arthur’s piercing eyes that hurts Merlin the most. He never wanted Arthur to have to hide. Not like Merlin’s had to. For all this time. For all his life.

Is this what they’ve deserved? Is this what they’re getting now? The bitterness rises up Merlin’s throat until he’s sick with it. It isn’t fair. It isn’t. Arthur takes one look at him and pulls him into his chest. “They’ll understand one day.” Arthur whispers and it only makes Merlin’s resentment burn even brighter.

Silently, the three of them head back to their camp feeling listless and unsure. Gwaine is the least energetic of the three, glancing around the camp with a wistfulness that doesn’t go unnoticed by Arthur, who watches him back with a sad sort of understanding.

He knows what it feels like to feel unwanted. To not know if the people on your mind think of you just as often if even at all. Arthur never wants anyone to feel that way. Especially not Gwaine. Gwaine with the roaring laugh and lazy wit and the pure heart he tries to hide behind layers of walls that only someone who also grew up without the right kind of love could see through.

When it becomes clear that Gwaine is making to pack, Arthur stops him by blurting out the half-baked idea in his mind. He can feel his cheeks heat up when both sets of eyes are on him and he doesn’t exactly have a coherent speech to deliver. “I uh- let’s do this.” He gestures around them, “More.”

Gwaine’s brows furrow.  

“I mean,” Arthur scowls, running a hand through his hair, “what we did today, it was meaningful. And important. And even if the ending wasn’t exactly what we hoped for, that didn’t make the work any less worth doing.”

Gwaine sputters, “Wasn’t what we hoped for? Arthur,” he says disbelievingly, “they wanted to turn us in!”

Arthur jerks back, startled, “What?”

“They saw Merlin do magic and wanted to tie him up with the rest of them as if he hadn’t just helped save their sorry hides.”

Arthur turns hurt eyes to Merlin, “They said that?”

All at once, Arthur slumps onto the grass, wrapping his arms around his knees like he could protect all the vulnerable softness inside him. He has that look on his face, the one Merlin’s always hated. The one where Arthur stacks all the burdens he can find, whether they were his or not, atop of his shoulders and hunches forward from the pressure of it.

“We’ll change it.” Arthur asserts, expression hardening. “The people fear magic because they’ve been told to. Because even the knowledge of a sorcerer is enough to get you in trouble for conspiring with them.” He looks at them, eyes earnest and so naïve Merlin almost hurts from it. “They just don’t know any better. But we can show them. We can help them. What’s the point of having power if we don’t use it to help?”

“What power?” Gwaine pushes, “You’ve been stripped of your title as have-” he stumbles and then recovers quickly, “and Merlin and I never had any to begin with.”

The tension hardens between them and Arthur softens, patting the grass before him. “How you still have this much energy is beyond me. At least sit down.”

Gwaine looks like he wants to argue but Merlin touches him lightly on the arm and beckons him towards them. Grumbling, but doing as he was asked, Gwaine sits across from Arthur, the three of them sitting in a lopsided circle.

“All power is,” Arthur explains, “is the ability to get the outcome you want. All I want is for Camelot to be the best kingdom it can be, to help the people who need it and leave the land better than I found it. I don’t need a crown for that and one day…one day they might change their minds about magic and maybe it won’t matter that my father is on the throne because the villagers will protect their own and no one will have to know if a flower grew when it wasn’t supposed to or if a bone healed better than it would have.”

Gwaine hardens.

“They hate you. You and the person you love.”

“For now.”

“Why though?” Gwaine bursts out, “They’ll spit at you and call you names and chase you out the second they know who you are. Why bother with them.”

The air is thick with everything that’s burst unsaid from beneath Gwaine’s words. Arthur looks at him, takes in the way Gwaine sits with his shoulders back- that’s years worth of posture lessons and an inherent pride you can’t learn, but are simply born with. Remembers the arc of his blade in the air, the elegant twist of his wrist, the step-by-step footwork he moved through as easy as breathing.

“Whose court did you come from Gwaine?”

Gwaine startles out of his glower, blinking at him. “What are you on about.”

“Your hatred of royalty, your distaste for these people, your immediate desire to break the rules.” Arthur looks up from the flames, his gaze steady, “Who let you down?” he asks softly and Gwaine looks away.

Things are silent for a long time before Gwaine speaks. “Not very good at keeping secrets, am I?” he sighs.

Merlin quirks a grin, stealing a look with Arthur. “Maybe if we had less to keep of our own, we wouldn’t be able to recognize yours.”

Gwaine lets out a laughing breath, shaking his head in amused agreement. “Fair enough.”

From where he’s seated next to him, Merlin nudges Gwaine with his foot and gives him a small smile, “I think you’ll feel better if you get it off your chest.”

Gwaine stares back for a moment, his fist clenching and unclenching before he sighs. “Fine. I’m of ‘noble blood,’” he says with a sneer, “as though that means anything. My father was a knight, I was training as a squire. My father was favoured upon in court, always riding out with the king.”

Gwaine scowls, a deep hatred burning through his words, his very skin crackling with the heat of it. “Caerleon.” He spits and Arthur winces in sympathy.

“I know him. He’s…” Arthur struggles to find a polite word before remembering he’s no longer a prince, “he’s a tyrant. Arrogant enough to think that power is a right and not a blood borne duty.”

A shadow of a smile crosses Gwaine’s face. “He was a rotten king. And his sons will be rotten too. But still…my father thought it was an honour to serve him. An honour to serve our kingdom. And I loved my father so I thought I should want to serve too.”

History might not have been Arthur’s best subject, but he has a sinking feeling he knows where this is going. “Did your father fight in the war? The battle with Lot?”

Gwaine meets his gaze and nods. “They sent him out in the first wave. It was a trap and Caerleon knew it was but he needed to pretend to fall for it so he could swoop in from behind and take out Lot’s army from within.”

Merlin’s expression crumbles. “Gwaine that’s…”

Gwaine shrugs, “It wasn’t honourable. It wasn’t noble. It wasn’t any of the things the king and his court pretend to care about without putting anything into practice. My father died from seven arrows to the chest and they left him there in the dirt for days until they finally went to collect the bodies and bring them back home.”

The disgust wells in Arthur’s throat but it’s nothing compared to what he knows Gwaine must feel in his own heart every time he turns his father’s story in his mind.

“With my father gone, my mother and I were penniless. Having nowhere to turn, she sought an audience with the king and begged to be supported just until I could finish my training and try my hand at being a knight myself. My father died in Caerleon’s service, in his name, and the king has a duty to look after his citizens, especially the widows of his own army but he turned her away and said that if the king looked after every pitiable person there’d be nothing left in the coffers. He had the guards drag her out sobbing and that’s when I knew that even if they took me, I would never wield a sword in any noble’s name.” Gwaine’s voice is steel, “There isn’t a single royal worth dying for.”  

“What happened to you and your mother?” Merlin asks softly and Gwaine falters.

“She…she tried to get a job as a seamstress, and I would do odd jobs for some coin but when she got sick…we couldn’t afford any of the medicine.” He leaves it at that and Arthur’s heart squeezes.

“I’m sorry Gwaine. For everything that happened.” Arthur’s always been a bit awful with words, he never quite knew how to make it all come out the way he wanted to. Was never sure if what he was saying met the mark even when he wanted it desperately to.

“The past is the past.” Gwaine finally says, “But it taught me a valuable lesson. Everyone looks after themselves and most people aren’t worth your time.”

“You didn’t.” Arthur doesn’t realize he’s said it until it’s already out of his mouth.

Gwaine looks at him with inscrutable eyes.

Stumbling over his words, Merlin takes over for Arthur, eyes gentle. “When you first met us, you didn’t have to help, but you did. Because you thought it was the right thing to do. You came to help us with Laudin because it was the right thing to do too. Even now, you’re still here as we’re talking about doing what we can, where we can, because deep down, you don’t believe any of what you said.”

“Come with us Gwaine.” Arthur says, gaining momentum, “You can’t honestly be happy just traveling across the countryside drinking your way through life. You’ve been clinging to the past, but we can give you a future.”

“Getting a little presumptuous, aren’t we?” Gwaine shoots, face unreadable.

“Come on Gwaine, you said it yourself that you’ve been bored.” Merlin cuts in, “Arthur and I are a lot of things but even you can’t say we’re dull.”

Gwaine huffs a laugh, but it’s dry and curt.

“There’s so much more to the world Gwaine.” Arthur says, “And you have more to offer it too, not because they deserve you, but because you do. I know the world has let you down. As it has for Merlin and as it has for me. Caerleon will still be a tyrant and my father will still be as stubborn and unchanging as he always is, but we don’t need to be.”

With great effort, Gwaine looks up and tilts his head, “They won’t love you any more for it. No matter how much you love them first.”

Arthur grits his jaw, “It doesn’t matter. I have to do the things that only I can. Camelot might not be my responsibility anymore, but she is still my heart. And if I stop being true to that then I don’t know who I am.”

Gwaine turns to Merlin, “And you then?”

Merlin shrugs, looking at Arthur resolutely, “I go where he goes. It’s as simple as that.”

“And that’s enough?” Gwaine asks in bewilderment.

“I was happy living in hiding as a sorcerer in Camelot’s court.” Merlin replies, “This is infinitely better in comparison.” When Gwaine doesn’t stop staring Merlin’s expression softens, “I believe in the world Arthur wants to create. I always have. And it's my job to help him do it.” A playful smile tugs at his lips, “You can almost say it’s my destiny.”

“Merlin.” Arthur chides and Merlin laughs.

“You two don’t make a lick of sense.” Gwaine declares, falling backwards until his hair is in the grass and his face is to the moon. “Of course I’m coming with you. There’s still too many adventures to be had.”

Merlin cheers, throwing himself on his shoulder in an awkward hug. Gwaine tries to hide his smile but can’t when even Arthur clamors over and claps him on the shoulder. “Thank you.” He says earnestly and in his eyes, Gwaine sees the king Arthur would have become, the gleaming crown, the flourish of his cape and Gwaine himself, standing at his left, dressed in Pendragon red.

It wouldn’t be so bad, he thinks, serving a king like you.

He doesn’t say that though, because here in this forest, despite the blood in their veins, they’re just three men sharing stories around a fire and a tentative promise of even more to tell tomorrow and tomorrow and every tomorrow to come.

Chapter Text

They tell Gwaine about Lancelot shortly after their sappy declaration to continue on together and so the hunt begins. The last Merlin heard, Lancelot was headed towards the Mercian border and so that’s where the three start their journey- but not before Merlin steals three of Laudin’s horses for the way.

Gwaine is ecstatic when he sees, wrapping Merlin up in a bear hug and swinging him around, “Everyone who thinks sorcery is evil is an idiot.” He proclaims and Arthur rolls his eyes.

“Yes, because we really want to be advertising how easy theft is in the quest for magic acceptance.”

Gwaine waves a hand around as though to say that’s neither here nor there, to which Arthur argues that it’s the entire point of it all actually and so the bickering begins. Merlin doesn’t find it in himself to care though if he’s being honest. He meant what he said to Gwaine around the fire, this truly is the happiest he’s been in a long time. Though they have nothing that they want, they somehow also have everything they need.

More importantly, Merlin has Arthur.

Back in Camelot, Merlin had lived in constant fear and anxiety. He was hiding not only his magic, but vital parts of himself and his choices and it had taken leaving for Merlin to realize just how heavy those burdens had been. Keeping secrets such as those was like binding his limbs until his extremities went white. It was like having your hands numb, the torniquet of his lies binding him tighter and tighter until he felt detached from his own self.

The more Arthur had opened up to him, the more closed off Merlin had to be. The more Arthur risked his life for him, threw him behind his back during a fight, laughed at his jokes or worse than all of it, noticed his moods and asked him what was wrong, the more awful Merlin felt until it became like he was splitting into two. The more he fell in love with the prince he couldn’t have the worse it got and when he thinks about it now, Merlin doesn’t know what he would’ve done, how we would’ve ended up.

His love would have consumed him and never letting it show would have made him bitter, he’s certain.

He would’ve had to make harder and harder choices, build bigger palaces of lies to encompass the small ones from before. He would have to look into Arthur’s darling face and betray his trust every single moment they were together and somehow do it all with a smile for the naïve prince who thought he knew everything about his clumsy manservant turned friend and Merlin knowing it could never be true.  

No, Merlin thinks. Being here, in these woods, with Arthur’s carefree smile and renewed sense of purpose was infinitely better. Here, Merlin could kiss Arthur wherever he liked, without having to fear prying eyes. Here, Merlin could use magic to set up camp and Arthur would just smile at him from across the way, carrying in stacks of wood. Here, Arthur could tell Merlin about his dreams and share a laugh without the weight of a kingdom hanging from his head, haunting his every move.

Arthur tells him about the cottage they will live in and before Merlin’s realized it, the house on the lake with the beautiful sunsets has become his own biggest wish. He aches for that gentle future desperately, wants a home and a hearth and a place to return with that crooked smile he so adored welcoming him every time he walked through the door.

They’re not at that point yet. There’s still a little more to do. But it’s alright, because in these woods, Arthur and Merlin are happy and there is nothing Merlin won’t do to keep them just like this.

Forever.

Arthur grabs Merlin for a kiss worth swooning over when they hop off their horses at the end of the day, Gwaine heading off to make camp. Merlin sinks into Arthur’s hold for just a moment before throwing himself with even more intensity, cornering Arthur into a tree and pulling his hips flush against his.

Arthur pulls away, breathless and swollen, smiling almost helplessly at the single-minded focus in Merlin’s eyes. “See something you like then?” he jokes and Merlin wants to tell him yes, yes yes. That there is nothing he likes more than the sunlight bouncing in Arthur’s eyes. That he could give Arthur everything he wanted if he so chose.

Ask it of me, he could say, and I can bring Camelot to its knees. Ask it of me, and I could have your father off the throne and have the people cheer your name instead. Ask it of me, and I can rewrite the very history of the land until people forget there was ever a father and think only of the son. Ask it of me, and I can make you the king you were destined to be.

But Arthur is tucking a lock of hair behind Merlin’s ear, his hand sliding down Merlin’s neck so his thumb strokes his jaw. The blue of Arthur’s eyes is like the ice melting into sea, crystalline and endless, accepting the tides will sweep it where it so chooses.

Merlin loves him so much he hurts from it.

He loves him so much that he’s selfish with it.

Merlin wants Arthur all to himself but more than that, he wants Arthur to be happy. Happier than anyone. Happier than everyone. He wants Arthur to have everything he wants but he won’t give him Camelot. Won’t give him the crown. The kingdom doesn’t deserve him. Doesn’t deserve his worry and his anxiety and his endless devotion and care.

They don’t deserve the Arthur in his arms. The tender boy who had to hide his softness to stay alive in both the battles and his own home. No, Merlin thinks. He will hide Arthur away and give him the life he always deserved. He will make him into a hero for the ages. He will write Arthur’s name into folklore and song; the tales of the noble prince who even when the whole world was against him, saved it anyway, over and over, just because he loved it so.

Maybe heroes are happier than kings.

What was the point of all of Merlin’s magic then, if he couldn’t keep a single smile on one man’s face? What was the point of his magic if he couldn’t fight off fate? What is destiny to a god whose temple was the boy in his arms?

“I always like you.” Merlin whispers against Arthur’s lips and can’t help but smile when he feels Arthur’s laughter rumble through him.

“Well that’s just not true.” Arthur holds Merlin’s waist and spins him so Merlin’s back is now against the tree, “I seem to recall you thinking I was quite the prat.”

“You’re still a prat.” Merlin helpfully supplies, burrowing into Arthur’s neck, leaving little bruises, “It’s just that I’m a tad masochistic and seem to like that sort of thing.”

“You’d get bored if I was too nice to you.” Arthur teases and Merlin looks up, staring right into Arthur’s eyes.

“I’d never get bored of you.” He says honestly and feels almost sad when Arthur’s cheeks darken.

“Even when I’m old and grouchy?”

“You’re already old and grouchy.” Merlin grins, kissing away Arthur’s complaints.

Merlin wants desperately to hold him, to feel all of Arthur beneath him, solid and permanent. Sometimes, loving Arthur feels like falling to his knees at the altar. Pressing his lips to Arthur’s skin, tracing the ridge of his collarbone, down his ribs and over his beating heart, a ritual of faith, a prayer he’s had memorized since he first had a taste of what it meant to worship.

Merlin believes in the gods from the way Arthur arches beneath his hands, hears all the prayers the land itself wove into the stars in Arthur’s sighs. Merlin pays tribute as he takes Arthur into his mouth, serving the warmth of his own devotion as an offering Arthur accepts with the grace of all divinity.

Do you even know? Merlin wants to ask as Arthur takes him in hand as he slides himself inside. Merlin pushes down, wants Arthur to engulf him, wants to feel like every bit of him is tethered by the golden threads he sees surrounding Arthur at every moment, all of him a living sunbeam. Do you know how much the earth thrums in adoration for you? Do you know how quick the sea is to reach the shore just to see you? Do you know how gentle the mighty wind is when it strokes your cheek?

Have you ever wondered why all of magic was reincarnated into a single man just for you? Have you never thought about how much the land aches to be with you, if it created this body made of blood and clay just to touch you?

As Arthur thrusts into him, pressing kisses into Merlin’s hair, his eyes pressed in bliss, Merlin drinks his fill, disbelieving at the way the light sparkles through Arthur’s hair, at the way he looks at Merlin as he nears the end, kissing him messily on the mouth.

There will never be another like him Merlin realizes. There is only one and Merlin vows to treasure him like no one else will. Arthur spends inside him and when he bends to kiss his way down to where Merlin is burning to be touched, it’s like all his prayers are answered and Merlin cries out when it’s over, needing to hold and be held. And because Arthur is all Merlin’s ever wanted, perfect in every way, he hears his plea without needing to be asked and moves them both so that Merlin is cradled in Arthur’s arms, Arthur pressing little kisses to his forehead.

“You were beautiful.” Arthur murmurs and Merlin doesn’t know how to say that nothing compares to Arthur himself.

“I love you.” He says instead, kissing Arthur’s chest before snuggling closer.

Arthur doesn’t reply, just holds him tighter and strokes his finger up and down Merlin’s back. They can’t stay there long, there are tasks to be done and there’ll be creatures lurking but for the moment, Arthur basks in the post bliss quiet, memorizing the contours of Merlin’s shape, feeling his warmth seep into his own skin.

“I’m glad I met you.” Arthur says quietly, the crickets harmonizing around them. “I’m glad I get to love you.”

Merlin can’t help but have his lip tremble at that. He’s never been told anything like that before. He’s never had anyone choose to love him because they wanted to. Not like this. When he’s at his lowest, he feels sometimes that he’s just done everything wrong and the life he had was all he deserved, all he’d ever get.

But Arthur was glad.

“Me too.” Merlin leans up and kisses Arthur slowly, savouring the pressure of his lips, the way they pressed back in just the right way. “Now come on, we should probably get dressed before Gwaine comes looking for us.”

Arthur’s lips jerk up without him meaning them to, “I think he might have learned his lesson after-”

“Oh gods, shut up Arthur, I can’t even think about that.”

Arthur throws his head back and laughs, looking more breathtaking than any work of art Merlin had ever seen.

Let me be with him forever, he implores. Let me stay at his side until the end of it all, until there’s nothing left. Don’t take him from me, he begs the land. Don’t make him yours when right now he’s mine.

“Merlin?” Arthur’s still trying to put on his shirt, half in, half out, but his concern knocks Merlin out of his reverie. “Are you alright?”

Merlin looks at him just a minute before throwing out a blinding smile, “Never better. You on the other hand…”

Arthur flips him a rude gesture and Merlin laughs, joining him as they make themselves presentable and walk back to camp hand in hand.

It’s a long ride to the Mercian border and the trio take few breaks as they push the horses to the limit. Arthur isn’t certain why he feels so strongly that they must have Lancelot on this journey, but he remembers the way the man had held himself and knows that he has more to offer the world than being a mercenary or whatever the hell it is he’s been doing. He couldn’t give Lancelot the knighthood he deserved back then and can’t give it to him now, but maybe what he has is still good enough.

Eight days later, they arrive at one of the border towns, its disrepair evident in everything about it from the creaking of the badly constructed gate, the patches in the straw roofs, and the gaunt look in people’s eyes. One group though, stood out as being significantly better off than the rest.

Arthur’s been in court his whole life, he can recognize a parasite when he sees one and these men have definitely been sucking the life from this town. He keeps an eye on them as Merlin and Gwaine scatter in the main square, subtly asking for information. When it seems like all hope is lost here, a boy bumps into Gwaine and for a shiny coin tells him about the man with the tan skin and sad eyes who sometimes comes down from Hengist’s fortress and gives whatever he has to the sick and the desolate.

There’s no reason for them to think this man in specific is Lancelot, especially not when they learn about who Hengist is, but Merlin has one of his funny feelings again and Arthur’s grown enough to trust them by now. “You really think it’s him?” he asks and Merlin frowns.

“We can’t be sure, but we should try, shouldn’t we?”

And Arthur can’t really argue with that and so in exchange for their last bit of gold, they ask the boy with scrappy hair to head into Hengist’s domain and get the men he described to come and meet them. When the boy asks who to say is looking, Arthur just smiles and says, “Tell him the griffin sent us.”

They point the boy in the direction of their camp and have to wait there for all of a few hours before there’s a snapping of twigs and all three whirl around, ready for a fight, when Lancelot ducks beneath a leafy branch, “I knew it was you.” He breathes and smiles wider when Merlin bursts into a pleased laugh, throwing his arms around him.

Arthur follows after, holding out his arm for Lancelot to clasp, smiling as he does. “It’s good to see you again Lancelot.”

“And I you, but this is no time for celebration I fear. Gwen is in trouble.”

Immediately, Arthur freezes, looking first to Merlin and then back to their friend. “Guinevere? How could you know that?”

“Because in trying to kidnap the Lady Morgana and failing, they captured Gwen instead and are trying to pass her off as Uther’s ward to get their ransom.”

Arthur pales, “They’ll find her out soon enough when my father doesn’t pay. Where is she being held?”

“In Hengist’s fortress. If we are to succeed in breaking her out, it needs to be now.”

“Well we better get to it then shouldn’t we? A fair maiden awaits.” Gwaine cuts in, shaking the hair from his eyes.

Lancelot blinks at him, “I’m sorry, I don’t think we’ve met. My name is Lancelot.”

Gwaine shakes his hand, giving him a once over and then an appreciative grin, “Gwaine, pleasure.”

Lancelot is still staring, like trying to fathom Gwaine out. Knowing this is a pointless endeavor, Arthur steps in, taking charge like he was born for it. “Lancelot, tell us everything you know about the layout and where Guinevere is being kept, we’ll do everything we can.”

Lancelot gives him a long look, “Everything?”

Merlin looks to Arthur, “He knows about my magic. He knows everything.”

Lancelot blinks in surprise, “That’s wonderful news. There’s so much we need to discuss but…”

“But first Gwen.” Merlin smiles, squeezing Lancelot’s wrist, “We’ll get her back, don’t worry.”

The weight of Lancelot’s eyes is staggering. “I can’t lose her Merlin. To see her once more after leaving her, I don’t think I can bear to be parted from her again.”

“I know.” Merlin says softly, “And I won’t let that happen, I promise.”

The promise is easier said than done of course, as Merlin struggles to scale the literal cliffside as Gwaine and Arthur sprint up like they’re mountain goats. Typical. Still, not one to keep a bad attitude for long, Merlin soldiers through, going through the steps of the plan in his mind. The problem of course, is when Lancelot doesn’t show up at their meeting point and Merlin has the sinking suspicion that something has gone horribly wrong.

As Arthur and Gwaine fight their way through a series of guards, they’re drawn to the sounds of jeering and cheers. Fighting their way through the crowd, Merlin watches in horror as Lancelot and Gwen are tossed into a cage, tied and cowering. Tears are streaming down Gwen’s face, but she bravely swallows them down, reaching behind her back to hold Lancelot’s hand.

For as long as he lives, Merlin doesn’t think he’ll ever forget the pain on Lancelot’s face when he realizes that he won’t be enough to save the woman he loves. That all his struggling was for naught.

Merlin has a vision of Arthur with blood on his lips and steadfastly banishes it away.

“Release the wilderrean!” Hengist cries and Merlin swears his heart almost drops from his chest.

He turns to grab Arthur’s arm but the rage in his eyes is so visceral Merlin is almost afraid. Arthur soars away before Merlin can reach him, lunging for the bars and swinging himself atop them. The crowd roars in disapproval but Arthur ignores all of it. From beside Merlin, Gwaine bursts out laughing before running too, sauntering over to the other side and throwing Lancelot his extra sword after Arthur cuts him and Gwen free.

“Fancy seeing you here!” Gwaine calls before turning to Gwen and giving her a wink, “My lady.”

Together, the three leap upon the beast, unable to truly harm it but keeping far enough back that it can’t devour them first. Merlin scans the room helplessly. There’s a stinging at the back of his neck like he’s missing something and that’s when he sees Hengist load up a bolt into his crossbow and aim it right for Arthur’s neck.

Merlin doesn’t even think. His hands fly up and Hengist is blown backwards along with everyone standing next to him. Arthur glances up at that and stares at him in exasperation, “Merlin, get in here!”

Huffing, Merlin climbs over the bars and jumps off to land next to him, “Ever heard of a thank you? He was going to shoot you in the head.”

Arthur rolls his eyes, “I’ll say thank you when I see it.”

“I can’t believe you-”

“Can you settle your lover’s quarrel any time else?” Gwaine shouts, fending off another wilderrean bite. “We need to go!”

Gwen is at Lancelot’s back, his left arm out in a shield as he looks up. “I agree, Merlin, can you open the gate?”

Merlin’s response is a flash of gold and the door is open as the five of them rush out waiting for Merlin to close it behind them with a clang. Giving the door an appreciative look, Arthur turns a boyish grin in his lover’s direction. “Thank you.”

It’s Merlin’s turn to roll his eyes, “Oh, right.” But he mellows out soon enough when Arthur plants a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth before tapping him on the shoulder and running forward.

Merlin shakes his head, smiling until he catches sight of Gwen’s face. He can’t tell with the shadows and her own inscrutability but his stomach clenches nonetheless as he follows her out. In the open, they run until they make it to their horses, Gwaine taking one, Arthur and Merlin the second, and Lancelot and Gwen the third. They ride until they feel safe enough that no one would be coming after them and finally rest next to a small stream.

Arthur stretches as he slides off his horse, making all sorts of noises Merlin would find distracting at any other time. Now though, he sees only Gwen and her sad eyes and like gravity, he’s drawn to her. “Can we go talk?” he asks and she looks up with a small smile.

“Of course.”

He holds out a hand and she takes it, smoothing out her dress as she follows him to the stream. On the way, Merlin catches Arthur’s curious eye but shakes his head. The two of them settle on a pair of rocks and before Merlin can say anything at all, Gwen has thrown her arms around him and starts to cry. “I’m sorry.” She says between tears, “I didn’t mean to get so emotional but- you don’t know how good it is to see you again Merlin. You and everyone.”

Merlin hugs her back, burying his nose in her hair. “It might be just as good as it is to see you if you need a comparison.” He says and smiles when she hiccups a laugh.

When she pulls away, Gwen wipes at her eyes with her sleeve, taking a deep breath to compose herself before she turns her whole body to him. “How are you, Merlin? So much has happened since you’ve left, I can’t even imagine how much more has changed for you and…” she looks at the camp, “and for Arthur.”

Merlin’s smile falters before he takes her hand in his and squeezes, “Gwen I…I’m sorry. I know that you and Arthur…before everything happened-”

Gwen shakes her head, covering his hand with her own, “Merlin no, don’t be silly. You don’t need to apologize to me, that’s the last thing I’d ever want. You’re my friend. My best friend. And I just want you to be happy. You are happy, aren’t you?” she asks worriedly, and he can’t help but think about how much he adores her.

“Yes.” He can’t even help it, his smile is as out of his hands as his love is, “I really am Gwen. I never thought that…”

“Well I for one just can’t believe I didn’t see it sooner.” Gwen laughs softly, shaking her head, “You two were always inseparable, even in the very beginning when you insisted you hated him.”

Merlin ducks his head, unable to stop himself from joining in her laughter. “Yeah well, he’s annoyingly endearing, isn’t he?”

“He is.” She agrees softly.

“Do you still love him?” he asks, scared of her answer.

Gwen doesn’t say anything for a moment, fiddling with the folds of her skirt. “I don’t know if I ever did love him. At least, not like that. I do, I mean, love him. But…I think that…when Lancelot left and my heart was broken, it was easier for me to start falling for someone like Arthur to distract myself from it all but seeing Lancelot again…it just rekindled all the feelings I had tried to bury away. Does that make sense?”

“Perfect sense.” Merlin smiles, “For the record, I think he’s just as infatuated with you as you are him.”

Gwen blushes and Merlin feels a ridiculous joy for her. “Do you think so?”

“Gwen, you have no idea how engraved your name is in his heart.”

This just makes Gwen flush all the harder and she presses her hands to her cheeks as though to quell them. “Merlin, stop it.” But she doesn’t mean it and Merlin pulls her into his side for a one-armed hug once more.

“There’s so much to tell you Gwen.” He muses, “And so much for you to tell us. Are you alright? Things must be harder now.”

Something darkens in Gwen’s eyes. “I’m worried Merlin.” She says simply, “But I think this is a story for Arthur to hear too.”

When all five of them gather, they take turns telling their tales. Merlin speaks of his magic and the Druids. Arthur talks about Ealdor and his newfound mission. Gwaine shares how he stumbled upon them and Lancelot confesses how he’d lost his way but no longer.

“You have magic? Truly?” Gwen breathes, turning to Merlin with wide eyes.

Merlin closes his hand and his eyes flash gold. When he opens it, nestled in his palm is a single butterfly. Gwen lights up, reaching out to touch it when it flutters its wings and flies away.

“That’s incredible.” She murmurs, “You’re incredible.”

Flustered, and still not used to compliments over his magic, Merlin smiles shyly. “Thank you.”

Gwen keeps her smile a few moments longer before it drops and she rubs tiredly at her face. “I wish we could just sit here and think about all the good, but the court is in disarray since you’ve been gone Arthur.” She confesses and Arthur turns to her with weary eyes. “There are some who agree with you about magic though they’ve wisely held their tongues in front of the king.”

Arthur’s shock is as palpable as Merlin’s own. “Really? Who?”

“I’m not certain, I’ve been away from court more and more now that Morgana has…oh Arthur, it’s all gotten so twisted, nothing is as it should be since you were forced to leave.”

Arthur’s pain is palpable.

“I’m sorry Guinevere.”

“It’s not your fault!” and the group stares as the usually gentle Gwen raises her voice, brows drawn, “Uther is a worse off king without you and its evident in everything that’s happened so far.”

Arthur’s startled expression melts into one of soft endearment, “Have you always been this opinionated Guinevere?”

Gwen looks away, tucking a curl behind her ear.

“I like it.” He elaborates and Gwen gives him a small smile.

“Well, it’s true.” She insists, “The discord in court is no surprise. There are those who think Uther is too rigid in his application of the magic ban, those who remember a time before the purge where things were different. It doesn’t help of course that losing you has sent Uther over the edge.”

Arthur blinks, his shock eradicating the hearts of everyone around him, though he doesn’t notice it. “It has?”

Merlin wants nothing more than to blow apart the father who loved his son so little he asks so tragic a question like that with such terrible sincerity.

Gwen nods, “He’s irritable all the time now, constantly looking out the window as though trying to find you. He’s become obsessed with the witch Morgause. He’s convinced she’s turned you against him, that she’s enchanted you and if he can only find her, he will bring you back as well.”

“She hasn’t enchanted him.” Merlin scowls and Gwen gives him a hopeless look.

“I know that.” She says softly, “Good luck convincing the king.”

“How could you be sure though? When everyone else was convinced I had been?” Arthur asks and Gwen just looks at him like he’s being willfully silly.

“Arthur, anyone who heard the story you had to tell would be a fool to think you were enchanted. There’s no way you would support the persecution of innocent people just to fuel a blood feud.” Gwen tilts her chin defiantly, “I know you, Arthur. You’re a good man.”

Maybe Arthur shouldn’t be as touched as he is by that proclamation, but it doesn’t change the fact that he is. He nods at her, not trusting himself to speak.  

“Don’t soften just yet,” Gwen shakes her head, “I fear I only have more bad news to share.”

Lancelot reaches over to take her hand. Surprised, Gwen stares at their joined fingers before smiling and squeezing back. “I’m worried about Morgana.” She confesses and Merlin’s stomach sinks.

“It’s her magic isn’t it.” Her says quietly and Gwen jerks up in surprise.

“You knew?”

“Not in so many words.” Merlin’s slow to say, “I thought Gaius was helping her though.”

“No, his sleeping draughts don’t work anymore and every day it gets worse. She can’t control what she does and the fear makes her…it makes her bitter.” Gwen whispers. “I see it in her eyes when she looks at Uther and I’m worried that she’ll do something she can’t take back.”

“You think she’ll kill him?” Arthur can barely get the words out.

“I don’t know.” Gwen answers helplessly and Arthur shakes his head.

“No. Not Morgana. Not our Morgana.”

Gwen doesn’t look as sure. “I don’t know Arthur. I’m worried for her. I’m always worried for her. She feels so distant from me now, no matter how hard I try to get her to let me in.”

“She argues with Uther all the time now,” Gwen says, “over everything. Over you too, what Uther did. Especially over you.”

Arthur flinches.

The sorrow in Arthur’s face is too painful, too poignant and unavoidable. Merlin can’t bear it. “There’s nothing we can do Gwen.” Merlin cuts in with a definitive tone.

“If Arthur was to come back then maybe-”

“He can’t.” Merlin interrupts sharply and Gwen falls silent.

Lancelot gives him a look and Merlin sighs, rubbing at his eye, “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to- I just…Arthur can’t go back without Morgause’s head and an apology he wouldn’t mean. What use is he dead or imprisoned? At least here we can help the people who need it.”

“Morgana needs it too!” Gwen insists and Merlin throws up his hands.

“Then bring her here! Have her banish herself with us! But I won’t send Arthur back to a court who will vilify him for having a heart.”

“It’s been months,” Gwen pleads, “maybe Uther will forgive him.”

“Uther is a tyrant.” Merlin shoots poisonously and Gwen retreats.

“Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is quiet, but authoritative enough that everyone falls silent, “That’s enough.”

To Gwen he says, “You would always be welcome with us but I have a feeling that’s not where your heart lies. Do you want to go back to Camelot Guinevere?”

Gwen stutters, looking at Lancelot and their intertwined hands, “I…”

Arthur holds up a hand, gentle, “Then let’s return to this in the morning. I can’t be the only one who’s exhausted.”

Gwen bows her head as though he were still a prince and though Arthur winces, he says nothing of it. Instead, he rises to go clear his head, a walk around the perimeter will do him some good.

“Come with me?” Lancelot asks her softly and Gwen smiles, though it’s small and pained.

Lancelot leads her through the trees until they’re alone, but still close enough to see the fire. Taking both Gwen’s hands in his own, Lancelot presses a kiss atop them both, staring into her eyes as he does. “I have loved you since I’ve known you.” He whispers, “I’m not proud of anything I’ve done since I left Camelot but I don’t regret a single moment of every horrible thing because it brought me back to you.”

“Lancelot-” Gwen pulls away just to throw her arms around his neck and bury her face into his shoulder, “Why are you telling me these things.”

“Because I need you to know.” He whispers, “I need you to know that you are the part of me that is good and true. That the thought of you, your smile, your laugh, the kindness in your heart, were the only points of light when I was trapped in darkness.”

Lancelot closes his eyes, pressing their foreheads together like the fight’s just all gone out. “I wanted such beautiful things for you. A white veil, a burning hearth, children with your eyes and soul.”

“We can have that.” Gwen pleads, holding him tighter against her.

Lancelot turns his face and presses a thousand little kisses into her hair and brow, each one more attentive than the last. “We will.” He promises, “But it cannot be now.”

Gwen draws away, looking up at his heartbroken face and tries her hardest not to cry. “Because you have to go with Arthur.”

“And you have to go back to the Lady Morgana. You need to bring her back.”

He brushes a stray curl behind Gwen’s ear and she leans into his touch, closing her eyes. “I’ve only just found you again. It’s too unbearable to part so soon.”

“I know. But I know you as I know myself and neither of us could forgive ourselves for not doing what we can. Morgana is your friend and she needs you.”

Gwen’s lip trembles.

“And you’re the love of my life.”

“That’s how you know I will always be there.” Cupping her face in his hand like she is a jewel to be revered, Lancelot leans down and kisses her, gentle like the rain.

Closing her eyes to keep the tears at bay, Gwen pulls him in closer, kissing him back with all the words she hasn’t had the time to say, all the feelings she hasn’t yet shared. She knows his soul as he knows hers, knows that he must follow his heart and be with the king he was meant to serve to undo the wrongs he had wrought. She knows how badly he longs to have his soul wiped clean, how badly he wants to feel like he is good again, Lancelot the most noble and the most honourable once more.

She thinks of Morgana, alone in her room, weeping from fear and rage and knows she cannot abandon her, not like this. Never like this. One day, her and Lancelot will meet again, she knows it. She depends on it. She will count down the days and look up at the moon hoping Lancelot is too. She will live on pure hope alone.

That will have to be enough.

Gwen spends the night in Lancelot’s arms and wonders how she can have been in them just the once and yet they already feel like home. Dawn breaks and she wakes up to Lancelot gazing at her, tracing shapes into her shoulder.

“Good morning.” He whispers and she smiles before kissing him.

“Good morning.” She says back and in his eyes, finds the courage to start the day.

When Gwaine sees her awake he gives her a grin, “I don’t suppose you know any other wonderful women to bring to the team? It’s getting ridiculously couply over here.” He gestures to Merlin and Arthur, still tangled up in each other and Gwen laughs in her hand.

“I’ll be leaving soon enough and you can commiserate with Lancelot.”

Gwaine sighs in mock exasperation, “Not sure if another lovesick man is what we need but it’ll have to do.”

When they’ve all eaten, Arthur turns to Gwen with a kind expression, “So? Have you decided?”

“I’m going back. I can’t leave her alone.” She answers firmly and Arthur nods like he’s known all along.

“And you Lancelot?” Arthur asks, “I would never ask you to stay.”

“And yet stay I will.”

Arthur gives him a measured look, “Are you sure?”

Lancelot sneaks a glance at Gwen who only smiles encouragingly, “I’m only certain of two things in this world. Gwen,” he says, taking her hand, “and the future I know you will build Arthur, prince or not.”

Arthur shakes his head, “You and Merlin…I don’t know where you find such effortless faith.”

Lancelot simply smiles, “One day you will know what it is that I do but for now, let’s just think about what to do next.”

Arthur nods at him, not sure how to match Lancelot where he is when he feels so much farther behind. He leaves him with Gwen to say their goodbyes and goes to pack up his things, something gnawing at him in his insides. He hears rather than sees Merlin come crouching beside him, the crunch of the leaves beneath his feet the giveaway.

“You can’t go to her Arthur.” He says softly and Arthur only hunches further, gritting his jaw.

“She needs me.”

Merlin shakes his head. “You can do nothing for her in a cell or banished in your chambers.”

“She’s my-” Arthur cuts off, she’s not his anything really. But she feels like she is. Feels like she must be. “We grew up together. I don’t know how to leave her alone.”

Merlin takes hold of his hand and squeezes it, brushing his thumb down his skin. “Gwen will bring her to us, we can help her then. For now, you have to go on your own path, there’s still so much you have to offer. Like taking down Hengist once and for all.”

Arthur’s eyes lift to spy the tip of Hengist’s lair, his expression unreadable, shoulders tight. “This is what my father meant,” he says quietly, “when he told me I’m not fit to be a prince when I’ll so readily throw it all away because my heart aches.”

Merlin’s hold on him tightens, “That’s what makes you good.” He says fiercely, “And you don’t need to be anything else anymore.”

Arthur closes his eyes, taking small breaths before he turns and kisses Merlin on the mouth, pressing against him before pulling away. “Come on,” he stands, holding out a hand, “we have an attack to prepare.”

Merlin looks up at him and Arthur sees it once more, the devotion he doesn’t know why Merlin thinks he deserves sharpening every line of his face.

“Yes.” Merlin breathes and he rises with him, hand in hand.

When they go to bid Gwen goodbye, Merlin lifts a hand to the sky and his eyes flash gold. Moments later, a starling lands on his wrist. He traces a finger down the top of its head, whispering a spell no one can catch. The bird flutters its wings before soaring towards Gwen, landing neatly on her shoulder.

Gwen startles, taking a step back, unsure about whether to stare at the unbothered bird or Merlin’s grinning face.

“Merlin?” she asks, voice hitching.

“I’ve charmed her!” he explains cheerily, “Tell her any of our names and she’ll carry a letter right to us.”

Gwen’s eyes widen with awe, staring at the bird with undisguised fascination. Tentatively, she reaches out a finger to stroke it and the starling brushes up against her finger chirping. Gwen claps her hands over her mouth, “She’s so cute!” she bursts helplessly and Merlin laughs.

“You can name her if you like, she’ll probably end up being rather attached you."

Delighted at the prospect, Gwen strokes the bird again, humming as she thinks. “What about…” her smile saddens somewhat, “Can you ask her to also go to one more person Merlin? If it’s too much I understand but-”

“Gwen,” Merlin interrupts kindly, “Of course I can. Who do you need?”

“My brother…Elyan. Maybe you could…” she bites her lip, “Maybe we could reach out to him now and oh, it’s stupid.”

“Whatever it is,” Lancelot steps in, “it isn’t stupid.”

“I just…it’s been so long since I’ve seen him and I don’t know how he’s been or- it would just…he’s a wonderful swordsman and I think he would do really well. Here.” She clarifies, “With you.”

Arthur raises a hand, lip twitching, “I’d be honoured to have your brother at my side Guinevere, if that’s what he wishes.”

Relief washes over her and Gwen turns a grateful smile to him, “Thank you Arthur, truly.”

Merlin fishes out a small bit of parchment and some ink, “Here, write your message and I’ll tell her who to find.”

Gwen quickly scribbles her message, tying it around the bird’s leg as Merlin whispers his spell. The starling quirks her head up at Gwen as though waiting for her command, “Go on Elly,” Gwen smiles encouragingly, “go find your namesake and bring him back.”

Chirping, Elly flaps her wings before taking off, soon flying out of sight. With one last look, Gwen hops onto her horse and smiles, “See you all soon. Good luck and please,” she gives Arthur in particular a hard look, “be careful.”

Arthur has the decency at least to look away, chastised.

“We’ll see you soon Gwen!” Merlin shouts, waving as she spurs her horse into a trot.

Lancelot watches the love of his life leave with bare aching in his eyes. He doesn’t turn away until Gwen has been gone for quite some time. When he does, he composes himself at once, becoming the solider Arthur knows him to be.

“We must dismantle Hengist’s organization before anyone else gets hurt.” Arthur is quick to say and the men around him nod. “We’ve already been inside. We already know the layout.”

“You know I love a good brawl.” Gwaine drawls, “But don’t you think the odds are a little too stacked?”

“Absolutely.” Arthur replies and can’t help the flick of his lips at Merlin’s dropped jaw.

“I’m sorry, did I hear that right?” Merlin mimes cleaning out his ears, “You actually think there’s a fight you can’t win?”

“I didn’t say that at all.” Arthur responds, “I said the odds aren’t fair, which they’re not. Because we have three of the best warriors in all of Camelot and the most powerful sorcerer to walk the earth and they have, what? An overgrown rat and a few brutes with swords?”

Merlin sighs. Gwaine guffaws. Lancelot hides a smile.

“The time for us to keep your magic hidden is over.” Arthur declares and Merlin feels his heart flutter, “We’re going to use it openly and proudly and we’ll change people’s minds on our own. It’s not just about winning fights Merlin, it’s about helping the villages who don’t have a physician or the ones who’ve just suffered a flood and whose crops have drowned.”

“They’ll arrest us.” Merlin offers mildly.

“No they won’t.” Arthur says breezily, “I’m the exiled prince. My father will do everything he can to tamp down the rumors that I’m associating with magic, not to mention the embarrassment of having me fixing problems that are his responsibility.” Arthur’s eyes narrow, “As long as we don’t actively confront any knights and leave town after making ourselves known, we should be alright.”

Gwaine shakes the hair from his eyes, flashing him an appreciative grin, “You’re a right risk-taking bastard aren’t you, princess?”

Arthur’s smile is all teeth, “I promised you’d never be bored, didn’t I?”  

Arthur gestures around them and the forest itself stops to listen. The breeze settles in the boughs, sunlight filtering through the leaves just to tease out the strands of gold in Arthur’s hair. It’s almost like Merlin can see it, the tendrils of magic swirling up around Arthur’s legs and chest, embracing him as theirs. The air warms and when Arthur looks at him it’s like he was carved right out of the ballads of old.

“This land is our responsibility and its people are ours to protect. It doesn’t matter if we don’t have crests or royal coffers. These people need our help and as long as we’re the only ones who can, it is our duty to keep providing it.”

Kings derive their authority to rule from the gods. They are god’s will made human, divinity turned into flesh and blood to rule over the land and the people and all of creation. Nobody in these woods thinks that can be true. Nobody in these woods have ever thought that royalty was ever anything more than luck of the draw, a mistake of birth. But here, beneath these trees, under the weight of this crystal blue sky, they feel the urge to drop to one knee and take oaths they never knew the words to until the very earth whispered them in their ears.

You can’t see the future, but you can feel it coming.

There is no such thing as the divine right to rule and yet Arthur Pendragon is meant to reign and it is in this exact moment that Merlin understands what it means to be the Once and Future King. It is his destiny, his birthright, it has been foretold and written down thousands of times, spilled from the lips of elders to their children, whispered to the flowers and the bees. Arthur will be the greatest king this land has ever known and here Merlin is, doing everything he can to keep him mortal instead.

Camelot wanted a legend; Merlin just wanted the man. 

But he looks at Gwaine and Lancelot, sees their loyalty etching itself into their bones and wonders if he’s powerful enough to fight off fate. Merlin looks back to Arthur, now beckoning them over to pore over battle plans and grits his jaw. It doesn’t matter if he can’t, he just has to anyway.

There is nothing he won’t do to keep Arthur whole.

Not a single thing.

Chapter Text

Their strategy for taking down Hengist and his men is simple really. Go in, blast them all to hell and have their golden trio fight off the rest. In the middle of the fight, Merlin flashes open his hands and five men go flying. He feels Arthur push his back against his own, his impressed laugh sending a jolt through Merlin’s veins.

Arthur knocks a sword out of a man’s hand, slicing at the knees. He doesn’t wait to watch him fall but just goes for the next one. In the corner of his eye, he sees Lancelot approach Hengist himself. A man who knew Lancelot less might expect a simmering rage as he approached the man who tormented him but when Arthur looks, all he sees is the solemn eyes of a man measured in his methods.

What is the difference between justice and revenge? Maybe it’s temperance. Of only doing what you need to. Of never giving into temptation.

In the end, dead bodies sprawled on the floor, they’re panting, bloody and grimy, feeling like wild animals. Arthur spins around, watching as Merlin ties up the living in a neat circle in the middle of the room.

“Should we leave a note this time?” Gwaine muses, shaking his hair as he dumps an entire barrel of water over his head.

Merlin’s lips lift. “To whichever unlucky bastard finds this place, you’re welcome.”

“That’s certainly colourful.” Arthur adds mildly, already helping Merlin with his task.

From his spot behind a groaning sword for hire, Lancelot shrugs, “I like it. Should we sign it too?” mainly as a joke.

“Sincerely, Arthur the Exiled?”

“And friends!” Gwaine adds.

Arthur nods. “And friends.”

In the end, the note they leave writes like this:

Dear unlucky bastard or even unluckier fair maiden,  

Hengist and all his surviving men are yours to punish. We’ve already taken everything he’s pillaged and returned them to their rightful owners- you’re welcome.  

(though, we’d be lying if we said that a member of our party didn’t take a barrel of ale for our travels)

Sincerely,

You know who we are

It takes three trips up and down the hill to bring back everything Hengist had stolen from the nearby villagers as part of his racketeering. Arthur stands in front of the pile of grain and pickled vegetables, pieces of jewelry and lovingly crafted pottery, watching as people’s suspicious eyes turn almost traitorously hopeful.

“I believe Hengist stole all these from you.” Arthur announces, gathering a crowd he can’t be certain is friendly, “I know that he’s terrorized you for years and stolen your boys to do his bidding, but he can’t harm you any longer. They’re all tied up in his fortress ready for the knights of Camelot to take them for the king’s judgement.”

Someone spits at Arthur’s feet, “Who are you to invoke the king? You’re nothing but a disgraced prince holding our things hostage.”

Arthur eyes him steadily before standing aside, holding out an arm, “It was my intention to return everything here back to you. I don’t plan on keeping any of it.”

But still, no one comes forward. He looks around the crowd, searching for even one friendly face before he looks down, knowing the difference between a battle that can be won and one he’s already lost.

“Don’t worry, we’ll be leaving your village now.” He says quietly.

“See to it that you do.” The man threatens and Arthur turns away before a shout stops him.

“Wait!” a little girl no older than twelve runs towards him, coming to a halt just a foot away, “If I take something…you won’t snatch it back?” she asks suspiciously, peering up at him with squinty eyes.

“Depends,” Arthur says slowly, “is it yours?”

“It was my mother’s. But she died.” The little girl falters before she glares at him, bracing herself as though Arthur would physically bar her from passing him, “And I want it back.”

Softening, Arthur nods, “Which one is it?”

“The round one, with the red flowers.”

Turning around, Arthur pulls the pot from atop a crate full of tools and crouches down in front of the girl, holding it out in the palm of both hands. “I’m sorry about your mother. I hope this brings you comfort.”

Lip almost trembling, the girl takes the pot out of his hands slowly and hugs it to her chest. “Hengist was an evil man.” She says instead of answering, “I don’t think you did anything wrong.”

And for the first time since being in the square, Arthur smiles and before he can stop himself, he ruffles her hair, “Go on, you probably have a home to put that in.”

The villagers are still wary of him, some outright glaring, others watching him like they don’t quite understand him but that’s okay. Arthur never expected anything more though he couldn’t help but hope.

He’s always been too much of a hopeful heart.

That said, he knows he has no love between them to lose and so decides to say his piece without preamble. “You may as well know that without magic, we never would have been able to get rid of Hengist. My father is wrong about the evils of sorcery. There is so much good each and every one of us could give to the world if we stopped letting hatred and fear rule over us.”

A tomato splatters against his shirt in a stunning burst of seeds and juice. He can’t even help the shock, it flashes over his face in the split second it takes for another to hit him on the leg. “Get out! We don’t want your kind here! They’ll arrest us all!”

“Arthur!” Merlin is yelling his name, moving to defend him when Arthur grabs his arm.

“Don’t.” it comes out a whisper but is heard as a command and Merlin stills. “It’s okay. Let’s go.”

They get pelted with tomatoes and cabbage but they don’t run, the four of them walk down the path, heads held high, shoulders straight and broad. They might not be knights or nobility but there’s a quiet dignity borne from having a higher purpose that keeps them steady even as the crowd behind them glowers and yells.

When they reach camp, smelling even worse than they feel, Gwaine smacks the small barrel he had taken and sighs, “If I’d known what kind of asses they’d be, I’d have taken three more.”

Lancelot lets out a choked breath and suddenly they’re all laughing, clutching at their bellies and roaring with it, thrilled that they aren’t crying instead.

“We all need baths.” Merlin complains, flicking at a stray bit of cabbage from his shoulder.

“Aren’t you used to this Merlin?” Arthur teases, “You’ve been in the stocks enough times to know.”

“You really were a terrible employer.” Merlin answers remorselessly.

Arthur simply shrugs, tugging off his shirt in one go, “Lucky for you, I’m a much better lover.”

The blood rushes to Merlin’s face and Gwaine wolf whistles, laughing even harder. Merlin tries to scowl at him but he can’t help but smiling back as they four of them run into the river, scrubbing away the day and thinking about all that lay ahead. Being together, alive and okay, is reward enough.

At least for now.

While their note to the knights was more or less accurate, they left out the bit about taking more horses to have a complete set for all of them. They’re already three days out from Hengist’s village when Elly swoops down, parchment fluttering behind her. Merlin holds out his arm and smiles as she lands gracefully upon it, patiently waiting for him to untie the note.

Unfurling it with a flourish, Merlin scans it quickly, grinning when he’s done, “It’s Elyan! He’s asking to meet him at Culcheth. He knows what we’re trying to do from Gwen’s note and apparently there’s something odd happening there he thinks we can help with."

Arthur slides off his horse, pulling out his map and spreading it on a nearby rock. “We can probably get there in four days if we ride hard enough. When did he say to meet him?”

“He says he’s already there, so I suppose we’ll meet him when we arrive.”

Arthur nods, “Lancelot? Gwaine?”

“Sounds fun to me. Maybe it’ll be more bandits. It’s not stealing if we take their coin, is it?” Gwaine throws out as Lancelot makes a face.

“I think we’d have to return any gold we find to the villagers.” Lancelot says gently, trying not to burst his bubble too much.

“Just a few,” Gwaine insists, “don’t you miss eating something we didn’t have to hunt ourselves? I feel uncivilized.”

“Not sure some grimy soup at a tavern is the height of civilization Gwaine.” Merlin jokes and Gwaine just sighs, clutching at his stomach with all the drama of a court jester.

Merlin laughs before patting Elly on her little head, “Go back to Gwen now,” he commands, leaving Elyan’s note in place, “hopefully we’ll all be seeing her soon.”

Arthur leaves them to their chatter, focusing only on the ground beneath him, the chafing of his thighs against his horse’s coat, the smell of leather from his gloves. He tries not to think about how every step gets him just a little bit farther from the castle, tries not to think about how he still feels the weakness of loss and longing when he thinks about his old home.

He’s come a long way from the days where he felt like he was drowning in his own mind, barely able to tread water long enough for a single gasp of air. He’s not the boy who raged at the trees with just an axe in his hands, not the boy who felt like he had floated outside his body, not the boy who had learned what the true shape of sadness is, the endless darkness of it.

And though he has nothing but bravado and a smile that comes easy, he can’t escape from the fact that he wanted to shrivel from the shame of it all. How had he gone from the knight dressed in scarlet with hundreds chanting his name to this? Hated just on principle, just on sight, begging for validation just like he’s always been his whole life to no avail, to no end. It never ends.

It's too hard not to think that he isn’t enough. It’s too hard to pretend like all his insecurities aren’t just truths. He wasn’t good enough as a prince and he isn’t good enough now as just a regular nobody. Even with no expectations at all he still managed to disappoint. How is that possible?

It shouldn’t be possible.

Lancelot pulls his mare up closer to his, “Arthur, we did a good thing today. Even if no one else in that village touched a thing, you gave that girl one last memento of her mother. You can’t put a price on something like that.”

The little girl’s face flashes in Arthur’s mind; her defiant eyes, her tiny, clenched fists. She’d been so prepared to fight for what was hers, so resigned to a life where you had to rip things out of other people’s hands with your teeth.

It didn’t have to be like that.

But what was he supposed to do about it?

“Thank you, Lancelot. You should extend some of that praise to yourself.”

Lancelot bows his head, slowing down, knowing a dismissal when he sees one. Arthur sighs, letting himself get lost in his own musings once more. It wouldn’t do to get caught in that downward spiral again. He has people who rely on him now and he has a goal he had made them all buy into. Mostly though, these are the only people in the world who think he’s worth anything at all and Arthur has to do everything in his power to make sure he never gives them a reason to realize that he isn’t special at all.

The sun is setting, a streak of violet and copper. Arthur looks directly at it, sucking in a breath as his eyes burn. He watches the light of the world bleed out and thinks about symbolism and metaphor and the cyclical nature of hurt.

Though Arthur doesn’t know it, Merlin watches his every move, waiting until night has fallen and their bellies are full, eyes drooping. Bringing his bedroll right next to his, Merlin wraps an arm around Arthur’s waist, pressing his front all along his back and tucking Arthur’s head beneath his chin. “Tell me.”

“There’s nothing to tell.”

“Arthur.”

Merlin gets no reply, just feels Arthur curling tighter around himself.

“Do you still think I’ll make a great king?” Arthur asks all of the sudden and Merlin’s stomach clenches.

“You’re going to change the world, Arthur. I believe that.” He answers carefully.  

Arthur turns around in his arms, eyes piercing. “That’s not what I asked.”

Merlin wants to look away. Wants to hide his face, ashamed of what it will reveal. “You would have made the best king there ever was.”

“But not anymore.”

Merlin can pinpoint the exact second the light dims from Arthur’s eyes as the rejection cascades through him. Helplessly, Merlin lurches for him, caging Arthur within his arms and legs, looking down at him with a desperation he doesn’t know how to hide, “Arthur wait-”

But Arthur pushes out of his hold, rolling upwards, heading right for the trees. Merlin watches his back, sees the boughs bend as though to comfort him, sees the flowers tilt their heads as he walks, traitorous as they are. Merlin is meant to be the son of the sky and the earth and yet the land betrays him anyway, though perhaps, he’s betrayed it first.

Merlin thinks to follow after Arthur must be written into his very soul because his legs move without him asking them to, his feet stepping within Arthur’s own imprints like the echo could ever be enough. When they’re far enough away Arthur’s sure their companions won’t hear, he whirls around, “Merlin, just leave me alone. Just for tonight.”

“No! Not until we talk about this, I didn’t mean-”

“What you meant was perfectly clear.”

“It isn’t- Arthur-” the words die in Merlin’s throat, shriveled and dry, “You made your peace with not being king,” his words sound like a double-cross even to him, like he is betraying something fundamental about them both, “why are you clinging so desperately to that dream now?”

“Because it’s not enough Merlin!” Arthur shouts, arm lashing out, “There’s so much to do and we’re just four men.”

“What happened to the person who made that grand speech about doing what we can and doing more good than anyone back in the castle ever did?”

Arthur flinches.

“Do you not believe in that anymore?”

“Don’t twist my words Merlin-”

“I’m not! You said-”

“I know what I said! I know!” All of Arthur is red, he feels like he’s bleeding from wounds he can’t see, “I can help build a fence or plant a farm or herd their sheep. I can fight off bandits and protect their homes but I could do so much more. I could be sending emissaries and members of the army and building schools to train physicians instead of helping you flip through Gaius’ book. I was born with the power to do so much and they’re right to hate me. I’ve squandered all of my potential.”

Merlin jerks back, feeling Arthur’s pain more palpably than he has ever felt his own. “They don’t hate you Arthur, they just-”

“They do.” Arthur cuts in, crushed and resigned, “And I have to earn back their faith and I don’t know how because even if I could exchange every leaf in the trees for an hour of time, I’ll always be behind.” Arthur’s head tilts, “But even with that, I still owe it to them to try.” 

Merlin storms towards him, throwing Arthur against an oak, teeth bared, “You owe them nothing!” he yells, fingers twisting in Arthur’s shirt, his heart hammering so loud in his head he can’t think, “They appreciate nothing that you do, nothing that you’ve sacrificed. They blindly follow a king who would have happily let them suffer if it hadn’t been for your advocacy in the rooms they’ve never set foot in.”

Arthur stares at him with baffled eyes and Merlin hates the state of the world with such a fury he can’t stand it.

“What do you think is going to happen? That you’ll go around saving people and then they’ll clamour at Camelot’s gates demanding Uther reverses his banishment and makes you crown prince once more? That they’ll see me perform a few tricks and beg the king to change his mind on the ban?”

The expression on Arthur’s face says it all and Merlin just deflates with something almost like pity in his eyes. It didn’t used to be like this. Merlin used to be the optimist. Once upon a time.

When had he changed? If this is growing up, let him go back.

Arthur looks away, biting the words like they’re barbed on his tongue, “It would mean everything to me to have the people’s blessing. But if I’m never prince again it’s alright. I can still make a better world in other ways; I have to keep believing that. And even if their minds never change, even if they call me Arthur the Exiled forever, it doesn’t change anything.”

Merlin pushes him again, all but shaking him, “All you speak about is what Camelot deserves but what about you? Don’t you deserve to be happy?” Merlin’s voice trembles, breaking though he doesn’t want it to, “That cottage on a farm where you could see the sunset, what about that?”

Arthur’s head falls against the bark, “I can’t have that, Merlin. You know that. It was an unattainable dream then just as it is now.”

“You can.” Merlin argues, “You can if you just let this all go. Forget about Camelot. Forget about the crown. Be here, with me, instead.”

Arthur’s shock turns quickly into anger as he pushes Merlin’s hands off him, shaking his head, “How can you say that? To me of all people.”

“I’m saying it because it’s you! Because you have nothing to prove Arthur! You never have! And if you think nothing you do will ever be enough then why bother??”

“Because I have to!” Arthur shouts, “Because no one else will! Because I shouldn’t care if the people love me or not- I have to do what needs to be done and hope that at the end of it all I can have done at least one thing right.”

Merlin’s hands pull at his scalp, there are a dozen arrows speared right through him, frustration pushing them in deeper. “Listen to yourself!” he begs, “What does it matter if you’re king or a prince or the hero nobody wants but everybody needs, you’re killing yourself when nobody’s asked.”

Arthur’s expression drops, his entire face blanking into a mask Merlin has seen a thousand times but never directed at him.

“Arthur wait- I didn’t mean it like that.”

“Yes you did.” He answers, dodging Merlin’s hand, “You’ve made it perfectly clear that you think everything I’m doing is useless. Why come with me at all if you always thought this was pointless?”

“Because I didn’t think it was pointless! I thought it would be an adventure but then I got to love you.” Merlin’s eyes are pleading with more force than every star in the sky, “I got to hold you and be with you and I just want you to have a future Arthur.” Merlin reaches for him, wrapping his arms around Arthur’s middle and clutching onto him tight, “Why is it a terrible thing to want to see the person you love be happy and at peace?”

“Because I can’t give it to you.” Arthur replies, like there’s bits of glass lodged in his throat, “As long as there is strife in Camelot, I won’t have any peace.” Arthur’s reply hurts almost as much as him unwrapping Merlin’s arms and stepping away. “There’s no point to me existing if I can’t do my duty.”

And Merlin’s heart simply shatters.

Arthur belongs to Camelot and Merlin belongs to Arthur. It was always destined to end in heartbreak.

“Arthur-”

“You told me once it was my destiny to unite all of Albion and bring magic back to the land. You told me you would make me king. You of all people should know how much I still have to do.”

“To what?” Merlin throws his hands in the air and Arthur flinches, “Make up for the fact that you were born? To hell with destiny! And the prophecies and the Druids and everyone who’s tried to write your story for you. We’re here now and we’re happy! You won’t even think about the future beyond your duty, but I do! I don’t want a king, I want a husband! Why can’t you just choose me!”

Merlin’s eyes widen just as Arthur’s do and for a moment, he thinks he might just run before he has to hear what Arthur will say when Arthur laughs. It’s a cold and spiteful thing. He shakes his head, hair falling over his eyes, “See Merlin? Even you don’t find me enough. And I’ve never tried so hard at anything or loved anyone as much as I do you.”

Merlin stares at him open mouthed but Arthur walks past him, shoulders not even brushing. Merlin stands in the forest, the wind whipping through the leaves like admonishment and all he wants to do is curl into a ball and sink right into the dirt. But the very land seems to shirk from him and he knows he will find no comfort in its arms.

He doesn’t know where it all went wrong, how it all got so twisted. Maybe it’s selfish to want Arthur all to himself when he knows how much he means to the world. But he meant what he said; it was the world that abandoned Arthur first.

All Merlin wants is for Arthur to be safe and whole and happy. Why is that such a terrible thing? Why can’t his belief that Arthur would be the king of the ages live in tandem with his aching want for a quieter life by the sea? Why can’t Arthur understand that it’s not that he isn’t enough, it is that he is everything, and Merlin can’t bear the thought of losing him to a life that doesn’t deserve him.

When Merlin returns, Arthur’s back is to him and he is steadfastly pretending to be asleep. Merlin slips under the covers, turning sad eyes to his lover’s back. No matter what he says now, it won’t ease Arthur’s heart, so Merlin squeezes his eyes shut and hopes that tomorrow softens both their edges and that with the morning light comes a dawning clarity.

Morning arrives and Arthur greets him with a mask. He is outwardly polite, offering Merlin a sip of his waterskin and making sure he’s packed all his things before they set off for Culcheth but the chasm between them is as gaping as it is terrifying. All Merlin has ever wanted was to touch Arthur in life as he did in his dreams and now he’s ruined it, ashes where there once was a passionate flame.

Arthur rides in silence, leading them without paying them much attention at all. He’s still frozen in time, playing and replaying his and Merlin’s argument in his mind like he can find the exact moment where he felt himself break apart and float out onto the breeze. Mostly, he thinks about the last thing Merlin said to him, how he all but begged.

He thinks back to his fury in Ealdor, how broken the forest had looked when he was done with it, the splinters littered across the grass, the squirrels dashing madly for safety. Those trees will never grow again and the saplings that take over will take decades to just reach his height.

The price of rage is destruction and the best you can hope for is that the damage scars instead of maims.

He’s ruined it all now, he knows that. Finds it typical even. The worst part about regretting an argument is not knowing what you can possibly do to fix it. Merlin means everything to him. He fills him with a joy Arthur always thought existed only in storybooks. All his life, he had thought love was about alliances and respect and perhaps, if he was lucky, a fond sort of friendship. Never had he considered that it could be all the elements at once, simultaneously a passionate firestorm, the tempering balance of the earth, the weightlessness of a liberated wind, the nourishing playfulness of the sea.

Arthur doesn’t understand how he can feel so much and have Merlin feel none of it at all. How does he not know how Arthur’s heart beats to the syllables of his name. How does he not know that Arthur never had a favourite colour until he fell in love with Merlin’s eyes. How does he not know that for a knight, dying is easy but for Merlin, he wants so desperately to live.

How could Merlin not know?

How defective could Arthur really be? Maybe it makes sense. What would he know about showing love anyway? He barely got any, how could he have learned to copy it? Arthur glances behind him, sees Merlin’s miserable face and feels his chest squeeze. The yearning he thought he had long since moved past comes back with a force that wrecks him and still, he does nothing.

When they arrive at a big enough clearing to rest, Arthur hesitates before putting out his bedroll, waiting to see what Merlin will do. Merlin catches his eye and they both stare at each other before Arthur throws his down on the ground, not even checking for stones or twigs. Merlin ducks his head like trying to hide a shadow of a smile before putting his next to Arthur’s right as he always does, though perhaps, farther than before.

They’re still not speaking, but they’re in each other’s orbits and for now, that is enough.

Arthur’s sleep is fitful. He needs only reach out a hand and stretch his fingers to touch Merlin but even that distance seems too far to surmount. He settles for watching Merlin’s back, the slightest shift in his chest as he breathes. It shouldn’t be possible to miss someone you’re physically looking at with such an intensity, but he does, and it is.

And still, they do not speak for two more days until they are just a bit aways from their destination. It hasn’t escaped Arthur’s notice that Gwaine is giving him testier and testier looks as the hours go by. He often sees him huddled with Merlin, chattering quietly. Lancelot, wise as he is, stays out of everything entirely, knowing perhaps, that Arthur and Merlin will resolve whatever it is that’s between them on their own.

Or so Arthur hopes, until Gwaine corners him by the fire having apparently sneakily sent Lancelot out on distracting Merlin duty. Arthur sighs when he sees him throw himself down on a log, sprawling his entire body across the grass and fixing him with a specific kind of look. How Gwaine can be this irritating yet utterly indispensable to him now is beyond him.

“Don’t you think it’s about time you made up with Merlin already? Poor man’s been miserable.”

Arthur sulks further, lips puckered, “Why does everyone always assume that I’m the one who did something?”

“Because he loves you too much to really antagonize you.”

Unfortunately for Gwaine, this strikes the exact wrong nerve, “And why does everyone think I don’t love Merlin at all?” he explodes, “What more do I have to do exactly? What am I doing so wrong that everyone thinks I’m just a passive actor in my own relationship?”

Gwaine raises his hands, “Woah, hold on now.” He offers a self-deprecating smile, “Would it surprise you to learn that I don’t do this often? Give love advice that is.”

Somehow, this gets a tired breath of amusement and Gwaine’s lip quirks up warily, lowering his hands as the tension drops. “All I meant was…Merlin is so devoted to you a blind man could see it. He’d never say something to upset you unless it was important. Important enough that maybe you should heed it.”

Gwaine catches Arthur’s eye like trying to show he isn’t a threat and Arthur sighs again, rubbing his face behind his palm. “It’s not that I don’t want to listen, it’s that the irony is if I do, I’ll stop being the man he wants me to be, and I don’t think he realizes that yet. And if Merlin stops loving me then I-” Arthur breaks off, voice tight.  

“I already can’t bear that the people I’ve loved and protected for my entire life hate me. I know it’s stupid, it shouldn’t matter so much, but every time they yell at me to leave all I can remember is how they used to cheer when they saw me."

Arthur flashes him a resigned smile, “Maybe I am just another arrogant prince.”

Gwaine gives him a sad look, nudging Arthur’s foot with his own, “I think everyone wants to be loved mate, it’s the human condition. We can’t help but care about what everyone thinks.”

“You don’t.” Arthur replies, turning to him with an almost jealous look.

Gwaine laughs, baring his throat, the sound heady and dry, “Arthur, I banded together with the first two blokes who looked my way and actually gave me any attention, I don’t think I’m the best person to be giving you advice on how not to want.”

Arthur blinks at him and Gwaine softens, “I wouldn’t teach you how even if I knew. It’s not a bad thing Arthur, to have things you want. And it’s not a bad thing Merlin wants things either.”

Arthur folds in on himself, looking away once more, “I want Merlin to have everything.” He says easily, like it’s a truth he’s long accepted, “I’ve told him that a hundred times and I meant it but sometimes…” Arthur looks into the flames, leaning all his weight on his knees, “Sometimes I worry Merlin loves me to the point of blindness, his vision narrows and all he can think about is my wellbeing at the expense of everything else.”

Arthur looks up at Gwaine helplessly, “I just want him to be less afraid. He shouts at me for not being more selfish but never thinks of himself. He doesn’t even realize that everything I do is to make a better world for him. He’s the reason for everything I do, and he doesn’t even see it.”

The flame crackles in front of them, sending a surge of sparks in the air.

“Part of why Merlin loves me is because he thinks I’m good. The minute I turn my back on what is right, I won’t be anymore, so why does he keep insisting that I do?”

“Have you thought that maybe there’s a bit more to it than that?” Gwaine asks gently, “I think you’re selling yourself a little short Arthur, there’s more to you than just what you can offer to the world.”

Arthur merely looks at him and Gwaine can tell his words don’t land where he’d wanted them to. “Look,” Gwaine says at last, “at the end of the day, living is all about choices. And when it comes down to it, what’s more important?”

Arthur doesn’t answer and Gwaine merely gives him a small smile, clapping him on the shoulder as he walks away. Arthur stays in front of the fire, trying to scry answers from the wisps of the smoke. He should have known better than to find any in anything other than Merlin’s own eyes because when he arrives, it all becomes clear and Arthur stands abruptly, taking him and Lancelot by surprise.

“Merlin.” He says, almost feeling like he’s stumbling.

Merlin doesn’t even hesitate, “Yes?”

“Let’s go on a walk.”

Lancelot gives Merlin a look and Merlin merely squeezes his arm, nodding his goodbye as he heads to join Arthur before they both leave together. “Have a nice chat with Lancelot?” Arthur asks, as though that’s really the point.

Merlin nods, happy to play along if it means they’re speaking once more, “We weren’t talking about anything in particular, it was nice.”

Arthur knows what he means.

When they’re far enough away, Arthur stops, facing Merlin and grabbing him by the arms, making sure he’s looking right at him. “I’ve been turning over what you said to me again and again and I think you’re missing something important, the reason why I feel so strongly.”

Merlin’s eyes dart away to hide the bitterness that wells within them, “I already know why Arthur,” drained and disdained, “you will never be able to put aside your duty.”

Arthur shakes his head, “No, Merlin.” He disagrees, “I will never be able to put aside you.”

Merlin blinks, face scrunching up in that adorable way Arthur wants to kiss smooth again. “What?”

“You, Merlin.” Arthur repeats, “You’re the reason for everything. For all of this, for all of me. You made me better. It’s you and knowing what you had to go through and never wanting anyone to experience that ever again that drives me.”

Arthur gestures to the world and a bird soars from the trees, singing like the dawn. “Transforming their fear of magic into love, having you be respected and admired for your gifts, making sure you never live in fear again, that’s all I want. I thought I was lucky, to be able to accomplish two goals with one method; do my duty both to Camelot and to the person who is most precious to me in the world.”

Merlin can’t stop staring at him, eyes wide, lips parted just so.

“You are what I value the most, the thing I want to hold onto the tightest. You are worth giving up every kingdom for Merlin and I would walk away from the crown a thousand times if it meant I got to kiss you just once more.”

“Arthur,” Merlin’s voice cracks, “I-”

“Wait.” Arthur asks, pressing a finger against his mouth, “When we fought…I was upset that you didn’t believe in me, but I realize now it was that you didn’t share the same goals as me anymore. We used to be united in loving Camelot and doing everything we could do to protect it.”

Arthur slides his hands down Merlin’s arm, takes his hands and presses them to his face. He brushes his lips against each of Merlin’s knuckles, never taking his eyes off his. “Merlin,” he says softly, “love me with all your being as I do you, love me madly the way I know you’re too afraid to show. Love me so much you’re sick of it. But don’t let it harden your heart and make you afraid.”

“I know you think the world doesn’t deserve our kindness, but if everyone thought that way there’d be no kindness left at all and I know you. I know your heart Merlin and I know it brims with compassion for every living thing. The only thing holding you back from letting it all pour out is me, so please Merlin, don’t let me be the reason you stop being you. I never want you to change, you and your reckless, endless, boundless empathy.”

Merlin can’t hold back anymore. He flings himself at Arthur, kissing him desperately and wantonly, clutching every bit against him like he might just disappear. Merlin’s arms are locked around Arthur’s neck, pushing himself closer against Arthur’s body as his hands pull him flush against his waist. Their mouths collide, it’s wretched and distressed, but Arthur’s missed the taste of Merlin on his tongue, the smell of him engulfing his senses and making him dizzy with it.  

“Tell me you want to move to a cottage in the middle of nowhere and I will. Tell me you want the world to be just as wide as our own hands can reach and I will make it so. Tell me Merlin, tell me how to be the man you want.”

And what can Merlin possibly say to that? What words have been invented to express all that cannot be named. Merlin cups Arthur’s face in his hands and kisses him once, long and languid.

He always was terrible at denying Arthur anything, even now, even with this. Even when Merlin can still hear Arthur’s voice in the Druid camp, if the prophecies are wrong about that then who knows what else they could be wrong about?

There is so much fear inside Merlin’s heart but there’s the tiniest whisper. A voice that sounds suspiciously like Arthur’s own asking him to please be brave, be brave, be brave.

“I’m sorry.” Merlin says, leaning his forehead against Arthur’s own.

“I’m sorry too.” Arthur whispers back.

When Merlin pulls away, his eyes are just as fierce as they always are when they speak of Arthur’s worth. “I’ve never lost faith in you. I never have and I never will. Sometimes I think you’re the only thing I believe in at all.”

Arthur strokes his face, eyes crinkling when Merlin nuzzles closer, “That’s exactly what I mean Merlin. I promise, I won’t waste away, I won’t fall into despair, I won’t obsess over the ever-changing seasons of everyone’s approval. I just want to do what I can to make the world a better place so you can live in it freely as you deserve to. But if you ask me to choose between you and everything else? That’s no choice at all.”  

“It seems unfair that you’re allowed to make such dramatic proclamations and I can’t.” Merlin says sullenly, falling into Arthur’s chest as he laughs.

Arthur hugs Merlin against him, squeezing fondly, “I just want you to be happy Merlin and I think we could be, feeling useful and going on adventures with our friends.”

“I really do think you’d be a great king Arthur.” Merlin murmurs into his chest.

“You just don’t want to make me one anymore.”

A part of Merlin still selfishly wants to hide him away, it’s true. But Arthur’s words take root in his heart. When did he stop loving the world? When did he turn so cynical and hurt, a wounded animal snarling at every hand that nears it. Merlin doesn’t think even Arthur realizes it, that he’s a natural leader no one, not even Merlin can suppress, by the simple virtue that he inspires everyone he meets to be better just by being with them.

Isn’t there a compromise though? Can’t Merlin find the way?

“I want what you want.” Merlin says firmly, pulling away slightly to look Arthur deep in the eye, “I can’t change you, stubborn ass that you are. I wanted to hide you away from the world because it could never love you as much as I do but I want you to have both. I want you to have everything Arthur.”

A part of him dies as he says it.

He hopes he isn’t lying.

“You’ve already given me everything I could want.” Arthur replies honestly, kissing him on the nose. “Just be honest with me now, will you be happy? When we find Elyan and keep whatever it is we’re doing going?”

Merlin licks his lips, thinks about the rage that feels like the whole sun in his chest when he sees strangers ridicule and glare at them. Feels the rush of defensiveness when he thinks about the names Arthur is called and the malicious words that are said. He thinks about how carefree Arthur had seemed at the Druid camp, having to worry only for his seedlings and wishes he could have kept Arthur there, protected from everything.

Arthur is meant to rule this land and maybe that means he wears the crown once more and maybe it doesn’t. Maybe he becomes the commoner’s king. Maybe Merlin can make that happen. Regardless of how it comes about, Arthur can no more change his heart than Merlin can change his own. To force Arthur to abandon his compassion for Camelot and magic would be to rewrite the foundational essence of who he is and so lose the man he fell in love with.

It is also to accept that destiny is an immutable thing.

That all the things he’s been told will come to pass will come. That there are terrible things coming. Things that will end the world. Merlin doesn’t know if he can bear it but for Arthur, he’s willing to try. He just needs to find a way to keep only the good and prevent the bad. Needs to bend the forces of the world to his will. However he can, at whatever the cost.

“I’ll be happy.” Merlin promises, banishing his paranoia away, “I’ll practice more of my healing magic and brush up on my herbs. Maybe we can start teaching the locals some healing practices so they can hold out for when Uther sends out physicians.”

Arthur looks more in love with him in that moment than ever before and Merlin soaks in his tacit praise like a newly opened bud does the sun’s rays. He needs to be closer to him, needs to absorb into Arthur’s skin. He’s done with talking, there’s nothing more that needs to be said. Arthur will be the hero he’s always been, and Merlin will follow him into all the danger that brings and somehow, it’s like everything has changed and yet, nothing at all.

“I missed you so much.” Merlin professes, pressing kisses down the underside of Arthur’s jaw. “I wanted so badly to fix it all but I didn’t know what I could say.”

“Me too.” Arthur answers hurriedly into his mouth, tongue sliding between Merlin’s lips, “Don’t be apart from me ever again.”

“Never.” Merlin promises, pulling off Arthur’s shirt with a madness he can’t contain, “I’ll never leave you.”

Merlin can’t control it, his desire bursts from somewhere deep within and he knows that if he doesn’t have Arthur right this second he will surely die. He needs to be within him and around him. Needs to consume him and possess him and be closer than the physical world allows. If Arthur doesn’t engulf all his senses, he will surely float away, tethered to nothing on this earth, nothing that matters nearly half as much as the boy made of gold closing his eyes as he sucks a mark on his neck.

“I love you, Arthur. I love you more than anyone else ever will or ever can.”

“I know.” Arthur groans, breath hitching as Merlin trails his lips down the side of his chest, tracing the contour of the muscle straight to its pert centre. “I love you too.”

Merlin almost lets his knees give out. Arthur’s never said that before. Not like that. Not so directly. Merlin’s arms wrap around Arthur’s neck, hugging him tightly before kissing him and kissing him, wanting to hear Arthur say the words, again and again and forever.

Arthur’s hands fly to Merlin’s shoulders, crushing him closer, rubbing them up and down, pulling on his clothes. “Patience my lord.” Merlin murmurs, dropping to his knees and undoing the laces wondering why Arthur doesn’t shirk at the endearment before realizing he knows Merlin means it.

Arthur watches Merlin lick his lips and stares in unabashed wonderment. Lovely creature. Beautiful creation. Arthur is owned and enveloped, he’s drawn in lasciviously, Merlin’s lips plumping around him. Arthur gasps, his hair scraping the bark, back pressed against the tree and he’s consumed by all sides. Merlin’s hands slide up his thighs before grabbing at his base, sliding his fingers and his mouth in time.

Arthur can’t breathe, his hips arching and pulsing, his lashes flutter shut but he forces them open, can’t bear to look away, even for a moment, needs to bear witness to the world at his feet. Merlin draws back, his lips popping in an obscene smack. He places a gentle kiss to the tip, like offering up his devotion, a treasure Arthur keeps tucked behind his lips.

Arthur thinks Merlin will bend down for more, finish what he’s started, give in to Arthur’s panting and his raw wanting. Merlin surges upward instead, captures Arthur’s mouth with his before swooping down to his neck, planting bites and kisses, claiming and staking. Merlin’s hands are braced against the tree, pushing it back like he has enough power to topple it. His tongue sweeps across Arthur’s skin like flags plunged into the earth after battle.

What is he proving? Arthur thinks. That though the world may borrow him, Arthur is still only his? Yes, Arthur thinks, clutching Merlin’s neck closer. Yes, yes. “Yours.” He gasps and he feels Merlin’s smug smile stretch against his skin.

Merlin peeks up from behind his falling hair. “What was that, love?” he asks, pulling him in roughly by the hips.

Arthur sucks in a breath, their aches thrust together. He can’t help the twisting motion he makes, wanting and needing so much more than his ruthless lover will provide.

“I know what you want.” Arthur’s hands twist into Merlin’s hair and Merlin only responds with a moan.

“What do I want?” Merlin murmurs.

“To stake your claim.” Arthur gestures to all the bruises, leading a trail right down to his heart.

“And why shouldn’t I?” Merlin asks, his voice so low Arthur bites his lip to keep from spending right there, “You’re mine Arthur.” Merlin says simply, twisting him around, “Let the world have your many faces but it’s me who has your heart and me who gets your body.” Merlin punctuates his words with a bite to Arthur’s shoulder.

“Come on then, do it already.” Arthur goads and Merlin smirks into his neck kisses.

“Always so impatient.” He chides but Arthur can smell the slickness of the oil, the little bottle Merlin keeps in his jacket because now they’re nomads with no drawers.

He hears the cork topper pop, feels the trail of kisses going down his spine and then- Arthur cries out, his cheeks flushed and rosy and gods, those were only just the fingers. Merlin whispers his adorations right into Arthur’s ear, easing him through before thrusting right into him. Arthur goes still, settling in against him. “Alright?” Merlin whispers, tenderly rubbing Arthur’s hip.

“I’m made of harder stuff.” Arthur snips back and Merlin grins.

The breeze blows but Merlin’s body shields him from it, discarding the world around them and any claim it boasts of having. Merlin pushes deep within him, gets to the core of Arthur’s entire being, touching every part of him, consuming every inch of him. Arthur has served himself on an alter and Merlin appreciates every element of a gift given, understands exactly how to prolong the ritual. Arthur is both the prayer and the sacrifice and Merlin is eager to devour both

He pants in Arthur’s ears, bursts of veneration, you’re beautiful, you’re perfect, so warm for me, so perfect, so lovely. Merlin reaches around, grabbing Arthur in hand and the symphony of pleasure is almost too much to bear, the faultless rhythm of motion that knocks into Arthur’s very own soul. He cries out Merlin’s name and when Merlin spills, he presses his forehead to Arthur’s shoulder, kissing it and kissing it, “Love you.” He can barely say, “So much. So so much.”

Arthur can barely stand, he’s jelly-limbed and blissful and so in love his heart pulses with it. He turns around, pulls Merlin in by the waist and holds him there, kissing him slowly, without purpose. Merlin waves a hand and they’re all cleaned up and still, they just hold each other tenderly, content to simply be.

When at last, they put their clothing back on, Merlin stops Arthur with a single hand, taking one last look at all the bites and bruises. “Souvenirs.” Merlin whispers, before kissing one again, fervent and unyielding, “Wherever you go, whatever you do, I’ll be with you.”

Perhaps he means it as an oath or a promise. But no, Arthur thinks. What is it, other than prophecy? A fact of the future, more certain than even the seasons or the sunrise. Arthur pulls Merlin into him then, sliding down to the grass together, leaning against the tree with Merlin between his legs.

They sit in silence for a while, idly tangling their fingers together. Arthur burrows his face into Merlin’s neck, fondness growing all the more when Merlin nuzzles in closer. He traces a finger up Merlin’s side, drawing shapes lazily into his skin.

“It’s a good thing we made up before meeting Elyan and doing whatever it is that needs doing.” Arthur muses, breaking the silence, and Merlin raises a brow.

“Yeah? Why’s that?”

Arthur lifts himself up, looking down at him with a salacious grin, “Thank the gods we’re alive sex.”

Merlin snorts, knocking Arthur on the back of his head gently while Arthur’s eyes sparkle with mirth. “Wouldn’t that be even better with I fucking hate you but I can’t get you out of my head sex?”

Arthur mulls it over, “Is it disgustingly domestic of us to only have wholesome sex?”

Merlin’s torn between laughing or deep-rooted embarrassment, “I’m not sure anything we did could be considered wholesome but it’s endearing that you think so.”

Arthur lets out an amused breath, pulling Merlin in closer. “Whatever it was, I look forward to much, much more of it.”

“And who knows,” Merlin starts, “maybe one day we can even do it in a bed.”

Arthur moves to rise again, muscles tensing, and Merlin pulls him back down, “I’m just teasing Arthur, don’t make a fuss or I’ll be forced to call you some awful pet name to shut you up.”

Arthur makes a flustered noise, “Why would that shut me-”

“Quiet darling, the love of your life is trying to rest.”

They’re silent for all of two seconds before they burst out laughing. “No,” Merlin says, “we’re definitely not pet name people.”

“Are you sure sweetheart?” Arthur eggs on, pinching Merlin’s cheek, “Are you absolutely sure my little sticky bun?”

Merlin can’t stop laughing, “Are we just going to call each other foods? My perfect sweetmeat?”

Arthur cackles, “I’d say you’re a peach but you’re being quite the prune.”

Merlin turns a glowing smile in his direction, pulling him down for a happy kiss, mellow and light. “I’ll just stick to calling you a clotpole.”

“Ahh, your true self returns.” Arthur teases, “I was wondering when you were going to stop pretending.”

“Can’t let your head get too big.” Merlin sighs with some extra drama, “it barely fits into your shirts as it is.”

Arthur reaches to smack him but Merlin catches his wrist, flashing a cocky smirk that sends the heat rushing down south all over again. Merlin feels the stiffness of Arthur’s want press against his back and his smirk only widens, “Well, well,” he says, barely able to contain his laughter, “speaking of food I can give you a-”

“Merlin,” Arthur warns, “don’t you dare say you want to give me a sausage.”

And Merlin bursts into laughter all over again, not even defending himself when Arthur thwacks him on the chest before cracking a smile too, shoving Merlin away and throwing himself onto the ground, sprawled like a star.

“You’re not even funny.” Arthur says with disgust.

“Gwaine would’ve laughed.”

“A pity laugh maybe.”

“Prat.”

“Idiot.”

And like twin flames, they turn to each other and grin.

Chapter Text

Though none of them have ever met him, Elyan is recognizable by the shape of his face, so like Gwen’s own. It helps too of course, that he waves at them the moment they enter the tavern, perhaps less inconspicuous than they think they are. The five of them exchange handshakes and go through the introductions quickly, settling into business.

Gwaine claps his hands, rubbing them together. “Real food.” He salivates, looking longingly at the barmaid.

“I resent that.” Merlin frowns and Gwaine flashes him an apologetic look.

“I’m sorry Merlin, but the thought of eating something other than rabbit is just-”

Merlin shrugs, letting it go, “Alright, can’t say I don’t understand that.”

“So, Elyan,” Arthur says firmly, giving a nice good kick to Gwaine’s shin, “You mentioned something wrong with Culcheth, what is it?”

Elyan frowns, leaning in closer, “I’m afraid you won’t believe me if I told you.”

Arthur shares a grim smile with Merlin, “I think you’ll find we have a higher tolerance for the fantastical than you think.”

Elyan bites his lip before meeting his gaze head on, “There’s been reports of children going missing, leaving only their shoes or other pieces of clothing. When we try to look for them, we find some tracks but they…they don’t make sense.”

Merlin frowns, “What do you mean?”

“The creature must be large, extraordinarily so, but it also might be two separate creatures who are two legged.”

“You think it’s a man doing this?”

Elyan shakes his head, “No ordinary man could do this. For the front two tracks look like they were made by a lion but the back two look like hoof marks.”

Lancelot makes a face and Elyan gives a small shrug, “I told you it doesn’t make sense. And what’s more, there was a child who had managed to run away before succumbing to his injuries. The strange thing though, was the only marks on him where two puncture wounds on his neck.”

Arthur lowers his chin into his stitched hands, brows knit together in thought. “You don’t really think it’s two different creatures, do you?”

Elyan shakes his head and Arthur’s frown deepens. “Merlin, we’ll have to consult your book.”

“Book?” Elyan asks and Arthur takes a quick glance around the tavern before leaning in closer.

“I believe this to be a magical creature. Back in Camelot, I was sent to dispatch quite a few of them, I think I have enough experience to recognize the signs.”

“Magic??” Elyan whisper hisses, “How are we supposed to-”

Arthur gives him a cool stare, “When we’re somewhere more private, I’ll tell you exactly how we can defeat it.”

Elyan’s expression narrows for a moment before it slackens as he leans back. “Then for now, let us enjoy our dinner and maybe you can tell me what it is you’re trying to do and how my sister is a part of it all.”

They’re midway to discussing all that needs to be done when the back of Merlin’s neck prickles. He frowns, glancing around surreptitiously when he notices a young woman staring at him, eyes crinkled in thought. She’s vaguely familiar but Merlin can’t put his finger on it.

“Hey, Arthur-”

The woman gets up and taps Merlin on the shoulder, “I’m sorry,” she interrupts, smiling awkwardly, “I don’t mean to be a bother, but you just look so familiar and well, you wouldn’t happen to be Prince Arthur’s former manservant, would you?”

Merlin freezes and the whole table quiets.

Falling back into old habits, he grins brilliantly, trying to look as incompetent as he can, “Who? Me? There’s no way the prince would ever hire someone like me.”

There’s a small snort beside him as Arthur draws his hood farther over his face. The girl frowns, peering at him with an intensity that’s almost startling. “I’m sorry, I don’t mean to press or cause you any trouble I only wanted to thank you for-”

“Miss,” Gwaine cuts in, not unkindly, “you seem like a good lass, but maybe this isn’t the place for it.”

The girl starts, nodding profusely, “No of course, I just- yes, you’re right.”

It’s too late however, those close by have already tuned in, looking at Merlin with suspicious gazes. It doesn’t help that they don’t look like the friendliest sorts either.

“Manservant huh?” a man asks, slamming his tankard down, the ale spilling over the sides. “Didn’t he follow the little traitor out of Camelot?”

His friend frowns mockingly, “Now come on Garrett, what if the poor boy was bewitched? He can’t be held responsible if the magic freak enchanted him.”

The first man snorts, “Well boy, were you enchanted?”

“I’m not him.” Merlin grits out, eyes darkening.

“She seems fairly certain you are.” Garret points out, “And she used to work for the Lady Grace before she fell too ill to visit the castle.”

Merlin’s eyes widen, his memories unlocking as he takes her in. Katherine…that’s what her name is. He had walked in on her crying one day. She had lost something of value to the Lady Grace…a ring. And he had helped her find it. She never got the opportunity to thank him though as he had just passed it off to Gwen as Arthur needed him for one of their many off-kilter adventures.

She was a kind girl, he remembers. Though Merlin wished she had been less so given the situation they were in now.

“No, it’s my mistake.” Katherine is quick to say, raising her hands in a placating motion, “I’m so sorry to have bothered you.” She bows her head slightly in apology and makes to leave when Garrett grabs her wrist.

“Don’t lie to us Katherine. You’ve never been good at it.”

Merlin knows what Arthur will do before he even moves. He reaches out to hold him back but Arthur has already lurched out of his seat, throwing Garrett’s hand off and pulling Katherine behind him. Merlin wonders if Arthur remembers her. Remembers how she blushed when he greeted her and how she couldn’t seem to remember how to curtsy as Arthur watched with gentle amusement.

It doesn’t matter though, whether Arthur remembers her sweetness or not. Because he is the kind of man who would always stand up to an army entire just to save a single person. It’s just his nature. His aggravating, maddening nature that makes Merlin so utterly besotted with him.

“Leave her alone.” Arthur warns, voice dark.

“What are you going to do princeling?” the man jeers and Arthur freezes. “How stupid do you think we all are? We know that you’ve been skulking around Camelot trying to find somewhere to be. Well that place isn’t here.” Garrett scowls, ripping out of his girp.

“We don’t want any trouble and we don’t want you.” His friend glares.

Arthur doesn’t back down. “I’m here because of the creature attacking the children.”

Garrett laughs, loud and mean, “To what? Redeem yourself in the eyes of your father? He won’t restore your honour.”

“No,” Arthur he agrees, “he can’t. Because I never lost it in the first place.” Turning to his friends, Arthur jerks his neck, “Let’s go.”

“Good!” the men at Garrett’s table clamour, “And stay away! We don’t need your kind or your help!”

Arthur doesn’t mean to glance back as he leaves, but he sees Katherine’s stricken expression and tries to convey to her that he doesn’t blame her. She didn’t create the hatred in their eyes.

Elyan is still offput with magic, Merlin can tell. He sees it in the hitched breaths when Elyan watches his eyes flash gold and the fire sparks to life. He sees it when Elyan instinctively flinches, hands ever so slightly raised to protect himself when he hears Merlin’s voice drop as he weaves a spell. It’s alright though. It’s not like he’s screaming or pressing a knifepoint to his neck.

He’ll come around.

Probably.

Merlin resolves to ignore that for now in favour of poring over one of the books he’d taken from Gaius’ workshop, trying to see if he could figure out what the creature was from the bare details Elyan had shared.

“Any luck?” Lancelot asks, settling beside him.

Merlin shakes his head, “None yet.”

He tries to zone back in, ignore the clang of the swords as Gwaine and Arthur practice their sparring, beckoning Elyan to join them. There’s a razor sharp focus on Arthur’s face and Merlin can hear Gwaine’s jokes fall flat as he tries to get a smile out of him.

“I used to envy him.” Lancelot says without prompting and the surprise of it is enough to get Merlin to lift his gaze off the pages and stare at him instead.

“Arthur?”

Lancelot nods, “To me, he had everything. A title that let him do good and be Camelot’s greatest knight. The admiration of the woman I placed in the highest esteem. And somehow, even with all his blessings, he was honourable.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything, just watches Lancelot watch Arthur and wonders why even when speaking of envy, his eyes are warm instead.

“I wanted to fight by his side. I wanted to be part of his world, part of the movement to make Camelot a better kingdom for all. And then this happened,” he gestures around them, wrapping his arms around his knees, “and I had the terrible thought that this would be the end of him.”

Lancelot turns to Merlin with a small smile, “But then something unexpected happened. I suddenly envied him all the more and then realized it was never jealousy at all but admiration. When I had nothing, when I thought I lost everything, I let myself fall victim to the dark part of me that just wanted to give up, but Arthur didn’t. He’s never let himself succumb. He’s never tried to be anything less than what he was destined to be and I will do everything I can to help him build the world I know you two want to create.”

Merlin’s eyes widen and he reaches for Lancelot before he can help himself, “You succumbed to nothing. You’ve always been a good man Lancelot. The most noble of us all. Arthur would be the first one to say it.”

“That’s because Arthur can see the good in everyone else but himself.”

And because it isn’t false, Merlin can’t disagree.

“You’re a good friend.” He says instead, “We’re lucky to have you.” and Lancelot simply smiles.

“I’m grateful.” He says calmly, “For the new life ahead of me. And I want to thank you too, for being the first person to believe in me. It’s because of you Merlin, that I have anything at all. A purpose, a love, a place to return to.” He stares meaningfully into Merlin’s eyes and nods his chin, “Thank you.”

Merlin shakes his head though his heart sings. “You don’t have to thank me for anything.”

“We’ll agree to disagree.”

Arthur chooses this moment to stomp over, crossing his arms, “Were you hoping to get out of training Lancelot? Hiding behind my affection for this one won’t protect you for very long you know.” He says with no small amount of amusement.

“You’re such a sap.” Merlin laughs, “Waiting for us to finish talking.”

“Shut up Merlin.” Arthur retorts smoothly, “No one was talking to you.”

Lancelot stands, brushing off some grass from his trousers. “I would never shirk my duty, I’m sorry for taking so long.”

Arthur shoots Merlin a pointed look, “You could learn a thing or two from him, you know.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Yes, yes, now go smack each other with swords while I try and figure out what we’re up against.”

Arthur leans forward, ruffling Merlin’s hair fondly before clapping Lancelot on the back and pairing him up with Gwaine while he assessed what Elyan was made of. Merlin allows himself a small moment just to enjoy the sight of his lover completely in his element before turning back to his book, finger skimming down the lines.

They’ve settled into a rhythm when they hear a shriek pierce through the night. Everyone freezes, heads whipping around to find the source. There is one more cry, terrified and brittle and Arthur is running, “Come on!” he yells, waving an arm behind him as he goes.

Merlin throws the book down, sprinting behind him, heart in his throat. They leap over rocks, the moonlight guiding them until Merlin grits his jaw, slapping his hands together and expanding them out so that five balls of light floated around them, latching onto one person and illuminating the way. Elyan’s eyes flick up to the light, his eyes wide with wonder and not a little fear before snapping back to attention.

Arthur leads the way on instinct alone until they find a small clearing and a horrifying roar stops him in his tracks. It shouldn’t be real. It doesn’t make sense. But there’s a gust of wind and another growl and the moonlight disappears. Arthur looks up, can just make out a twisted shape of a creature that shouldn’t exist before it vanishes into the treeline.

Arthur sprints forward, looking all around, breath coming in pants. The scene doesn’t make sense. There are giant paw prints and hoof prints right behind. There is a bucket full of rocks that’s been tipped over, a stray shoe next to it. Arthur bends down, inspecting it like it could tell him anything more than it once belonged to a child who couldn’t afford newer ones. There are snapped branches high in the trees from where the creature must have soared up but other than these clues, nothing else remains.

“Did any of you see it leave?” he asks, trying to catch his breath, tame the creeping fear that they are out of their depth.

Elyan rubs at his eyes, shaking his head but the haunted expression on his face gives him away.

“Elyan?”

“No it…I saw something but it doesn’t- it doesn’t make sense.”

Gwaine nods, “It was a lion, wasn’t it? But it was bigger than any I’ve ever seen.”

“No,” Elyan shakes his head, “There were horns, awful twisting horns.”

“It roared,” Gwaine argues, “have you ever seen a lion with horns?”  

“It flew.” Elyan insists, “No matter what it is, it’s not normal.”

Arthur tries to get them to settle down, but their voices rise as they argue further. Merlin turns away, determined to ignore them as he thinks.

A lion, horns, hooves, wings, a boy who ran away with just two puncture wounds.

A lion, horns, hooves, wings, a boy who ran away with just two puncture wounds.

A lion, a goat, a dragon, and a snake.

“Chimera!” Merlin bursts, running over to them, “It’s a chimera!”

“A what?” Arthur’s face scrunches in adorable confusion and Merlin inexplicably wants to kiss him.

“It’s a beast so rare even the book thought it was probably just a myth, but it fits. The beast is said to have the head of a lion, then the head of a goat, the wings of a dragon, and a snake for a tail. It all makes sense! The chimera finds its prey, knocks them out with the snake venom and then carries them back to their lair. That’s why it’s usually shoes that are found, they must get knocked off as they fly out through the trees.”

Gwaine looks slightly queasy at the thought, “That’d be one nasty beastie.”

“It is.” Merlin confirms, “That’s why we have to kill it. It won’t ever stop preying on this village unless we do

“Right,” Arthur nods, “then we have to track it now, maybe we can find it before it…before it finishes what it started.”

This would be easier said than done if not for the torches that surround them and the angry faces glaring at them, “Where are they!” a woman shouts, sprinting frantically around the clearing, “Where are Benji and Harry!”

The woman turns furious eyes at them and Arthur looks at her, baffled. “I-”

“It’s no coincidence that you get banished and then horrible things start happening!” she shouts, tears welling angrily in her eyes. “You didn’t tire of lording your power over us when you were prince? You had to take out your rage for your exile against us??”

“What? No of course not! We’re going to go find them-”

The woman slaps Arthur clear across the face, cheeks blazing, “Where ARE they! I will kill you myself-”

“Marjorie stop it!!” Katherine sprints into the fold, pulling Marjorie back, struggling against her manic strength. “They didn’t do anything to your boys!”

“It’s his fault!” Marjorie screams, “None of this would’ve have happened if it weren’t for him!”

“It’s not his fault!” Katherine pleads, “The disappearances happened long before the prince was in our part of the kingdom, I know you know that. I know you’re upset but you have to see reason. They’re going to go kill it. They’re going to save them. They’ll bring Benji and Harry home.”

“They CAN’T!” Marjorie wails, collapsing into Katherine’s arms as she sobs. “It’s all their fault.”

Katherine looks up at Arthur with a thousand apologies in her eyes.

“We don’t need their help! We’ve sent for the knights’ aid!” someone shouts and Katherine whirls around with thunder in her voice.

“Then where are they! This man is here right now! Why should we have to wait for help that might never come!” she storms, “You’re all so quick to judge a person who’s done nothing but try to offer his help and you all just turn him away instead!”

“He wants to bring back magic!”

Katherine lifts her chin, turning from porcelain to ivory right before their eyes, “I would rather have magic run freely through this village than lose one more of our children.”

“That’s treason.” The man pales, stepping back.

But Katherine will not yield, just holds her head higher, “The law is meant to protect the people. How much does the law have to hurt us before we stop protecting it?”

Arthur regards her with a steady gaze, a flintlike respect in his eyes. “Thank you, Katherine.” He says quietly, “We will go after the beast.” He swears, catching every person’s eye with his own, “I will bring back its head and bring your boys back too. You have my word.”

The villages say nothing and so Arthur turns his back on them, trying to show his strength by the hard line of his shoulders, the way he keeps his head up, determined.

“Merlin, we’ll need your help tracking the chimera in the dark.”

Merlin catches Arthur’s weighty gaze. Arthur nods and Merlin nods back. Whispering the spell, he brings back the orbs of light, watching as everyone gasps around him.

Elyan points up, “The branches are broken slightly to the left, we should head west.”

Arthur nods, “Alright, let’s go.”

Nobody stops them. Nobody yells. They part for them like Arthur is once again prince and together, their ragtag group of exiles wanders into the darkening wood.

It takes all of their tracking prowess to trace the path the chimera took, relying only on the broken tips of trees and scattered bits of branches on the forest floor. Merlin seems to think they’re heading in the right direction, noting that the chimera liked rocky enclosures and the path they’re taking seems to lead out of the forest and into the beginning of a low-lying mountain range.

At the tip of a cave, Arthur sees a horrifying assortment of tattered clothing and shoes, his heart sinking right to his feet. “This is it. Swords up.” He commands and his men rally behind him.

Arthur has fought in many battles before. He has led battalions and armies and covert forces but this is the most confident he has ever felt, this is the most trust he has ever given to the men defending his back.

“Merlin.”

Without needing to be asked, Merlin extinguishes all their light except for one and they filter into the cave, shoulders tense. They can hear the beast before they see it, hidden by a curved stone wall. It growls, puttering about, a faint hissing filling the air. Arthur holds out an arm and draws Merlin close, mouth right at his ear. “Run for the boys and flood it with light.”

Merlin nods and Arthur lets him go, lingering in his hold for just a moment.

Arthur charges in, his friends running after him and Merlin shouts his spell, the cave bursting with a silvery light. Arthur sees the boys immediately, thrown against the floor like they’re nothing, eyes still closed. Are they breathing?

Please, please let them be breathing.

The chimera roars and the whole mountain shakes. It is so much worse in the flesh, so much more terrifying with its claws and horns and fangs. It’s an unnatural creature, the lion’s fur blending into the grey of the goat’s, the dragon’s leathery wings hiding the hissing head of the snake. The chimera flaps its wings and dust whirls around them, Arthur shuts his eyes, coughing, trying to pull his shirt up over his mouth. Distracted, he’s almost too slow as the beast lunges for him, rolling out of the way just in time.

The chimera bats away Elyan’s sword like it’s made of nothing, and Arthur takes in a breath, feeling the air well in his lungs. He can hear his heartbeat. He can taste the sweat on his tongue, feel the dread in his veins. He lets the fear pulse through him, lets it overtake every inch of him before he rises anyway. Choosing courage over cowardice.

“On me!” he commands and the formation reforms.

Lancelot and Gwaine break out to either side of the chimera, battling with its snake tail and goat head. Arthur goes for the lion, attacking and attacking, pressing forward even as it lurches to bite him. His sword clangs against the creature’s teeth and he pulls back, holding in his flinch as the chimera snarls in pain.

The goat’s head howls as Lancelot severs the snake, it’s tail end writhing and the chimera sways, reeling. The roar is frightening and calamitous, every hair on Arthur’s body standing on edge. The creature is furious now, it twists in circles, biting and receding. Rising on its hooves, the chimera swats at Gwaine with its clawed paw and Arthur watches in horror as he stumbles on a rock, crashing to the ground just as the lion’s fangs fly towards Gwaine’s neck.

Arthur doesn’t even think about it.

Doesn’t even hesitate.

He throws himself in front of Gwaine on pure instinct, howling as the beast sinks its teeth into his shoulder. Arthur’s certain he is going to die. Certain the next bite will be over his neck. He can feel Gwaine catch him as he falls, yelling his name. He can hear Merlin’s anguished wail and then the chimera is pulling back, whimpering as Elyan’s sword pierces through its heart, all the way through.

The chimera trips over its feet, heads lolling before it collapses onto the stone floor, blood gushing from its fatal wound. Elyan stands over the body panting, staring at Arthur with wide eyes. “I was too late.” His voice cracks.

Arthur’s head falls back, laughing though the pain is pulsing, radiating through his torso. “You were right on time.”

He doesn’t remember much after that.

When Arthur wakes up, it’s in a home he doesn’t recognize, on a straw bed that is infinitely better than the forest floor. He groans, rubbing at his eyes before wincing when he tugs on his shoulder wound. He glances down, notes the firmly wrapped bandages, Merlin’s work written all over it. Gingerly, he rubs at the wound, stifling a grimace when it sends a throb of pain through him.

“Arthur!” Merlin rushes toward him, setting down a bowl full of a foul paste Arthur is sure is meant for him before he throws his arms around him, burying his face in Arthur’s neck. “Oh thank god.”

“Hello Merlin. Worried, were you?” Arthur tries to joke but Merlin doesn’t lessen his hold, just breathes Arthur in.

“I’m sorry.” Arthur says softly, immediately contrite, “I’m alright.”

“You should be sorry!” a much angrier voice yells and Gwaine enters the room, arms crossed, “What were you thinking?”

Arthur raises a brow, “Aren’t thank yous a more traditional greeting for the people who save your life or has the world changed in the few hours I’ve been knocked out?"

“It’s been a day actually.” Merlin says, eyes narrowed, “You have no idea how scared I was.”

“Merlin-”

“You shouldn’t have done it.” Gwaine interrupts, ragged and hard.

Arthur tilts up his chin, “You can’t tell me what to do."

When Gwaine looks ready to argue once more, Arthur just sighs, collapsing back onto the pillow, “No wonder you and Merlin are such good friends, you’re both the same kind of stupid.”

Gwaine sucks in an offended breath and Arthur just laughs. “We’re friends you absolute idiot- though god knows why. Of course I was going to do it. So just,” Arthur waves a hand around, “quiet down, will you? Or at least make yourself useful and tell me if the boys are alright.”

Gwaine glowers at him for a bit longer before all the fight goes out of him and he sits down next to him, clapping him on the thigh. “Merlin was able to draw the poison out of them. They’ll be alright. And you’re lucky you’re not dead or I would’ve had to force Merlin to learn how to bring people back to life just so I could kill you myself.”

The relief is so strong Arthur almost falls back to sleep from the comfort of it all. “You could certainly try.” He goads, before smiling, “I’m glad they’re alright though. We got to them just in time but,” he frowns as though he’s just realized something odd, “where are we?”

Merlin smiles then, taking hold of his hand and caressing the dip where his thumb meets his palm, “Katherine was kind enough to let us stay in her home while you recover.”

“Oh. Well that’s kind of her.” Arthur muses, “Will you bring her so I can thank her?”

“You’ll see her and everyone else soon enough.” There’s a mysterious smile dancing on Merlin’s lips and Arthur looks between him and Gwaine quizzically.

“Everyone?”

“You’ll see.” Merlin smooths Arthur’s hair over his forehead, eyes flashing gold, “Just rest a little more you reckless dollophead. Everything will still be here when you wake.”

The next time Arthur awakens, his shoulder feels mildly better, which means whatever combination of magic and herbs Merlin is using is working, which is all a good sign. Body aching from lying down for too long, Arthur rummages through someone’s bag and pulls out what he thinks might be Gwaine’s shirt and shrugs it on, stepping outside the house and immediately flinching from the bright sun. He lifts up a hand, shading his eyes and glances around town.

He's recognized immediately, people pointing at him, yelling, “He’s awake! He’s awake!” but there’s no hate in their eyes this time. They’re excited. In fact, they’re… …they’re pleased.

Lancelot sees him first, from where he’s fetching a bucket of well water and runs towards him, “Arthur, you shouldn’t be up yet.” He frowns in admonishment.

“I feel fine, honestly. Where is everyone?”

The corner of Lancelot’s mouth turns up, “Merlin’s showing some of the village folk how to make the poultice he put together to heal you. They’re quite enamoured with him.”

Arthur snorts, “I know the feeling. Take me to him?”

Together, they walk through town, people waving at them as they walk by. Arthur returns their smiles tentatively, still waiting for the joke, for when they laugh at him and demand why he ever thought he could earn back their respect.

When they reach a small hut, Arthur slips into the house, watching with soft eyes as Merlin holds up two leaves that look exactly alike and explains how they’re utterly different. Arthur drinks him in, loves the sparkle in his eye as he explains the medicinal properties in the plants all around them and answers people’s questions with kindness. When Merlin looks up, his eyes widen but he smiles when Arthur presses a finger to his lips. Merlin concludes his lesson quickly, eyes flitting back to Arthur’s every once in a while, unable to stop his own uncontainable smile.

As everyone stands and turns to see him, Arthur’s startled by the sudden rush of attention. Everyone clamours towards him, touching him, thanking him. He’s overwhelmed by it all, but not as much as when Marjorie approaches him, head downcast.

“I am so deeply sorry.” Her voice waters, cracking at the seams, “My boys…” she sobs, pressing a hand against her mouth, “They’re back with me where they belong because of you and because of that boy’s m-magic.”

Arthur’s eyes widen, “You won’t- they won’t do anything to them will they? Because of it?”

Marjorie shakes her head wildly, “Absolutely not. I wouldn’t let them. I would never- no I…why would you believe me. I’ve been horrible to you but I…we,” she amends, looking around the room, “how can I decry that which made me whole once more. I’m grateful. To both of you and I am so sorry.”

Unable to bear her pain, Arthur takes one of her hands in his own and with his other, lifts her chin to meet his gaze. “Forget your guilt, it won’t help either of us. I’m just glad your family is safe and that no one in this village has anything to fear anymore.”

Tears dribble down her cheeks and he smiles at her gently. Unable to help herself, she leaps into his arms, hugging him close, careful to avoid his wound. “Thank you.” She repeats, “Thank you, thank you.”

Maybe it’s because of how tightly she holds him, but something inside him fixes, fuses right back into a single whole.

Arthur’s visit to Katherine goes a little more calmly. “Your village is lucky to have you. You’ll be a greater leader.”

Katherine blushes, fiddling with the hem of her sleeve, “That’s very kind of you,” she pauses, smiling self-consciously, “I feel like I need to address you by title.” She confesses, laughing slightly.

Merlin snorts from next to Arthur, rolling his eyes, “Come on Katherine, do you know how long it took to deflate his ego? Now I’ll have to start all over again.”

“Quiet you.” Arthur jabs, elbowing Merlin in the ribs before turning to Katherine, “No titles necessary. What I really wanted to say was thank you for lending us your home. We’re all deeply grateful for your hospitality.”

“Not any more grateful than we are for you and your friends killing the chimera. We’ve already lost so many children.” Katherine’s lip wobbles, taking a moment to grieve, “Culcheth owes you an immense debt.”

“That’s really not-”

“We can start by treating you to a proper Culcheth feast.”

Arthur pauses, eyes glimmering, “A feast?”

“Oh yes.” Katherine nods, “I think you’ll be quite pleased.”

“Well…” Arthur says at last, glaring as Merlin tries to muffle his laughter, “I guess we can stay for that.”

The feast in their honour is scheduled for that night and Arthur spends the rest of the day strolling through the village, hand in hand with Merlin. What he sees is more poverty. Broken doors and fences, thin livestock, a crop not yielding as much as it should. “We can fix this place.” He says to Merlin, a thousand ideas broiling in his mind, “If they’d let us.”

Merlin squeezes his fingers, pressing a quick kiss to his cheek, “We could.” He agrees and Arthur smiles, whirling Merlin into his arms and kissing him properly.

“You were oddly articulate back there, teaching about herbs.” He jokes, grinning as Merlin glares at him.

“Well one of us has to be good at the whole talking bit, remember?”

“You know Merlin,” Arthur muses, tracing a finger down his cheek, “my shoulder is almost completely healed and I seem to recall something about thank the gods we’re alive sex.”

Merlin chokes on a laugh, clapping a hand to his mouth to keep it in. “I seem to recall you saying something about that. I said something about I hate you sex.”

“Both these things can be true.” Arthur shrugs, unbothered.

“Big head you have there if you think that’s what I’m thinking about doing with you.”

“I know you can’t think of anything else.” Arthur teases, leaning down to kiss him again, happy despite everything. Maybe because of everything.

They stop by one of the distant fields, its only half planted and when Arthur knocks on the door, it’s obvious why. Gerald, the homeowner, has broken his foot and already hindered by an old war wound, can’t manage on his own. His wife, Ruby, has been struggling between tending to the fields and taking care of their little children.  

“We can help if you’d like.”

“You?” Gerald asks incredulously and Arthur’s lip twitches.

“I’ve taken on some strange hobbies since leaving the citadel.” He shares and Gerald merely looks at him like he’s grown a second head.

“Why would you do that for us?”

Arthur shrugs, “Why not?”

Gerald appraises him a moment, “I don’t do charity, I still have some dignity left.”

“What about teaching?” Arthur offers, “I’ve never planted rhubarb before.”

Gerald is silent for a moment before he laughs, sharp and high. For someone like Gerald, the man who’d been turning away his neighbours’ offers for days, it’d be easy to just close the door. But there’s something about this exiled prince, a strange sort of humbleness, a modesty dressed as nobility. Maybe it’s the way the sun is shining off his face, like the beams sought him out on purpose.

“Alright.” Gerald says at last, “I can come out and we can plant one or two.”

Arthur beams.

They plant more than one or two, poor Merlin compensating for both their injuries. When they’re done, Ruby insists on giving them something, so moved by their help, but Arthur just asks that she bring something to the town dinner and he and Merlin make their way there, hand in hand once more.

The village comes to life, playing music and dancing in the square. There is plenty of food and ale to go around, even more jokes and raucous laughter. It’s a night Arthur won’t forget, filled with smiles and ribbons of delight. When they invite him to stay as long as likes in this little village at the edge of everything, Arthur bows his head when he thanks them for their generosity.

As their last show of appreciation, Katherine approaches them with four pieces of half-chest plates. “I know it isn’t much. We don’t have enough metal to make a full set but…”

“These are perfect.” Arthur takes his, brushing his fingers reverently over the pattern. “Thank you.” And the depth of his sincerity makes Katherine blush.

With Merlin’s magic, it takes a bit over two weeks to heal a wound Arthur knows probably should have left him mildly disabled. He rotates his shoulder, unable to help the awe he feels at how painless it is despite the fearsome scar the bite had left behind. By now, everyone has settled into their own little niches and Arthur leaves them to their own devices. Merlin continues to teach them about medicine, Gwaine is teaching some of the younger boys how to fight, and Lancelot writes letters in the dirt to teach the children how to read. The only one who looks lost is Elyan.

“Elyan, come with me.” Arthur calls and Elyan blinks, eyes flitting to the axes in Arthur’s hand before darting back to his face.

Elyan follows Arthur wordlessly, never asking questions until Arthur brings him to the edge of the wood. “I was talking to Liliana, she sells cabbages. During the last storm, her stand was destroyed, so we’re going to chop some wood and build her a new one.”

“We’re going to- what?” Elyan looks like he doesn’t understand what’s happening and Arthur hands him the axe.

“Go on then, I’m sure you know how to chop up wood.”

Still wordless, Elyan grabs the handle, feeling the weight of it in his hands before turning to a slender tree and hacking at it with enough force that the axe slides halfway through the trunk. He fells one more tree and they make short work of stripping the branches off. At some point, Arthur disappears and returns with a few wedges. It takes all day and they’re still not done making planks fit enough to build a stall.

Arthur wipes the sweat off his brow, looking at their work with proud satisfaction. “Let’s come back to this tomorrow. We’ve made good progress today though Elyan, excellent job!”

Elyan just stares at him, shaking his head, “Why are you doing this?”

Arthur tilts his head, “What do you mean?”

Elyan gestures weakly, “All of this. The seeds, asking Lancelot to help mend a fence after he’s done his lesson, why are you…you’re just…” Elyan rubs the back of his neck, “It isn’t what I expected is all."

Arthur hides a smile. “Did you think it was all just about fighting monsters for glory?”

Elyan shrugs, “I suppose.”

Arthur looks out into the village, touches his newest scar, “Sometimes it’s about that. Sometimes the thing that we can do is just to fight. Places like these, they don’t have the kind of training it takes to take down things like bandits or bloody chimeras.”

Elyan gives him a weak laugh and Arthur gives him a smile in return.

“But I learned a lot on my travels, like how to build instead of just destroy. And that’s what I want this kingdom to be, a place of never-ending growth, a place that’s prosperous. What’s the point of me knowing how to do all these things if I don’t get to use any of it?”

“They wanted to kill you. In the beginning.”

Arthur shrugs, “Everyone’s always wanted to kill me.”

Elyan sputters and Arthur only smirks, laughing slightly, “Ask Merlin about all the assassination attempts we suffered through back in the castle if you don’t believe me. The point is now they don’t want to anymore. The point is now they’ve seen the good magic can do and their hearts are softer for it.”

“Speaking of the,” Elyan licks his lips, “speaking of the magic. How did you…weren’t you afraid of it?”

Arthur regards him curiously, gesturing for Elyan to join him on his seat on one of their felled trees. “I was raised to hate magic and my whole life I did. Until one day a sorceress brought back the spirit of my dead mother and I learned that when my parents were having trouble conceiving, my father turned to a sorceress for help not understanding how magic worked.”

Arthur weaves his fingers together, leaning on his thighs, “Magic can do amazing things, it’s true. But it always has a price. In my mother’s case, it was a life for a life.”

Elyan’s eyes widen.

“My father couldn’t bear knowing his actions were the cause of her death but instead of just accepting his mistake, he blamed all of magic instead and banned it out of grief and rage. So tell me Elyan,” Arthur asks, turning his chin, “because one man says it’s so, you believe something woven into the very earth must be evil?”

Elyan is silent for a moment, “It seems unfair that there are those born with great power and others without.”

“Anyone can learn magic.” Arthur points out, “Just like anyone can learn anything but some have higher aptitudes than others, is that so wrong?”

“You can’t defend yourself against it, it’s not fair.” Elyan insists and Arthur nods slowly.

“It’s not as intuitive, that’s true, but believe me. There are things you can learn, things Merlin can teach you and that’s entirely my point Elyan. What do we really fear except the unknown? You’ve been taught that all sorcerers are inherently evil but you’ve met Merlin and so you must know that it isn’t true. There’s still so much to discover about the world.”

“I wonder if you would be so open minded were you still at the castle.” Elyan muses, not unkindly.

Arthur’s expression elongates as though to say who’s to know. “Maybe, maybe not. Sometimes…” he glances at Elyan and then looks away again, “Sometimes I think I’m a better man because I was banished, that I’ve learned lessons sooner, understood more of the kingdom and her needs than I ever did as prince. It’s just painful to know everything I do and not be able to act on it but that’s why I do this instead. Because I can. And I know I must.”

Arthur looks at him, bringing a hand to Elyan’s shoulder and squeezing, “Guinevere all but forced you into our lives but you don’t need to feel an obligation to stay. You were indispensable when we fought the chimera and I would be proud to continue on this adventure by your side if you so chose. Regardless, I owe you a life debt for saving me and you have my gratitude.”

Elyan searches for something in Arthur’s eyes and then nods decisively. “I’d like to stay with you, Arthur.” He grins, “See if I can’t get another debt or two.”

Arthur laughs, his head thrown back, “Excellent. Now you can listen to Gwaine jabber all day so I can live my life in peace.”

Elyan snorts, shaking his head, “He has experiences I could never even dream of.”

“Truly an audacious existence.” Arthur agrees and just like that, Arthur claims Elyan as one of their own and so he will remain until the day he dies. But there’s still decades and decades of adventures to come before that.  

It is days later when Elly lands on Merlin’s outstretched hand that they’re given one more reason to stay in Culcheth.

Morgana and I have fled Camelot. Too much to say over a note. See you in Culcheth.

- Gwen

Something twists in Arthur’s belly as he reads the note. “Do you think they’re alright?”

Lancelot tries to muster his expression into something faithful instead of frightened. “Should we ride out to meet them?”

“There’s no guarantee we’d find them.” Gwaine points out but Elyan looks up for the task as well.

“Why not try?” Elyan pushes and Arthur nods.

“Take Elly with you,” Arthur says, “maybe you can follow her as she returns to Gwen. Gwaine, go with them. If something happens, they could use an extra set of hands.”

“And you?” Gwaine asks, nodding to him and Merlin.

“In case you don’t find them, we’ll stay to receive them.”

In agreement, the three of them fetch their horses and a few bags of supplies, waving their goodbyes before heading south in the direction of Camelot.

“I’m worried Arthur.” Merlin confesses, reaching for his hand.

“One of your funny feelings again?” Arthur asks without mirth.

“I can feel something changing, like we’re on the precipice of something great or terrible.”

Arthur tugs Merlin in by the shoulders, pressing his head into his chest. “You worry too much.” He murmurs and Merlin pulls away, shaking his head.

“Arthur I’m serious- I’m worried for you.”

Expression hardening with resolve, Arthur takes Merlin’s face between his hands, “I’m not worried at all.” He declares and Merlin will never understand, “You know why? Because we’re in this together and now Morgana and Guinevere are joining too. I know you won’t let anything happen to me and I will never let anything happen to you.”

He seals his vow with a tender kiss against Merlin’s forehead, the strength of his boundless determination seeping into Merlin’s skin. Wanting to be closer, Merlin wraps his arms around Arthur’s middle, closing his eyes as Arthur embraces him back. “You always do that.” Merlin mumbles.

“Do what?”

“Make everything sound so simple. Like it’s all just easy.”

“It is simple.” Arthur replies, kissing his hair, “I have you and you have me. What can we not face together?”

He says it with such confidence that Merlin feels himself believe it.

He should have known better.

Chapter Text

Arthur is putting the final touches on the stall he’s built, tying flying pieces of purple fabric to the top when he hears someone shout his name. Whirling around, he’s running before he knows it, a mile wide grin on his face, “Morgana!”

“Arthur, I can’t believe it!”

Morgana cascades into his arms and he swings her around laughing. “I never thought I’d see you again.” He confesses, taking in the sight of her.

She’s dressed in her riding gear, that familiar waist armor glinting in the sunlight. Morgana flicks her head, her braid tumbling down her shoulder over her back and she gives him a solemn look, “Yes well, the guards decided to be competent for the first time in their lives the day you had to leave.”

Arthur snorts, unable to stop himself from staring at her.

“Gwen’s told me a bit about what you’ve been up to,” Morgana adds, “you’ve caused quite a stir in the castle you know.”

Arthur raises a brow, “Have we? And here I thought we were being low-key.”

“Hah! Arthur Pendragon? Being subtle? Hell will freeze over first.”

“Har-har,” he replies drily, “you haven’t changed a bit.”

“You’ve changed a lot.” She retorts quickly, but she says it with a smile and with a ruffle to his hair. “Gwen and I are exhausted.” She says abruptly, changing gears, “Show us the camp then would you? Come on then.”

Arthur wants to be annoyed with her. Really, he does. But at the sight of her familiar braid sashaying as she walks, he can’t help but feel this bone deep relief, like a missing organ had been returned to him once more. A kidney perhaps. Part of a matching set.

Before they can go however, Arthur catches her wrist, “Morgana, wait.”

She turns, head tilted in a question.

“Your magic,” he sees her swallow and his fingers tighten, “you can use it freely here. You have nothing to fear anymore.”

Her answering smile is shy and it breaks Arthur’s heart.

Morgana settles within them as easily as Arthur expected. It’s her nature after all. Morgana is a magnetic thing, people are drawn to her without her having to do anything at all, sharp and beautiful as she is. It brings him joy though, seeing her so carefree, how she smiles so wide, holding Gwen’s hands as they chat among the rocks.

Of course, Arthur also notices Gwaine’s long looks and cuffs him on the back of the head. “If you’re going to be a creep you may as well introduce yourself.” He says remorselessly and Gwaine scowls at him, rubbing at the wound.

“I’m not being creepy. I’m being polite.”

Arthur’s response is drier than an autumn leaf, “How do you figure?”

“I’m waiting patiently for her conversation to end.” Gwaine replies, grinning, and Arthur has to restrain himself from hitting him again.

Eventually, Gwaine does make it over and Morgana takes one look at him before she smirks, “You’re the one with the fancy sword skill.”

Gwaine smiles lazily, “That I am, you can hold your applause.”

“Applause for what? A little trick?” Morgana cocks her chin, hair tumbling over her shoulder in waves, “You may have Arthur beat but you can’t beat me.”

Gwaine blinks before he throws his head back and laughs, “I can take anything you throw at me my lady.” He responds, winking. “We can go right now if you’d like.”

And no one laughs harder than Arthur when Morgana promptly puts him in his place, preening under Gwaine’s stunned expression.

“Again.” Gwaine demands and Morgana holds out a chivalrous hand.

“I can do this all day.”

Yes, Arthur thinks. Morgana’s going to fit in just fine.

Good things of course, never last. How dare Arthur even have hoped.

They’ve returned to camping outside the village to no longer intrude on anyone’s hospitality when Morgause appears before them in the middle of the night. She emerges from behind the trees, the perspective making it look like she walked right out of the campfire flames itself.

“You!” Arthur shoots up, hand flying to his sword before he hesitates, looking between it and her.

“Hello Arthur Pendragon.” She greets, “Sister.” She smiles and her gentleness is almost as shocking as her arrival.

Arthur’s expression twists just as Merlin’s heart plummets. “Sister?” Arthur shakes his head, turning to Morgana with hurt in his eyes, “What does she mean?”

Morgana pales, her hair falling in waves over her cheeks and neck. “I…I only just found recently. I didn’t know before…when you went to go see her. I was going to tell you! How could I know she would appear here before I could.”

Around them, everyone gathers, clumping together in a protective cluster, wary over whether their group is now divided or united still. Arthur takes in a breath, his shoulders rising with it. “Why are you here Morgause?”

Seeing her invitation and determined not to lose it, Morgause streams toward him, almost floating in the dark. “I have been watching you, Arthur. Before we met and long since after. You have shown yourself to be worthy of the title of king of Camelot and a true ally to magic. It is time for your rule to begin and Uther’s to end.”

Arthur stiffens and Morgana’s eyes widen, a barely disguised thirst in the curve of her face. Merlin watches her with drawn brows. There are flickers in those green eyes that he had long tried to pretend weren’t there. Embers of hatred just waiting to be fanned into flames. What is the difference between justice and vengeance?

Who draws the line?

“Is my father ill? Has- has something happened to him?” Arthur asks, voice weaker than before.

Morgause narrows her eyes, “You still care for him? After what he’s done?”

“Did something happen?” Arthur repeats, more firmly this time, drawing up to his full height.

“No.” Morgause says at last, glancing at Morgana like she’s waiting for her to speak up, “The king is as healthy as he’s always been.”

“Then I cannot rule.” Arthur’s words reverberate through the clearing and a starling trills a mournful tune, a cluster of leaves sinking to the ground.

The same embers in Morgana’s eyes explode in Morgause’s. “You would turn your back on your people? On the magic users you swore to protect?”

“I abandon nothing. I’ve done more good for Camelot as an exiled prince than I have my whole life in that castle.”

Morgause laughs, “Good? What good? You think helping the one excuses you for letting down the ten? The hundred?”

Morgana raises a hand, uncertainty clouding her edges. “Sister-”

“No Morgana, he should hear how his failures are causing this kingdom to fall apart.”

“You speak of my failures Morgause but fail to see the future.” Arthur cuts in, expression cut from stone, “Do you think the people would love me? For murdering the king they respect and taking the throne? Have you even walked through these villages? Heard what they’ve been saying about me?”

“They resent me.” Arthur bursts, “They think I’m a traitor to the crown, to Camelot, to them. They believe I’ve abandoned them. Do you really think they’d respect my rule when all they’ll see is just another entitled prince vying for a crown at the expense of his own flesh and blood?”

Morgause retreats for just a moment. “Once you are king,” she says at last, “you can show them the truth. Show them what a tyrant Uther really was.”

“Maybe.” Arthur responds tiredly, looking so much older, “Or maybe they’ll only hate me more. For being a liar and a kin-killer.”

“You don’t need to be loved to rule. You only need to consolidate your power. The people will listen then.”

Arthur’s jaw tightens, “I won’t be the thing they fear.” Arthur meets Morgause’s gaze, “You’ve come to ask of me something that should never be asked of a son regardless of what the father has done and I am telling you I won’t.”

“Then you are weak.” Morgause spits. “Do you know how many innocents Uther has slaughtered just this week since your departure?” Morgause hisses, “Four people including a child. He hates magic for taking his wife and now hates it all the more for snatching his son. Every death from this point forward is on your hands.”

“That’s enough.” Merlin steps forward, body angled for a fight, eyes blazing. “He’s told you his answer, what more do you want.”

“For you to listen.” Morgause hisses, “The prophecies speak of the Once and Future King who will unite the land and return magic to Albion. Who are any of you to stand in the way of destiny?”

“Who’s to say that destiny is now?” Merlin challenges, “Who’s to say the Golden Age isn’t meant to come?”

“The only reason to delay the inevitable is cowardice.” Morgause replies, “And I never took the mighty Arthur Pendragon for a coward.”

Gwaine’s face darkens and he takes a step forward, stopping only when Arthur’s hand rises.

“And you sister?” Morgause jabs, “Are you content to just let him destroy everything you tried to achieve in Camelot?”

Morgana’s gaze flicks over to Gwen.

“Oh?” Morgause says, noticing how Morgana hides her face. “They don’t know? Then let me leave you now. When I return, I expect you’ll have something different to say.”

In her palms, Morgause holds a coin that she whispers an enchantment over. “You know what to do sister, when you’re ready to see me once more.” She says, cryptic as always before the wind blows and Morgause vanishes; all that’s left of her the golden coin in the grass.

As Merlin bends down to take it, he can feel the violent shift in the air. Morgause had left as quickly as she came and the sanctity of their little home is forever ruined by her visit. It is no longer a sanctuary. Their unity is no longer self-evident. It’s not easy anymore.

“Morgana?” Arthur asks, turning to her slowly, like he knows she’s about to break his heart and wants to spare himself every second of it, “What happened.”

For a second, it looks like Morgana will soften but like lightning strikes, her eyes flare and an ugly scowl crosses her face, “What does it matter. You won’t change your mind anyway.”

“Morgana-” Arthur goes to reach for her but she swats his hand away, pulling back.

“No! You don’t know Arthur. You don’t know how horrible it’s been since you left. You got to be here, gallivanting with your friends and I had to be there, with him.”

Arthur’s expression twists, that familiar childlike anger that always erupted when arguing with Morgana forcing its way out. He’s too old for this he knows, but staring at her judging eyes he can’t help it. He’s thirteen years old again, screaming in her face.

“Gallivanting?? Do you think it’s been fun?? Being exiled. Sleeping in the woods, having people glare at me when I walk by, having everything taken from me?”

“You seem to be doing just fine.” Morgana retorts bitterly.

“What could possibly have happened to you in a castle with all your servants and luxuries and the privileges that come with being father’s favourite that made your life so hard.” He sneers.

Arthur’s all too aware of the discomfort of everyone around them. He can see them glance at each other warily, unsure of whether to watch or stay. Merlin is glued to his spot, watching them with an intensity Arthur would find startling if he didn’t already know all the fears that lurked in Merlin’s heart.

“You don’t know anything!” Morgana yells, “I have magic! That alone kept me living in a paralyzing fear that you will never understand! You left after challenging the ban and the court was suddenly divided, everyone’s loyalties were questioned.”

Arthur frowns, brows furrowing in worry. “What does that mean?”

“Uther has gone mad.” She spits, “Losing you has made him even more paranoid, more afraid. He interrogated everyone in court. He’s banished three different lords and sentenced who knows how many to death for just being sympathetic to witchcraft.”

Arthur pales and Merlin longs to cover Arthur’s ears with his own hands. Wants to drag Arthur out of these woods, away from Morgana’s poisonous words. He can see them burrowing their way under Arthur’s skin. See them crack his resolve, tug at his never-ending heartstrings that made him go after every cause but his own.

Sometimes, Merlin wishes Arthur never knew about any of it. The magic, the prophecy, their shared destiny. Maybe he loves him too much. Merlin can accept that. But he hates seeing the weight of the world on Arthur’s shoulders even more than he hated it being on his. He never wanted this. Not for Arthur.

Where was the beautiful boy from the woods? Melting in his hands.

If Merlin could go back in time, he would have protected Arthur from all of it.

Arthur licks his lips, “Who?”

And Merlin’s neck snaps up, “No. Knowing who will only hurt you, no.”

“And why shouldn’t he hurt?” Morgana demands, training her piercing gaze on him, “He should know what’s happened. He should know Camelot was left defenseless without him.”

“You’re acting like I WANTED to leave!” Arthur lashes out.

“You didn’t even try to stay!” Morgana shoots back and Arthur recoils. “You just accepted it!”

“I-”

“You’ve never backed down against your father in your life! But you just gave up! Left without even trying any of your schemes or tricks and you left me there! Left me there while Uther weeded out magic users and sympathizers alike until it was only him and me.”

Arthur stiffens, steeling his heart. “Don’t tell me.” He says, but he already knows. He already knows.

“I couldn’t take it anymore. I couldn’t stand seeing what he was doing to Camelot, so I told him.” Morgana lifts her chin, trying to appear stronger than she felt, “I made fire in the palm of my hand, told him all those dreams had been visions, told him how terrified I’ve been. Terrified of this power and terrified of him and do you know what he said to me?”

Arthur feels the blood in his ears. It’s pounding, it’s so loud. It doesn’t matter what Morgana says, it’ll all hurt regardless. And he’s so tired of hurting. So tired of the scar his father carved in his heart constantly reopening.

“He started to cry, said it couldn’t be true. He wouldn’t believe me even when I showed him proof and then he looked at me.” Tears well in Morgana’s eyes, her irises glitter like emeralds and she looks so pale it’s like Arthur can see right through her, “He looked at me and said, ‘how could you be afraid of me? I would never hurt you.’ And the rage inside me hasn’t died since that moment Arthur.”

Morgana clutches her chest, twisting the fabric of her shirt, “I’m so angry. All the time. I can’t think, I can’t sleep, I just see his face and feel this all-consuming fury because he didn’t kill me. Wouldn’t kill me.”

Arthur’s shock echoes on everyone’s faces. Everyone except Merlin’s. He looks away instead, ashamed of his understanding.

“You wanted him to burn you at the pyre?” Arthur asks incredulously.

“Yes!” Morgana shouts, “He should have tossed me in the dungeon and disowned me. He should have changed his opinion of me in an instant but instead, he told me that he loved me, that we could hide my affliction,” she says with disgust, “and that nobody would have to know.”

Arthur still looks like he doesn’t understand and Morgana’s fury spikes, “He’s a hypocrite Arthur! Don’t you see that?? He’s willing to kill women and children and men who’ve done nothing wrong but when faced with me, he suddenly has no convictions. No principles. He persecutes hundreds over a law he claims is about the moral foundation of this kingdom but is willing to throw it all away because he loves me?” she almost shrieks.

The tears spill down Morgana’s cheeks and onto her lips. “Did not every person swinging from the gallows have someone who loved them? Uther knows magic doesn’t make you evil. He knows it doesn’t corrupt. Because he decided to let me live. So why not them?”

Arthur remembers the day he first met Merlin. The way Thomas Collins’ mother wailed as she watched her son die. The way the grief transformed her face, the horrid fracturing of it. Thinks about how oddly kind it had been, to entrance him with beautiful music before killing him painlessly with a knife to the heart.

He’s not sure he would have been so merciful. If it were him. If it had been Merlin, dead for no cause. For no reason other than hate.

“I can’t excuse what he has done Morgana. You know I wouldn’t.”

“But you enable him.”

She wants to hurt him and she does. What is love? Other than having someone’s hands around your throat and hoping they don’t squeeze.

A long time ago, Arthur might have stalked off at this point, throwing his hands in the air, yelling at her even as he stormed away. They wouldn’t speak for days until one day, as children who’ve grown up together do, they would simply never bring it up again and go forward while still feeling held back.  

But that was an Arthur from another time and conversations about things that could never scratch the depths of things like this.

Morgana’s looking at him like she’s daring him to leave. Expecting him to run away like he always did. He surprises her by embracing her instead, holding her tight against him. He just wants her to stay. He’ll say whatever he needs to. His fear of vulnerability paling to his fear of losing her. To his fear about the dark part of her he’s never wanted to acknowledge, who even now, he pretends he cannot see.

Love will always be the death of him. It robs him of all his senses, making him both deaf and blind. If he were bathed in the River Styx, he would have disappointed Achilles, putting his weakness so naively over the small of his back.

“I’m sorry Morgana. I’m sorry you had to be afraid alone. I’m sorry I couldn’t be there for you and I’m sorry I can’t take the throne.”

Morgana shakes within his arms, still not encircling him back.

“You have so much to offer Morgana and so much to gain.” Arthur implores, “Merlin can teach you magic. You could help us protect all the towns we wander through, you can help us prove to them that magic isn’t something to fear. There is so much we can do just like this, some things even better than we could do from back in the citadel.”

“Maybe…” Arthur says quietly, like the words are barbed on his tongue, “maybe one day I could…if we must. But you have to understand,” he pulls away, holding her firmly by the arms, “if I take the throne now, magic will never live freely in Camelot ever again.”

Morgana’s eyes widen before narrowing into spiteful slits but he silences her with his indominable will. “Listen to me Morgana. Listen to me. What will the people see? When they hear I have taken the throne?”

“They will see a boy, barely a man, overthrowing his father in an era of peace after being banished for defending the very magic they’ve been indoctrinated to hate for decades. They will see a spoiled child, unaccustomed to not getting what he wants, stealing the throne for petty reasons or worse, because I’ve been enchanted to bring about the end of the kingdom.”

Arthur eyes her steadily, his voice lowering, “The people won’t respect me. They won’t love me. And they will fight against every change I try to make whether they know it will objectively benefit them or not.”

“You’re so obsessed with being loved,” Morgana snarls, “You would be a king. They will obey.”

“That’s not-”

“When will you grow up already and stop searching for your father in the eyes of everyone else?” And there are her hands, crushing his throat, “What would you do just to have someone pretend they love you?”

“Morgana! That’s enough!”

Merlin thinks the words have come out of his very own mouth from how his shoulders are shaking but Arthur is standing a hundred feet tall, the firelight crackling across his face in too mesmerizing a pattern to look away. The breeze sifts through his hair, curling it at the ends and he looks every bit the king he will one day be and even Morgana takes a step back, suddenly falling still.

“Do you even hear yourself?” Arthur snaps, “You’ve let your fear twist your heart long enough! I won’t have it. The world doesn’t need to work like that- they hurt us, so we hurt them. We can be better than that,” Arthur’s eyes turn to steel, “I know we can be better than that. There will be a time where we will rule and it will be when the kingdom is ready for it, when they won’t turn me away before I can even begin. What I’m asking of you here and now is your faith Morgana, and your trust that I will keep my word.”

Morgana shakes, a thousand expressions fleeing and hiding across her face.

“He doesn’t deserve the crown.” Her voice is a seething whisper.

Arthur shakes his head, “It’s never been about him. It’s only ever been about being ready, for both me and Camelot.”

Arthur takes Morgana’s hand and squeezes it, thinking back to those early days in Ealdor and the endless strife within him. “I know rage. I know an anger so hot it feels like power all the while it’s burning you inside out until you have nothing left at all. Hold it to your chest, let it course through you, and then let it go.” His eyes meet hers, “You’re nobody’s villain Morgana, stop trying to become one.”

“So please,” Arthur asks of her, voice barely above a whisper, “don’t go with her.”

Morgana collides into him and Arthur stumbles with the force of it, gripping her tightly. Her nails dig into his skin and were it not for the barest bit of fabric between them he knows his blood would be dripping from her fingers. He can feel her deep-rooted rage, the broiling heat of it but in the way she trembles, he can smell the calming coolness of the sea, the old Morgana whose adversity had made her kinder, not harder.

Neither of them speak after that. There’s nothing more to say.

They’re all wary around each other the next morning, everyone walking on eggshells. Merlin’s quietly cooking some of the fish Gwaine and Lancelot had caught over a small fire alongside Gwen, trying to sort out his myriad of emotions, each one more complex than the last.

“Are you alright Merlin?” Gwen asks softly, touching him on the arm.

Startled, Merlin turns to her with an apologetic smile, “Sorry, what?”

Gwen lets out an amused breath, shaking her head, “I know that you’re worrying.”

“Of course I’m worried. I’m always worried. So are you usually.” He accuses and Gwen merely smiles again.

“Oh, I know.” She says airily, like she doesn’t usually always fret in Merlin’s place, “But I just…I just really want to believe. Look at him,” she points her chin at Arthur, sunlight bouncing off his shining eyes, “he’s grown so much Merlin. I always…I could always see it, glimpses of the man he would become and now that he’s really here I just…Morgana will see it. I know she will. She’s just scared is all.” She pauses, tilting her head, “Weren’t you?

The shock of her warm eyes on his jolts him and it occurs to him that they’ve never really talked about before, in the castle, not really. “I…” he licks his lips, “Of course I was.”

“Not enough to think twice about giving yourself up to save me when I was accused of curing my father.” She teases, though Merlin can see the thought of her father still pained her.

“I’d never let you die Gwen, you know that.” He retorts, almost offended.

At this, she graces him with one of her tender smiles once more, the kind that makes a person’s whole heart feel full from love. “Exactly. Morgana’s been alone for so long, she’s just forgotten what it’s felt like to be a part of us again. We can help her. I know we can.”

Merlin regards her a for a long time, the curl of her lashes, the flush of her cheeks, pink with fervor and faith. Gwen’s a better person than he is. He knows that. He’s always known it, but it’s never been more apparent than now.

Gwen looks at Morgana and sees the girl she used to be, a butterfly still in its cocoon but ready to emerge in just the right conditions. Merlin looks at Morgana and sees a woman made of edges and blades, shadows dancing across the planes of her face. He remembers how she had hugged the man they all loved with all her might and how easy it would have been for her to stick a knife in his back.

Morgana catches his eye, her expression revealing nothing. Merlin offers her a tight smile, sinking immediately when she just looks away. He knows it isn’t fair. He knows he didn’t feel this way about Arthur when he succumbed to his angrier instincts, let himself wallow in his bitterness and shame. But he can’t forgive the things she said the night before. Because when they had all gone to bed, each in their newly gotten tents, no one else had seen the way Arthur had curled up on his mat, burying his face in his arms.

Every terrible thing that happened to Camelot from this moment forward would engrave itself into Arthur’s skin, scar after scar that Arthur will never try to heal in some vicious idea of self-flagellation. Merlin will try to kiss each wound away, but he will never be able to make them disappear because Arthur may be good at many things, but forgiving himself has never been one of them.

And worse than all of it, than even the guilt and the shame, was the way Arthur’s voice sounded, hollow and hoarse, when he turned to Merlin with the saddest eyes in the world and asked, “Why couldn’t he love me too?”

All of it, every bit of pain Arthur carries from here on out, will because of that night. Because of what Morgana said. How is Merlin ever supposed to forgive that?

Arthur wants to lick his wounds, curl up in a ball and sulk some more but the one thing that had always been more motivational than anything else was having people who relied on him. He couldn’t do it for himself, but for these people, he would overcome all the worst parts of himself. He would strive to be better, be the leader they deserved and hope one day he will have earned that title.

Merlin may joke about how emotionally obtuse he is, but if there’s one thing this journey had taught him, it was how to listen to that little voice inside him Uther had crushed as he’d grown up. Sometimes, a part of him secretly imagines that it sounds like his mother. The little voice tells him about the tension ensnaring their camp and Arthur makes a decision. “Everyone, come around.”

He calls the group towards him, interrupting sparring sessions and cleanups and chit-chats. “We’ve relied on Culcheth’s hospitality for too long. Tomorrow, we will leave them with a bird messenger and be on our way.”

“Where we going then?” Gwaine asks, not bothered in the least by the spontaneous change of plan.

“We’ll ask the townsfolk if they’ve heard of anywhere that might need our help but otherwise, we’ll keep going west, we’re bound to get wrapped up in some problem or other soon enough.”

Puffs of amused chuckles, Arthur grins. Slow and steady.

“Before that though, one last night of fun, I think we’ve earned it, after everything. We’ll go on a hunt, bring back enough game for a proper goodbye feast to thank everyone for all their help.”

Gwaine perks up then, grinning back, “Now that I can get behind.”

Feeling somewhat excited now, Arthur turns to Merlin and Gwen, “I’ll spare you two the trip-”

“Oh thank the gods-”

“-shut up Merlin,” Arthur replies smoothly, “you two should go into town and let them know of our plans, see if you can help speed things along. The rest of us can head out once we get our supplies in order.”

Elyan takes a quick look at Morgana before snapping his attention back to Arthur as though afraid of invoking her ire, “Is um, is the Lady Morgana coming as well then?”

“Don’t let her pretty appearance fool you,” Arthur replies cheerily, like letting them in on a secret, “she’s the second-best hunter in all of Camelot.”

“I think you mean first, actually.” She retorts, crossing her arms.

“Well we’re about to find out, aren’t we?” he answers with a smirk and it’s like the old Morgana is back when she scoffs, standing up primly and wiping the dirt off her trousers.

“Oh, we’ll definitely find out alright.”

To Elyan she says, in a softer voice than any of them had heard yet, “Just Morgana is enough. No one has a title here.”

Elyan nods, bowing his head ever so slightly, “Morgana then.” He says at last and when Morgana smiles, Arthur can’t help but smile reflexively, content just to watch her.

That night, the revelry seems to never end. Culcheth has thrown them a magnificent party fit for the ages. The food is plentiful and the music loud and happy. The villagers crowd around them, pulling them into their games and their singing, looping their arms around Gwaine’s shoulders as he becomes the life of the party, dancing across tabletops and inventing rhyming songs that make the children burst into hysterics.

Merlin hides his laughter in his hands, thinking about getting another bite to eat when he feels a tap on his back. He turns around, sees a young boy of around twelve wringing his hands together and giving him a shy smile. “Hello there.” Merlin smiles, eyes crinkling kindly.

The boy looks up at him from his lashes, “Can I show you something?” he asks in a careful voice and Merlin nods encouragingly.

Scrunching up his face, the boy holds out his hands before saying a spell and Merlin’s eyes widen. In the boy’s hands, two pebbles begin to float in the air and he’s able to hold it for a few seconds before they fall. “I’m not very good yet, I’ve never been allowed to practice but Marjorie said that anyone who punishes a magic user will get hit with her kettle and,” the boy leans in whispering, “she’s a very scary woman that Marjorie.”

Merlin has to bite his tongue to keep from laughing.  

“That she is.” He agrees, “And don’t worry about not being great yet. Everything takes practice, even magic. Especially magic.” He amends.

The boy eyes him hopefully, “I’ll get better then?” he asks and Merlin ruffles his hair.

“Of course you will. Here, let me show you a few things…”

Arthur watches Merlin with a smile, feeling something unsettle in his heart, something close to joy blooming. Maybe it isn’t enough but look right here, a child now able to live as they are. A child no longer paralyzed with fear. A child who can be free, who looks at Merlin like he’s the reason the sun rises each day.

He’s inspired, Arthur realizes. Merlin is an inspiration. What a thought. What a day. He thinks back to the person he was when he first met the boy with big ears and the neckerchief and swallows a laugh. Oh, how far they’ve come.

Elyan calls his name, “They’re saying I can’t take you in an arm-wrestling match.” He goads.

Arthur smirks, “That’s because you can’t.”

It’s all fun and games until Gertrude joins the fray and smashes Elyan’s hand so deep into the wood it splinters.

Off to lick his wounds, Arthur finds Merlin later sitting at a table with Lancelot, deep in conversation, before he leans all his body weight across Merlin’s back. “Fancy a dance?”

Merlin almost spits out his drink, twisting in his seat to look at him in disbelief, “Are you serious? No,” he shakes his head again, “you absolutely can’t be serious.”

Arthur turns his teasing eyes to their friend, “What do you think Lancelot?”

Lancelot grins into his cup, “I think you’ve given me an excellent idea.” He says, heading straight towards Gwen, who blushes prettily before shyly taking his hand.

“See, look,” Arthur says mulishly, “they’re dancing.”

“You know I’m a terrible dancer, right?” Merlin asks, almost begging.

“Of course you are.” Arthur laughs at Merlin’s sour face, “Lucky for you” he continues, obnoxious as ever, “I’m talented at essentially everything.”

“Oh really?” Merlin retorts, quirking a brow, “Remember when you thought red mushrooms were-”

Arthur claps a hand over Merlin’s mouth, hissing, “Shut up, I was in emotional distress.”

Merlin licks his hand mercilessly, cackling as Arthur jumps back, wiping his hand furiously against his shirt. “You’re disgusting.”

Merlin shrugs.

Arthur deflates, “Fine, I guess we can just sit here then.”

He steps forward to settle down but something about the genuine disappointment plucks at Merlin’s heartstrings and gods help him he was truly and utterly gone for this man.

“Fine.” Merlin says abruptly, “Fine, fine, fine. But never say I don’t love you ever again.”

Arthur lights up, all but carrying Merlin over to the square, “I never say that.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Oh right, because you’ve never taken me for granted ever.”

Arthur spins him in time to the beat, holding Merlin’s hands as they dance around couple after couple. As the music crescendos, Arthur tugs Merlin close, kissing him soundly on the mouth, still swaying. “I want to take only what you give me,” Arthur murmurs, kissing him again, deeper and longer, “and were I to give you everything this world had to offer, it would amount to only a fraction of how I love you.”

Merlin is on fire. His heart, his lungs, his lips, his surging veins. He buries his face in Arthur’s neck, dancing slowly around and within the laughter of the people they cherished. “Shut up.” He whispers and Arthur laughs, hugging him tight. “You’re terrible.”

A new song plays and Arthur is pulling away, showing Merlin the moves to the performance and Merlin steps on Arthur’s feet and bumps into at least seven different people all the while Arthur laughs at him. They hold hands and press themselves cheek to cheek, they spin and they jump and they laugh and laugh and laugh.

Around them, Gwaine braves the mighty Morgana and asks her to join him for just one dance. By the end, even she is laughing, diamonds in her eyes. Elyan picks his sister up by the waist and spins her in the air. Gwen dances again and again with Lancelot, both of them finding the world melting away when they looked into each other’s eyes.

When the music stops, they all sit around a table, the village surrounding them. They share stories and well wishes. Morgana makes a slew of sparks with Merlin’s gentle help to make a crying child coo as they search for her father who had lost her in the crowd. Benji and Harry push their way through the crowd, throwing themselves around the men that should have been knights.

Benji grips Elyan’s arm, marveling at the muscle, “When I’m older, I’m going to be big and strong like you and the next time a monster comes, I’m gonna protect everybody!”

Elyan grins, fluffing his hair, “I have no doubt about it.”

When Katherine approaches, Arthur makes room for her like she is a princess. “Katherine.” He greets, kissing her hand.

The blush on her cheeks is prettier than any open rose and Merlin smiles as she joins them. “I just wanted to check in, make sure you’re all still having fun. We’ll be sad to see you go. Culcheth hasn’t been this lively in a long time.”

“We’ll come back again.” Arthur promises and Katherine smiles.

“Perhaps you’ll even come back as king.”

Arthur blinks and Gwaine slaps him on the back to break the moment, “Could you imagine this one in meetings? I bet he’d just fall asleep.”

The table laughs at Arthur’s expense but he takes it in good stride, elbowing Gwaine gracefully. 

“Bold of you to assume that I wouldn’t send one of my knights as a stand-in.” he retorts and now it’s Gwaine’s turn to look startled.

He tries to play it off as a joke, saying something or other about the fall of a nation but Arthur just eyes him steadily, “There is no one I’d rather have by my side.” He says simply and Gwaine sees the vision again, him in Pendragon red, still in disbelief that he’d found a king worth dying for.  

If only his younger self could see him now.

“An Arthur court…” Morgana muses, laughing softly.

“You’d be a terrible advisor.” Arthur shivers, “Absolute harpy.”

Morgana sticks her nose in the air, “In this scenario, are you only partially wrong or absolutely wrong?”

Arthur smirks lazily, “Projecting, are we?”

Which leads into a whole other debate that spirals out into the night. When they return to their camp, it’s on wobbly legs and with aching smiles. Merlin pulls open the flap of his and Arthur’s tent, falling to the ground groaning. “Sleeeeeep.” He moans, burying his face into his blanket.

Arthur flops beside him, grunting his agreement, making short work of his boots before throwing an arm around Merlin’s waist and shutting his eyes. “I’m happy.” Arthur mumbles sleepily, “All I want now,” he continues, snuggling closer, “is to wake up next to you every day and keep traveling with our friends.”

Merlin raises his hand to cover Arthur’s own. It’s so quiet he can hear his own heartbeat. He can feel Arthur fall asleep almost as instantly as the last word leaving his mouth, his breathing steadying into a slow stream. For some reason, a cavernous ache opens up in Merlin’s ribs. He brings Arthur’s hand to his lips, kissing the palm.

“I want you to be the happiest.” He whispers but that terrible premonition from before won’t leave him.

He feels it haunting their every step, a grim reaper always one pace behind. There’s something awful coming, he can feel it. He knows it. He knows it. And it will come for them. Come for the beautiful boy in his bed and if he doesn’t unravel what it is, it will be too late, and Merlin will have lost everything they had worked so hard to gain.

They weren’t to know it yet, but when Merlin enchanted two sparrows and handed them to Katherine for safe keeping, it was the beginning of a legend that would be passed on to the end of time. They’d received a report that the neighbouring village of Valeria was under threat from a mysterious illness that had no cure and no source.

As they embark on the seven-day journey, Merlin teaches Morgana all the healing magic he knows, shows her how to form the shape of a spell, feel the contours of it and then flood it with power, ballooning it into being. He makes tiny cuts into his arm for her to practice and he can’t help the pride when her eyes light up with success. She grips his hand when she’s done, shaking him as she talks a mile per minute.

When the men spar, Morgana joins right in with them, clenching her teeth when Gwaine disarms her with whatever brand new trick he’s made up before getting her revenge in their next bout. When the nights come, Morgana cozies up to Gwen, their heads tilted together chatting about things Merlin won’t ever know. He thinks he sees the edges chip away in these moments, like Morgana is a jagged stone being weathered by the rain. She could be their crown jewel.

If she wanted.

But still, he walks around her on eggshells, hating himself for his suspicion, but helpless against it anyway.

“Merlin.”

He jumps, his thoughts tumbling out of his head when Arthur sits down next to him. “You’re thinking too much.”

“You don’t think enough.” He jibes back, but it’s weak.

Wordlessly, Arthur wraps an arm around Merlin’s shoulders and just pulls him in. “Everyone’s alright.” He says without needing to be told.

Merlin wants so desperately to believe him.

“Arthur…” Merlin slides out of his embrace, head bowed, “if the time comes when something terrible happens, will you believe me?”

Arthur’s face furrows, “Why wouldn’t I believe you?”

Merlin twists the fabric of his pants in his hands, “You haven’t always.” He says quietly and Arthur takes a moment.

“Is there something you want to tell me Merlin?” he asks, instead of defending himself for which Merlin is oddly grateful.

“No. I just…I can’t stop- it’s like there’s a cloud looming over me and I can’t stop.” Merlin looks up at him helplessly, his pain plain to see.

Arthur’s expression cracks and he pulls Merlin in once more, cradling his head like he’s a precious thing. “Look around you Merlin, we’re alright. I promise. And if something does happen, we’ll face it, just like we always do.”

Merlin doesn’t say anything and Arthur rubs small circles in his back, “If I could take away this burden I would. You’ve had your time suffering alone but you’re not anymore.”

Arthur tilts up Merlin’s chin, presses a kiss to his trembling lips, “There’s no certainty in this world, it’s true. There’ll always be danger but the only thing I am certain of Merlin, has always been you.”

Merlin cups Arthur’s beautiful face in his hands, stroking his cheeks, “I can’t lose you Arthur, I can’t.”

Arthur takes Merlin’s hand and presses it against his chest. “I’m right here.”

They somehow make it back to their tent and when they fall to the ground, legs interlocked, Merlin remembers what it is to have faith, feels the power of the divine once more in the revelation of his climax. He kisses his way down the plane of Arthur’s chest, finding the reason for the world’s existence in the salt on his tongue, in the frisson of Arthur’s hands in his hair, asking and answering.

When it’s over, drained and blissed as they are, Arthur takes Merlin in his arms once more, setting him neatly atop his heart. “Listen to it beating.” He commands, “Hear how steady it is and open yours Merlin. You could be so happy. If you let yourself.”

Merlin shuts his eyes tight, focusing only on the thump, thump in Arthur’s chest and the tender fingers running up and down his spine. He can be happy. He knows he can be. He had been, once, twice, so many times before. In moments like these, he wishes he could have been made from the same stuff Arthur was, light and rivers and ivory. Instead, Merlin is made of magic and fear and an immortal endless love.

He's not even wearing his clothing anymore and still, Morgause’s coin burns right into him. It’s a bad omen so of course Merlin keeps it close in his pocket, like if he could hold it in his hands, it couldn’t hurt him.

Chapter Text

The illness in Valeria isn’t exaggerated. There are dozens upon dozens of sick and dying people of all ages and types. The pain is palpable, the hopelessness robbing the village of any light in their eyes. Gwen and Merlin go right to work, diagnosing and treating and comforting. Arthur is expecting more of the vile hatred that he’s gotten used to but the town is so deeply defeated and tired that they can’t even be bothered, even for him.

A man approaches them, his cheeks are sallow and he has a sickly pallor that makes Arthur’s stomach twist. He introduces himself as Gareth and it’s clear that his weak demeanor has nothing to do with catching the mysterious illness but everything to do with stress and hunger. With so many of the villagers sick and needing constant care, much of Valeria’s operations have gone to a standstill. The cows aren’t milked let alone fed properly. The farmland is haphazardly cared for and without a well, it’s almost impossible to keep bringing back valuable river water.

“Please,” Gareth says, “if you’ve come, that means my sister from Culcheth has told you about us. I don’t care who you are just please, help us.” He rasps and Lancelot is quick to hold out an arm, letting Gareth lean on him.

“We’ll do what we can.” Lancelot promises, “But you need rest.”

“I can’t.” Gareth tries to push him off but it’s obvious how little sleep he’s gotten. “There’s so much…”

“We’ll take care of it.” Elyan assures him before glancing at Arthur with a little smile, “It’s what we do.”

Arthur nods at him, taking charge, “Lancelot, once you’ve settled Gareth in his home, let’s work on getting all the sick together in a makeshift hospital so we don’t have to waste time traveling. Make sure they’re comfortable and make a list of things you need. Gwaine, Elyan, we need to make sure there’s enough to eat and drink. Work on that. Morgana-” he pauses, looking away from her, “go with Gwaine and Elyan. I’ll help with bringing everyone together.”

She frowns at him but says nothing and Arthur turns away.

It takes a whole day of hard work but since the weather is warm and kind, they decide to combine all their tents together, Merlin using his magic to help erect a wide structure, complete with dozens and dozens of pallets. They bring the sick down to rest, ensuring everyone has the water and food they need. Arthur conducts the rounds with Merlin, making a mental catalogue of notes as Merlin asks his questions, waiting patiently for the answer.

Gwen and Lancelot have offered to the take the first shift of watching over the sick as night falls and Arthur takes the time to mull over all that they have learned, leaning his chin over his fist as he stares into the candles flickering in Gareth’s home. Their group has been scattered across different houses but Arthur is grateful for all of the village’s hospitality; he just hopes they will be able to help enough to deserve it.

“What are you thinking of?” Merlin asks, settling in next to him, shoulder to shoulder on the floor.

“The facts of the matter.” Arthur replies, “List them again for me, will you?”

Merlin sighs good-naturedly, repeating the same list as he had earlier, “Forty-three sick, no pattern in age or gender. The village is only a hundred or so large, that’s almost half the population. The youngest patient is three years old, the oldest is fifty-two. No one has died yet but the first symptoms began a fortnight ago.”

“Their symptoms?” Arthur murmurs, already lost in thought.

“Fatigue mostly. It’s like they’re entirely drained of energy and they fall into longer and longer sleeps. There is some fever, some aches and pains, but the most consistent issue is tiredness.”

Arthur nods, “Tomorrow, we’ll go in search of a source. Something must be infecting these people, some common denominator.” He pauses, “Or maybe it’s magic.”

Merlin takes a breath, “You think someone cursed them?”

Arthur shrugs, “I don’t know.” He leans his head against the wall, letting it thump softly, “Why would anyone want to curse this village in specific though? What could they possibly have done wrong.”

“Maybe they killed a sorcerer and someone wants revenge?” Merlin asks, feeling a tug in his heart when Arthur’s eyes sadden.

“Perhaps.” He murmurs in response, “We’ll figure it out tomorrow. Come on, let’s go to bed, there’s nothing we can do right now.”

They settle in their bedrolls and Arthur pulls Merlin into him, holding him like he’s a precious thing that belongs to him to protect. Merlin settles into his embrace and closes his eyes. He’s not sure why, but he has a strong premonition of things to come. And for the first time in a long time, the feeling that prickles up his spine is anticipation.

Arthur visits the sick before he goes out in search of answers, twisting a rag dipped in cold water to press it gently across a man’s forehead. His face is red and sticky, his body fighting off the fever as best as it can. “It’ll be alright.” Arthur promises, hoping to all the gods that would listen that he isn’t lying, “We’ll find you a cure.”

They leave Merlin, Gwen, and Lancelot behind as the others go from door to door, inquiring about sorcery, people who would want revenge, or anything odd they had encountered or consumed that could explain the mysterious illness. There are dead-ends at every turn. Apparently, no one in Valeria had ever encountered magic, let alone killed someone for it.

They were a tiny village far from any main roads or walking path that connected them to the outside world. They were self-sufficient, their only guests being the merchant caravan that came through twice a year, once in the beginning of the spring and again, at the end of summer. By all accounts, nothing out of the ordinary had happened, this illness appeared out of thin air with absolutely no warning at all.

By the end of their questioning, Arthur is no closer to figuring out how to help these people and a panic erupts within him. He squashes it as ruthlessly as he can, but he feels it linger, feels it settle in his veins and spread from his belly to his head.

He cannot watch this entire village die.

He can’t.

Arthur heads back to the tent, relieves Merlin and Gwen and replaces them with Gwaine and Elyan. Arthur can see the situation taking its toll on his intended. There’s a hard line over Merlin’s face, a tenseness that Arthur is unfortunately familiar with. Merlin had already flipped through his one book of medicines, but nothing seems to be made specifically for what Valeria is experiencing and worse, even if he wanted to try something adjacent, the herbs he needed didn’t grow in this part of the kingdom.

“Hey,” Arthur says softly, touching Merlin on the arm, “go rest. I don’t need you passing out on me.”

Merlin shakes him off with a half-hearted glare. “I’ll go get some more water first, we’re running out.”

“I’ll come with you.”

“As will I.” Lancelot cuts in, giving Morgana a meaningful look.

She sighs, walking to join them, “Alright-”

“You don’t have to come.” Arthur cuts in, “You can stay here if that’s what you want.”

Morgana stares at him, eyes sharpening. “I think I will come, actually. Since you’re so keen on me doing what I want.”

She pushes past him, giving Lancelot a dirty look as she does. Merlin watches this all with confused eyes, tilting his chin to Arthur who just looks away. They each take two buckets, walking out of the village to the stream that runs just outside it, through the ash tree wood. It doesn’t take long for Merlin to notice that something is amiss. There’s a lifelessness to this forest, a drooping quality that speaks to a tiredness even nature can’t fight. The land usually bursts into life when they appear but there are no friendly flowers or dancing grasses, there is only a falling leaf, landing at Merlin’s feet.

Arthur catches Merlin frowning, sees him stop, looking around, a puzzled expression on his face. “Merlin?” he asks, walking closer, something tensing inside of him.

Merlin’s expression only darkens, his brows knitting together. “There’s someone…someone’s calling me.”

Arthur looks up, feels the wind blow through the trees, the leaves shaking, Emrys, Emrys, Emrys. Arthur’s face smooths over, understanding washing through him. The land is calling Merlin back, it’s hurting somewhere, deep from within.

“Where’s it coming from?” he asks quietly and Merlin doesn’t look towards him, has already started walking.

“The water.” He murmurs, “It’s coming from the water.”

Urged by Merlin’s demeanor, the three of them run behind him, picking up speed as Merlin jumps over rocks and roots. They find the stream as it should be but Merlin’s frown only deepens and he shakes his head, taking them down the shoreline. The trees get thicker, as does the brush, until it opens up to the end of the way, a perfectly round pond with a man submerged in the middle with just his face peeking out.

“What the hell is this?” Arthur breathes, already kicking off his boots and untying his sword belt.

He moves to dive into the water when Merlin’s hand shoots out, grabbing him by the wrist, “Wait.” He commands and the tone of his voice stops Arthur cold.

Letting Arthur go, Merlin gently pushes him back, stepping in front of him and facing the pond. “I’ve come, just like you asked, now show yourself.”

Nothing seems to happen for a moment until the surface of the pond shimmers, a beautiful iridescent blue that ripples across the surface. Morgana’s eyes widen, transfixed by the magic, aching to reach out a hand to touch it. Beside her, Lancelot stares in wonderment, breaking his gaze to look at Merlin, see how even though he longs to be stoic, he too, can’t help but soften at the beauty of it.

An orb forms from the ripples, a small little thing, it rises to meet Merlin at eye level and within them, everyone can see a pair of beautiful eyes and a shiny mouth, almost human, but not. “Hello Emrys,” it greets, voice sounding like wine poured into a glass, “I’ve been calling you.”

“You’re a vilia.” Merlin breathes, eyes wide and the vilia smiles.

“I am almost the last vilia.” She confesses, aching with sorrow, “My sisters have been forced into an eternal slumber and soon I fear they will be lost to us forever.”

Arthur’s brows furrow. That can’t be a coincidence.

“We are the guardians of the brooks and the streams,” the vilia continues, “without our magic, this source of life for all living things will poison instead. Even now,” she says mournfully, “the plants are withering.”

“So are the people of the village.” Merlin says quietly, “They’re falling ill too, one by one.”

The vilia’s eyes glisten, looking more tragic than anything Merlin has ever seen. “I’m the only one still awake, please Emrys, you need to help me. I’ve used the last of my strength trying to heal the man in the pond and I can’t go on much longer. He can tell you more but I fear I must join my sisters now.”

“Wait!” Merlin pleads, cupping the water in his hands, “Wait, I can help you, just- just hold on!”

“I hope we meet again Emrys.” She whispers before the orb collapses in Merlin’s hand, the water trickling over his fingers.

The light atop the pond goes out, leaving the water dull and lifeless. The man, held up by the vilia’s magic, sinks beneath the surface and Arthur leaps into action, wading in past the reeds to reach him, dragging him out with a heaving breath. The man is massive, built like a mountain with biceps as big as Arthur’s own head. Gritting his teeth, Arthur makes it to land, flashing a grateful look at Lancelot and Merlin who help drag the man out, setting him down onto the grass.

“Merlin?” Arthur asks, trying to ignore the wetness of his legs.

Merlin presses two fingers to the man’s neck, bending low to feel if there’s any breath. “He’s alive.” He says definitively before setting both his hands atop his chest and whispering a spell.

Merlin’s eyes flash gold and the man gasps awake, jerking forward as Merlin throws himself out of the way. The man is handsome, with short-cropped hair and soft lips but his expression twists as he lurches upward, fist darting out in a punch to Lancelot’s face before Arthur grabs his hand.

The man turns wild eyes in his direction and rips his wrist out from Arthur’s grip, shoving him backwards. Arthur falls, his back hitting a rock and he hisses, looking up just in time to see the man’s foot fly to his stomach when he freezes mid-motion, eyes blinking madly.

Morgana steps out from behind Arthur, eyes heavy with the promise of pain, “One more move,” she warns, “and I’ll be throwing you far enough to land in Cenred’s kingdom.”

The man strains against her hold but he can’t move. “Who are you!” he demands, “What do you want from this place! Have they not suffered enough!”

Arthur blinks, pushing himself up, face twisted in confusion. “What do you mean? We mean no one here any harm.”

“That’s exactly what the other sorcerer said,” the man sneers, his voice low with hate, “before he cursed them when they refused to help him.”

Arthur catches Merlin’s gaze. “Do you mean the vilia?” he asks quietly and though the man doesn’t say anything either way, Arthur knows he’s right.

“Morgana,” he calls, turning back to look at her, “release him.”

“What?” she demands, “He’ll attack us!”

“No he won’t.” Arthur says resolutely, “Because we’re on the same side.”

To the man he says, “My name is Arthur, and this is Morgana, Merlin, and Lancelot. We’re here to cure the vilia of their sickness so we can save the lives of the villagers and the forest who have fallen ill from the poisoned water. Will you help us?”

“You’re conspiring with sorcerers.” The man spits, “Why should I trust you?”

“Because the vilia are creatures of magic.” Merlin steps in, eyes firm and bright, “And I am the one the Druids call Emrys, just as bound to all magic things as they are to me. I’m going to undo whatever enchantment the vilia are under but I need your help to do it. So will you tell us your name?”

The man peers into Merlin’s eyes like searching his soul. He does the same to Lancelot, then Morgana, and finally Arthur, his stormy eyes piercing. “You’ll save them?”

Arthur nods, “We’ll do everything we can.”

The man bows his head just as Morgana loosens her magic, sensing the shift in the air. “My name is Percival,” he says, “and I was just a traveler before I wandered here.”

They wait until they can unite their whole group together to have Percival tell his tale. It’s a sad story, but not one Arthur hadn’t heard before. He lived in Cenred’s kingdom, in a small village that wasn’t prosperous, but was content enough. He had a big family, two parents and three siblings, a brother and two sisters.

“I was the oldest,” Percival shared, a ghost of a smile on his face, “and I’ve always been bigger than the rest, so they’d jump on me, hanging off my arms to see how many times I needed to spin to throw them off.”

Gwaine gives him a sad flick of the lip, “Sounds fun, mate.”

“It was.”

One day, the army appeared. There was no cause, no reason. They were searching for something or someone, Percival doesn’t know. How could he? He wasn’t around.

“My mother wanted me to stay, all but begged me. But I wanted to learn a trade and knew I couldn’t do it at home, so I left.”

“You were trying to support your family; you can’t blame yourself for that.” Gwen places a hand on his arm.

“Can’t I? When I came back two months later, they were all dead. Dead or gone.”

No one speaks.

“They just left them there.” Percival whispers, “Like they were nothing. Like they weren’t people with families, like they were never alive at all.”

“You couldn’t have fought off an entire army Percival.” Elyan says firmly and Percival looks up with pained eyes.

“Then I would have died honourably, protecting my family. Not alive, cradling their rotting their bodies.”

How can he explain how long it took him to dig so many graves? How in the end he couldn’t do dig more than thirty and so burned the rest, sending his prayers higher than even the smoke could float. How does he explain how he lay down next to where his siblings rested and cried so much it nourished the flowers he planted at their heads. Even now, in his breast pocket, there are five pressed daisies, one for each of them, tucked into a little book.  

“You’re alive for a reason.” Merlin says fiercely, “Without you, we might never have known what happened to the vilia and save both them and these people.”

Percival says nothing for a long time. “I didn’t know what to do after I returned home so I ran away again, going nowhere in particular. I ended up here after a few weeks and that’s when I overheard him.”

Arthur’s voice drops, “The sorcerer.”

“The sorcerer.” Percival affirms, “He was luring the vilia out of the water and entreating them to lend him their magic but they refused. Said he had an impure heart and wasn’t worthy of their aid. That it was not his destiny to be blessed by the vilia.”

“Don’t think he took too kindly to that, eh?” Gwaine asks and Percival almost smiles.

“He lashed out. I don’t know what he did, magic may not be outlawed in Essetir but I never saw much of it anyway. I think he wove an enchantment because the vilia suddenly disappeared, dropping into the water one by one and that’s when I got involved.”

Percival had tackled the man to the ground, wrestling with him atop the wet shore and jagged rocks. The man had howled and raged, but Percival was bigger and heavier, he had him pinned in seconds. The man’s head hit a rock and blood gushed out, his eyes clouding over. Despite his injuries, the sorcerer fought back harder and Percival ordered him to leave the creatures alone. They were causing no one any harm and were under no obligation to serve him but the man twisted his lip and with a flash of his eyes, Percival was thrown away.

Undeterred, Percival came rushing again, wielding his sword. One moment, the blade was in his hand, the next, it was stuck through his stomach, poking out his back. That’s when the remaining vilia rallied around him and frightened, the sorcerer ran away. But it was too late. The curse was already uttered and the vilia were too weak to do anything but ask Percival to come into the water as they infused their healing magic into him.

“I must have been in the water for days.” Percival groans, shaking out his muscles.

A wry grin spreads across Arthur’s face, “Only two and a half weeks, give or take.”

“Two and a half what?”

“Your wound must have been fatal or close to.” Merlin hums, leaning over to check on it.

When Percival lifts his shirt, all that’s left is a barely perceptible scar and Lancelot whistles. “That’s truly stupendous work.”

“I owe them my life.” Percival answers solemnly, “I don’t know anything about curse breaking, but I’m hoping you two do.”

Here, he looks pointedly at Merlin and Morgana, who only turn to each other, twin looks of trepidation on their faces.

“What exactly did the man do?” Morgana asks, “When he cast the spell.”

“He plunged his hand into the water and said something I don’t know how to repeat.”

Morgana frowns, rubbing at her lip as she thinks, “Merlin-”

“Yes,” he agrees, reading her thoughts, “let’s consult the books one more time and see what we can turn up. Maybe we can send word to the Druids as well.”

She nods and he stands to join her as they make their way back to Gareth’s house where Merlin’s things were stored. No one notices how Arthur’s shoulders sag as the tension drains right out of them.

Gwen watches her two friends leave with a soft smile on her face before she places a gentle hand on Percival’s shoulder, “You can stay with Lancelot tonight until we can find somewhere for you to be.”

Lancelot tilts his head in a question and Gwen simply smiles, “I’ll stay with Morgana. Just like old times.”

“I’m sorry to infringe on your hospitality.” Percival says, “I’m more than happy to be outside-”

“Don’t be silly!” Gwen chastises, “You’ve been in a pond for a fortnight, I think you’re entitled to a real bed.”

At this, Percival huffs a laugh and suddenly, they’re all pulling a stitch, unable to bear the absolute absurdity of it all. Arthur grins all of the sudden, feeling a certain rightness in his chest. He claps Percival on the thigh, gripping his knee for a moment, “I think you’re really going to fit in here Percival.”

The man’s brows furrow. “What do you mean?”

“He means he’s trying to invite you to join the gang.” Gwaine says with a fond eye roll, “He hasn’t grasped the whole talking bit yet, you’ll get used to it.” He jokes and Arthur flicks him in the head as Gwaine ducks and laughs.

“Well,” Lancelot adds thoughtfully, “he’s always been good at motivational speaking.”

Gwen snickers, hiding her laugh behind her palm but Elyan does no such courtesy, pointing right at Arthur’s face and laughing.

“Oh har, har.” Arthur drags, “Sorry I can’t be as eloquent as you Gwaine. Though how you manage to speak without slurring your words is truly a feat of biology.”

“I’m not even that drunk.” Gwaine argues.

Arthur gives Percival a look as though to say, see what I mean? And Percival can’t help but smile.

“So what is it that you all do exactly?” he asks and the group stares at each other for a moment before Elyan helpfully supplies him with an answer.

“Whatever it is that needs doing.”

“Wherever it is that it needs to be done.” Lancelot adds.

“With as much as charm and flair as necessary.” Gwaine grins.

“And with our fearless leader in front of us.” Gwen teases, pinching Arthur’s cheek.

“Guinevere.” He fusses, but let’s her pat his face affectionately.

“You don’t have to of course.” Arthur adds, as sincere as he can be despite how much of him wants Percival to join, “But if you have nowhere to go, you can always find a home with us.”

This startles Percival enough to rob him of words for a moment. “I’d like that.” He says with a thick voice and Gwaine cheers, shaking him.

“As soon as we wrap up this vilia nonsense,” Gwaine promises, “we’ll have a big celebration. A real welcome party.”

“You seem fun.” Percival says with a small smirk and Elyan sighs.

“Now you’ve done it.” Elyan mimes rubbing at his brow to stave off a headache, “He’ll never shut up now.”

“Don’t be such a downer Elyan.” Gwaine throws back, “You’re ruining the mood.”

Unfortunately, Merlin and Morgana find nothing completely helpful in their few books and so send Elly out on a quest to find Iseldir and ask him themselves. With the note carried off into the wind, Morgana and Merlin keep investigating, heading to the pond to conduct some experiments or at least try to keep the vilia alive in their slumber while they search for a way to wake them up.

The rest of their group tends to the sick villagers, holding out hope that since the vilia aren’t dead yet, the villagers won’t succumb to their illness either. So far, that theory seems to hold true. No one gets any worse nor do they get any better. In the back of their minds though, they know the situation is untenable. They can’t keep living in limbo forever.

Arthur is ladling some water into a young woman’s mouth, her lidded eyes showing how barely conscious she is. Arthur’s hand cups the back of her neck and he tries to softly encourage her to drink some more but even those few sips tire her out and she falls back asleep as soon as she lies back down.

Arthur bites his lip, picking up the bucket to go to the next person when Lancelot and Gwen approach him. “What’s wrong?” he asks immediately and Gwen raises her hands to assure him it’s nothing.

“Just a question.” She answers and he nods at her to continue.

“The sorcerer who did this to the vilia, what are we going to do with him?”  Gwen asks, no judgement in her eyes.

Arthur knows there’s no particular answer she or Lancelot want to hear. They’re simply interested in his thoughts, to see where his heart lay. Arthur rubs at his brow, trying to keep the rising tension at bay. “Percival dealt him a heavy blow, if he didn’t get that treated properly, it’s possible he ran away just to die.”

Lancelot’s gaze is steady, seeing right through him. “Then you do not intend to look for him.”

“The truth is…” Arthur looks down at his hands, imagines them stained red, “I wouldn’t know what to do with him even if we did. He’s not like the rest of them,” referring to everyone else they’ve helped put away, “he’s a sorcerer. There’ll be no trial. He won’t just be tossed in prison and given an opportunity to repent, he’ll be killed.”

Arthur looks into their eyes, genuinely asking, “Does he deserve to die? How do we know he can’t be redeemed?”

“Maybe he’s done worse things.” Lancelot poses and Arthur looks away.

“Maybe he deserves to die, maybe he doesn’t. But Camelot has not yet reached a point where a person will be judged fairly on whether that is or isn’t the case. Plus,” he adds, “the trail has gone cold by now. I wouldn’t even know where to start.”

Gwen’s expression is long and burdened. “It was a difficult question Arthur, we were just curious to know your answer.”

“I answered as your leader.” Arthur replies, “But if you were to ask just Arthur, then I’d say I want to strangle him with my own two hands for trying to undo all that we’ve been working so hard to accomplish.”

Gwen sighs, leaning over to squeeze his arm, “No one knows it was magic that was the cause of this.”

“And look on the bright side,” she continues, “when we cure them, we can tell them how the vilia have worked hard their entire existence to keep the waters pure and fresh for them and all the wildlife around them. I’m sure they never knew that.”

Arthur meets her eye and smiles, “I didn’t think of that.”

“Our mission is still in good standing Arthur.” Lancelot assures, “One day, when the laws are different, we’ll be able to judge everyone by fair and just rulings.”

“I don’t like the fact that we’re letting him go.” Arthur confesses, “It feels wrong.”

“But right now,” Gwen says, “our efforts are better spent on helping these people instead of chasing after ghosts. Who knows,” she shrugs, “one day you might meet again and we’ll know then, if he reformed or not.”

With that hazy future in mind, the three return back to work and the small burden in Arthur’s chest dissolves. He hadn’t realized he’d been letting that silent question eat at him, how bothered he’d been to find out this had been a sorcerer’s doing. It was naïve probably, to think that the focus of all sorcerers’ ire was the royal family, that there was no reason to use it to hurt others when the people had done nothing to deserve it.

Good people can do bad things, but sometimes bad people are just bad people and they will do bad with however much power they have. A child will throw stones and a man will use a sword and a king will send an army. Give any of them the weapons or power of the other and they’d use them just the same.

Thinking about the darkness in people’s hearts only draws Arthur’s attention to the darkness in his own. He feels childish when he does. Thinks about how noble Merlin’s own flaws are, how they’re born from love while Arthur’s are just all his worst insecurities smashing against his insatiable nature to form a sludge that coats the bottom of his lungs.

There’s a part of him that will never grow up. He knows that now. A part of him that will always be that little boy, wanting desperately for his father to comfort him even though his tears have only come because the same man hit him. A part of him that will always be that boy peeking around the corner to watch the girl in the green dress smile through her tears as his father gave her a set of handkerchiefs he had commissioned just for her.

Arthur’s grateful suddenly, that he’s too busy with people who need him more than his worst thoughts do.

That night, Arthur quietly opens the door to Gareth’s house, helplessly fond at the sight of Merlin sprawled on the dinner table, head on a book, candle long burnt out. Arthur toes off his shoes, taking off his shirt to avoid sweating to death from the night heat. Carefully, Arthur lifts Merlin by his shoulders, maneuvering him into his arms so he can slide the chair out from under him and grab his knees with his left hand to haul him up.

Merlin mutters a few unintelligible words, eyes fluttering open and shut before he settles against Arthur’s chest. Unable to help his tender smile, Arthur kisses him on his hair before gently setting him down on their pallet, untying his neckerchief and tugging off his boots and socks. Merlin mumbles Arthur’s name, hand flying about to find him when Arthur takes it and squeezes it. The touch alone seems to soothe him and Merlin fully relaxes, drifting off into deep sleep once more.

Pressing a quick kiss to Merlin’s knuckles, Arthur gently places them over Merlin’s chest and crawls over to lie down beside him. “Missed you.” He whispers, tracing Merlin’s cheekbone with his finger.

Merlin doesn’t reply but Arthur’s happy anyway. Content just with his presence. At peace just by the sight of him. He turns on his side, curling a protective arm over Merlin’s middle and hopes that when Merlin wakes, he feels how hard Arthur is rooting for him. How strongly he believes in him just as Merlin has faith in Arthur.

“You’ll figure it out.” Arthur promises, right into Merlin’s ear and Merlin sighs, a happy little thing and Arthur closes his eyes, falling asleep to the sound of Merlin’s breathing.

Elly returns with a happy chirp and Merlin lifts a wrist for her, watching her land with barely disguised excitement. “Hello Elly! What do you have for me from the Druids?”

Elly chirps cheerfully, extending out her leg so Merlin can carefully pull free the note, beckoning Morgana over as he does. They read it quickly, running back out to the vilia’s home shortly after.

“Merlin!” Arthur yells, “Aren’t you going to fill us in?”

“No time! We have to read the full message at the pond!” Merlin shouts back, “I love you!” he says cheekily, grinning as Arthur stupidly blushes for absolutely zero reason at all.

Gwen sees the expression on his face and bites her lower lip to keep from laughing, “You want to call him a terrible manservant, don’t you?”

“I really do.” He complains, “If I call him a terrible lover he’ll probably wring me up himself.”

Gwen flushes, “There’s such a thing as too many details Arthur.”

Arthur chuckles, wrapping an arm around her shoulder, snickering as Gwen purses her lips at him. “Cheer up Gwen! It could be worse! We’ve gotten extra careful ever since-”

Gwen claps her hands over her ears, “I can’t hear you! I’m going to check on Mrs. Landry now!”

Arthur turns to see Percival shaking his head, “To a lady.” He chides, but Arthur can hear the joke in his voice and just grins.

He knew Percival would fit right in.

Morgana and Merlin don’t speak on their walk to the vilia’s stream. Merlin pretends it’s because he’s busy navigating, careful not to get lost in the winding wood but he can feel Morgana’s stare boring holes in the back of his neck.

“You’re upset with me.” She says without preamble.

Merlin stiffens before forcing his shoulders to loosen. “I’m just worried about the vilia.”

Morgana stops, her foot crunching on a twig and it sounds like a spine breaking. Merlin turns around, eyes wary but Morgana’s are furious, arms crossed, brows drawn in a taut line. “You have no right to judge me. You’ve known your whole life you were magic. I discovered it in the room Uther provided me, in the bed he had given me, surrounded by a life I only had because of him, opposite the window where I saw witches like me burning.”

Morgana takes a step forward and Merlin braces himself. “I found out I was magic from my screaming. Alone in a room with dreams that would haunt me. I saw the people I love get hurt. I saw the home I love be invaded. I saw things Merlin,” here, her voice trembles and Merlin’s compassion waxes on its own accord, “that you would never want to see.”

“Why are you telling me this Morgana?” he asks tiredly and she responds with that same look of exhaustion. She looks decades older. Fragile even.

“Because has it ever occurred to you that maybe I’m angry at you too?”

Merlin’s brows furrow and Morgana shakes her head, “Typical. I know you were trying to help me, in your own way, by taking me to the Druid camp. But did you ever think that you would have helped both of us had you simply just told me?”

Merlin flinches. Morgana takes no pleasure in it.

“I wanted to. Morgana, I-” he runs a hand through his hair, “I wanted to tell you but…”

The reasons why are shameful. Too shameful to speak aloud. He can’t tell her how Kilgarrah’s words had burrowed their way into his soul. Can’t tell her how Gaius’ fears became his own. Can’t tell her about the way Arthur looked in the mornings, childlike and silly, and how Merlin could never bear to lose him were he ever to find out.

“Why can’t you just understand that maybe I was just as afraid as you were?” Morgana says, “As afraid as you are now.”

“I’m not-”

“Yes you are.” She cuts in scathingly, “I see it in you all the time. You look behind you like you’re expecting monsters to be chasing us. You’re worried all the time, a blind man could see it. What are you so afraid of??”

“The better question is why aren’t you afraid?” Merlin pushes, getting in her face, “It’s your sister that’s scheming against Camelot. And who do you think will be the first to go running into danger when that happens?”

Hurt flashes across Morgana’s face but she masks it well. “I have nothing to do with what Morgause is planning.”

“But you were tempted.”

And there it is, it’s all out in the open now. He used to give her flowers. Now they have their knives at each other’s throats, staring levelly into the other’s eyes.

“Killing a tyrant isn’t a sin.”

“No,” Merlin agrees, “but isn’t hurting the boy you grew up with one?”

Morgana looks away, “I’m not interested in being a killer.” She says quietly, “I’m just tired of waiting for the future.”

And all at once, the energy in Merlin disappears and he sags against a tree, letting his head fall back against the bark. “I’m not even really angry at you.” He admits, “It’s just easier than admitting that I'm furious at myself.”

Morgana looks at him, no judgement in her eyes.

“I want to want Arthur being king. I know it’s the right thing, for everyone. It would make our friends knights, it would give you and Gwen respect and advisory roles well deserved. It would protect magic users everywhere and peaceful magical creatures too. It would make Arthur happy,” he whispers, almost to himself, “but I don’t want to give in to destiny. I can’t stand the fact that our futures are written for us.”

Morgana looks at him a moment before she lets out a breath, smiling almost. “Does it matter if it’s been foretold if it’s what you want to do?”

“There is no wanting though, it’s just what we’re supposed to do.”

Morgana crosses her arms, “Well I for one would love nothing more than to be an advisor to his Royal Highness.” She says it teasingly and Merlin sees the Morgana he first knew ripple across her face, “And I’m certain everyone else would be more than happy with their new roles too. The only person unhappy here is you.”

Merlin winces, almost like if he moves far enough the truth can’t touch him.

“This is coming from me, which I can see the irony of,” Morgana’s brows flick up in some amused form of self-mockery, but her eyes are kind, “having faith in other people won’t kill you, Merlin.”

“Yes, it can.”

“Or,” she suggests, “it can make your world a brighter, better place.”

“Like your faith in Arthur?” he challenges, “Or will you throw crimes in his face that aren’t his own the next time he upsets you?”

Morgana purses her lips, shoulders tensing. “Fine. I deserve that. If it makes you feel better, I regretted it as soon as it happened and I’ve been trying to get him alone to tell him so but he’s so helpfully avoiding me.”

At this, Merlin can’t help but snort, “Yeah well, no one can say the Pendragons are great communicators.”

Morgana laughs, light and delightful, “No, they can’t.” she agrees.

They stare at each other a moment more before Morgana walks towards him, holding out a hand, “Nothing has happened the way we wanted it to or even the way it was supposed to. We’ve both done things we regret but I…” here, she sucks in a breath, steeling herself, “I care about you Merlin, you and everyone back at camp and I believe in what Arthur is doing even if I know he has such a bigger potential he could fulfill.”

Merlin looks at her hand, the alabaster softness of it, a golden ring glinting in the sunlight. Slowly, he reaches for it, clasping it in his palm, bringing their joined hands up to their chests. Her hands are calloused now but there’s a grip that grounds him, that reminds him of the person he wants to be. The one who wants, more than anything, to be kind. To let things go. To not hold onto bitterness that only ties anchors to his ankles.

Merlin squeezes Morgana’s hand.

“You’ve always had a friend in me Morgana and I hope I have one in you too.”

She smiles, looking just as beautiful as the first day Merlin saw her. “Us sorcerers have to stick together.”

He grins back, letting go. “I have so much to show you Morgana, there’s so much to learn.”

“I can’t wait.”

Their joy at reconciling lasts up until they get to the pond and discover the true nature of the vilia’s curse.

It’s Elyan that notices their moods when they arrive, pausing his ministrations, wiping the sweat off an elderly woman’s brow to frown at them. “Merlin? Morgana? What is it?”

Morgana and Merlin look at each other, expressions grave. “It’s best if everyone was here to listen to this.”

It takes the better part of the day to gather everyone from their various tasks and at last, they are crowded inside Gareth’s small home, Gwaine tapping his knee impatiently on the ground. Taking a breath, Merlin decides to just go for it. “The sorcerer did something worse than we anticipated.” He says, “It’s not just a sleeping spell like we thought, it’s a curse to suck the lifeforce out of them. That’s why the villagers are like this, they’re dying slowly too and soon…” Merlin looks away, “they’ll have no life left at all.”

Gwen gasps, pressing a hand to her mouth. The mood in the room turns cold, the sense of foreboding growing stronger by the second. Percival crosses his arms, the guilt at not acting sooner weighing on his heart. Lancelot notices out of the corner of his eye and squeezes his knee in a silent gesture.

“What’s the cure?” Arthur asks, a calculating look in his eye.

Morgana turns to him, already marveling at how predictable he is. How certain he is that they can surmount any obstacle just through sheer will alone.

“It’s complicated.” She answers, looking to Merlin for support.

“The vilia are ancient creatures of magic, their lifeforce is tied into the heart of magic itself, they were born of it.”

“So…can’t we just…give them some magic?” Gwaine asks, brows furrowed.

“No, because magic isn’t life, it’s,” Merlin scrunches his face, “it’s complicated. I don’t know the answers. They were able to use the pond to cure Percival so maybe if we can find some object, maybe the Cup of Life? I don’t know, and put it in maybe…”

The group breaks off to discuss and theorize, no one able to agree on anything in particular except for the fact that they’re running out of time. No one notices Arthur sitting quietly against the wall, an idea budding in his mind, as he glances at Merlin from the corner of his eye.

No closer to answers, Arthur watches as everyone leaves their temporary home before gathering Merlin in his arms and bringing them down onto the bedroll. “Everything is going to be alright, you’ll see.” He promises, breath curling around Merlin’s ear.

“I don’t know how though Arthur, I don’t know.” Merlin squeezes his eyes, pain clear in the scratch of his voice.

Arthur holds him tighter, pouring his certainty in the firmness of his embrace. “Well I do. And I know we’ll fix this. Try to sleep.”

Arthur presses a kiss to the back of Merlin’s neck and strokes circles into Merlin’s hand until his breathing evens out. Arthur waits, making sure Merlin had truly fallen into a deep slumber before carefully peeling himself away. He leaves the blanket up on Merlin’s side, keeping his back exposed.

Arthur wants him realize after all.

Just not yet.

To be on the safe side though, Arthur makes sure to pass by Gwaine’s house, knowing he’d still be awake. He makes sure Gwaine catches a glimpse of him walking by before breaking out into a sprint to the woods. The moonlight carves a path just for him, the branches parting so the stones almost glow with the path. Little creatures peek out from behind the leaves, watching with bright eyes as the man who would have been king walks to deliver himself to the land on his knees.

A soft breeze blows, caressing his cheeks like telling him not to be afraid and Arthur looks up at the moon with clear eyes. “It’s alright,” he says to the sleeping vilia as he approaches, “I know what I have to do.”

It all clicked into place when Merlin explained how life isn’t magic and magic isn’t life but isn’t Arthur both? He was born of magic. Born of the oldest spells in the Old Religion, spells written by the land itself, by the very balance of nature. Arthur isn’t like anyone else. He was never meant to be born but instead of rejecting him as an unnatural creation, the world had imbued in him a bit of itself.

And Arthur was here to give that piece back.

Slowly, Arthur takes off his boots, then his shirt, his belt, and pants. The leaves cast shadows across his skin but despite the slight chill, he doesn’t feel cold at all. His feet dig into the mud, stepping past the stones into the warm water, the surface rippling as he moves. The water tingles as he goes deeper until he’s in the very centre, his chin just above the crystalline surface.

He isn’t sure what’s supposed to happen next or what he’s supposed to do. He looks around, tries to find the hidden vilia but they remain asleep. He tries to think about what he’d learned with the Druids, about the forms magic can take in the world. How magic needed words to be shaped, a sort of contract between the users and the spells.

Arthur closes his eyes, leaning back, letting the water wash over him. “Let me replenish the life the vilia had stolen. I give myself willingly. Please.” He opens his eyes, staring beseechingly into the water, “Show me how to help you.”

The water starts to glow and Arthur sucks back a gasp as he feels a warmth wrap around him. His eyes flutter shut and he falls back into the water, unable to tell anymore if he was floating or sinking. A celestial gold shines, gushing form Arthur’s skin and mixing into the dark blue of the pond.

He can feel it, feel his limbs growing weaker, his heartbeat slowing. He’s not afraid though. Could never be afraid. Because he knows Merlin better than he knows himself and he knows he will come. That Merlin will always come.

“Arthur!” Merlin’s shout rips through the wind and Arthur would have smiled had he still had the energy.

“Arthur! Fuck!” Gwaine swears, coming to a stop at the shore.

“Of all the idiotic, clotpole-like, stupid-” Merlin says scathingly, already jumping in.

Merlin wades into the water, frantically tugging at Arthur who blinks blearily at him, “Life and magic.” Arthur mumbles, “Won’t die if…together…”

Merlin stares down at him, torn between wanting to strangle him or hug him and swears instead. “Gedal byraene.”

Magic pulses out of Merlin, from his eyes and his lips, straight out of his fingertips. Arthur sighs against him, head cradled against Merlin’s chest and neck. Merlin’s magic is a soothing force, nourishing and beautiful, the entire forest perks up, growing straight and tall once again. In the water, the droplets on the surface vibrate, floating and popping.

Gwaine stares at the pond in open mouthed awe, unable to help his cry of relief when a little fairy-like creature emerges from the water with a splash. One after the other, the vilia rise from their slumber, the water glowing brighter and brighter.

“Quick,” one of the vilia says to Gwaine, “pull them out before it’s too late. We can undo the rest!”

Not needing to be told twice, Gwaine dives into the water, the splashes loud and violent as he grabs Merlin by the back of his jacket, his head lolling around from exhaustion. Arthur slips from Merlin’s grip as he passes out and Gwaine growls, straining his arm to reach for Arthur as well. Grunting from the exertion, Gwaine drags them both out of the water, panting as he reaches the shore.

He drags their bodies up onto the grass, bending low over their lips to make sure they’re still breathing. Merlin’s eyes snap open, he lurches forward, looking left and right, “Arthur!”

“He’s right here, at ease soldier.” Gwaine smiles, pointing to Arthur’s still form.

Panic bursts in Merlin’s eyes as he tries to scramble over to Arthur’s side before he wavers in the air, falling back on the grass.

“Hey,” Gwaine cautions, pulling Merlin into his grasp, “easy now. You just poured out enough magic to light up a forest into that pond.”

“Not…as much…as Arthur did.” Merlin struggles over the words, his lungs burning.

“You’re exhausted Emrys.” A vilia says, floating towards them, “You came just in time to share the prince’s burden. Were it not for both of your sacrifices, we would have been lost.”

Merlin tries to smile, his relief clear in his eyes, “I’m…glad.” He manages to say before his head falls back against Gwaine’s chest.

“Are they going to be alright?” Gwaine asks worriedly, glancing between both of his friends.

The vilia smiles, “Emrys will be alright. He is magic incarnate, he did not give anything he did not have ready to spare.”

Gwaine almost sinks before he frowns, “Wait, what about Arthur?” his voice rises and the vilia hesitates.

“The prince is unique amongst men. He is born of two worlds but he is still just a mortal man. The magic that lives within him sustains him but I fear he might have given more than he anticipated.”

Gwaine’s blood goes cold and he shakes his head, his wet hair sticking to his cheeks. “No. He’s going to be fine. It’s- it’s Arthur. He’s too stubborn to die.”  

A second vilia appears, looking older than the first. “Take heart little traveler, the prince was in the water when Emrys released his magic, he will heal. It will just take time.”

“You’re certain?” Gwaine pushes, pressing a hand to Arthur’s cold neck, just needing to feel his pulse, “We’re not ready to lose him just yet.”

Around him, the birds trill their agreement, their song blending into the night, carrying their prayers right up to the gods.

“It is not his time yet.” The vilia answers, “It is not his destiny to die by our hand.”

When Arthur wakes up, it’s to Gwen’s ecstatic eyes. She throws herself at him, hugging him within an inch of his life, suffocating him in her curls. “Guinevere! I’m alright! I’m alright!” he assures her, trying to bite back a laugh.

“Be lucky I’m hugging you and not slapping you.” She says when she pulls away, trying to glare at him but unable to help her smile.

“I knew Merlin would come and save me.” He says, like that makes it any better and she gives him a flat expression in return.

“Oh come on Guinevere, you and I both know he would never have agreed to my plan if I’d suggested it like a normal person. But I’m the only one who could give them what they needed and Merlin was the only one who could have saved me. If either one of us did it alone we would have died. It’s too much for one person to give.”

Gwen’s expression slackens and she sighs, taking hold of his hand and squeezing it. “Foolish man.”

He cracks a grin, “I think you mean hero.”

“No, fool was right.” Merlin says, entering the house with an angry flicker in his eye.

“Hello my love, dare I say you look dashing?”

“Arthur.”

“It all worked out didn’t it!”

If possible, Merlin frowns harder and Gwen laughs, getting up to pat his arm, “Cut him some slack this time Merlin, he did make it so that you’d find him.”

“Gwen! Don’t take his side! We’re supposed to be a united front!”

“Do you swear never to do it again?” Gwen asks, turning to Arthur who diligently gives her a two finger salute.

“He’s a liar who lies.” Merlin crosses his arms.

“I’m as honest as they come.” Arthur grouses, crossing his arms right back, “Now come here and kiss me.”

Gwen leaves with a giggle and Merlin scowls some more before throwing his hands up and sighing, “Clotpole.”

Arthur nods sincerely. “I know.”

Merlin stomps over to the bed, swinging his legs over Arthur’s own.

“Absolute dollophead.”

“Oh, definitely.”

Arthur looks deliciously eager, neck tilted, eyeing Merlin hopefully.

“A right prat, really.” Arthur murmurs, hands flowing up Merlin’s arms and Merlin can’t stand it anymore.

He grabs Arthur’s face in both hands and kisses him, running his tongue over his lips and moaning into it. Arthur crushes Merlin into him, pushing his body upward, breathing into their kiss.

“Are the vilia alright?” Arthur asks, pulling back but still close enough to touch.

“Yes, the villagers too. Once the water was purified, we just had to give it out to everyone affected. They’re right as rain.”

Arthur grins, beautiful and unbeatable and Merlin falls in love.

“I’m sorry for worrying you.” Arthur whispers, running his fingers through Merlin’s hair.

“But not for doing it.” Merlin says flatly and Arthur looks away guiltily.

Merlin sighs, collapsing atop of Arthur’s chest and letting his lover hold him. “You’re lucky Gwaine went to get me.”

“I deliberately made sure he saw me you know. I knew he’d think it was odd for me to be walking around so late.”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “You think you’re quite the mastermind, don’t you?”

Arthur huffs a laugh, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s ear. “Let some of the rest of us be clever from time-to-time Merlin.”

Merlin grumbles some more and Arthur pulls away with a salacious grin. “Bet I could make it up to you.”

Merlin quirks an unimpressed brow. “Yeah?”

“I’m feeling plenty energetic now.” Arthur says slyly, “And I can tell you’re not interested in my apologies anymore. So how about I put my mouth to better use?”

Merlin makes a choking noise and Arthur grins, crawling his way down Merlin’s body to tug at his laces with his teeth. Merlin’s hand darts through the air, landing on Arthur’s golden head and he can’t help but thrum his fingers through Arthur’s hair. It feels like praise and Arthur meets his eye, grinning toothily before swallowing Merlin down whole.

Arthur goes slow, cheeks hollowing as he slides up and down, devoting all his care to the flick of his tongue. He draws back, lips dragging across until his tongue swirls over the tip and Merlin bucks beneath him, fingers digging into Arthur’s scalp. Merlin almost loses it completely when he feels Arthur smirk against him before drawing him back between his lips, the slick pressure building around him too much to bear.

“Arthur,” Merlin groans but Arthur doesn’t speed up his pace, takes it torturously slow, dragging out Merlin’s pleasure until Merlin can’t bear it anymore.

“I forgive you!” he shouts, legs tensing, hips straining beneath Arthur’s firm hold, “I forgive you, I forgive you!”

Arthur pulls back with a pop and Merlin watches with blown eyes as Arthur smiles, “I’m going to be so good for you.” He promises before diving down and making Merlin see stars.

“Arthur I’m gonna- I’m-”

Arthur’s mouth tightens, sucking hard and Merlin clamps a hand down over his lips to keep from shouting as he comes. His body arches beneath Arthur’s own and Merlin pants, melting into his pillow as Arthur pleasures him through his release, drawing away slowly, pressing a kiss to the head as he goes. Sighing with satisfaction, Arthur settles his cheek atop of Merlin’s thigh, nuzzling in.

“Good?” he asks tiredly and Merlin cards his fingers through his hair, loving him so much it hurts.

“Really good.” Merlin feels drunk, grinning like a loon, “You’re so good.”

Arthur beams and Merlin hauls him up, hugging him tightly against him. Arthur is trouble. A whole lot of trouble. He’s demanding and unrelenting and by far the most aggravating person in the world.  

Merlin wouldn’t trade him for anything.  

The villagers demand that they stay until after they recuperate so they can celebrate all that they had accomplished. Arthur tries to insist that they don’t have to but Valeria insists right back. Gwaine nudges Arthur in the ribs, telling him to shut right up. “It’s a feast princess, stop your I must be noble at all costs nonsense for one night, will you? You already tried dying.”

Arthur pulls his lip, “I wasn’t trying to die, I-”

“Well fact of the matter is you would’ve if we hadn’t shown up but you know what,” Gwaine says grandly, “now I finally get what it is about you that makes Merlin all hot and bothered.” He gives an exaggerated look to Arthur’s crotch and Arthur flushes before he’s jerked back by a protective arm to his chest.

“That’s all mine Gwaine.” Merlin replies and Gwaine only laughs, raising his hands.

“I’d never get in the way of true love, come on now.”

In the end, they agree to the feast and that’s when Arthur can no longer avoid the thing he’d been trying so very hard to. He’s going to change his shirt when he finds Morgana waiting in Gareth’s home, arms crossed and glaring.

“This has gone on long enough. What is it Arthur??” Morgana demands and Arthur freezes.

“Nothing. It’s nothing, let’s just go-”

“It’s not nothing. You won’t look at me. I know you’re upset and I’ve already had this song and dance with Merlin already so can we just skip to the part where you finally get over yourself and tell me?”

It’s her tone that gets him. He just can’t. It all explodes out of him, an unstoppable force he has no way to control. “You don’t even appreciate it!”

Morgana stops in her tracks, “Appreciate it?” her nose wrinkles, “Appreciate what exactly?”

Something hollows out in Arthur’s chest. He hates this feeling, the one where he knows he’s being childish and stupid but sometimes it feels like he was never allowed a childhood and so it creeps up out of him at the worst of times. There’s a little boy inside of him that screams. He slams on the cage of Arthur’s ribs, hollering to be let free, to be heard, to be seen. Sometimes he even cries but what he begs for is always the same pathetic old thing, love me, love me, LOVE ME.  

Arthur looks at Morgana and wonders what it’s like to be her. To have everything he’s ever wanted without even having to try. She had a father who loved her and who spent time with her and who only left her because he had to. She had Gwen since they were teenagers, a companion to grow up with and to hold and to love and to spill all her secrets to.

Morgana had Uther. In a way Arthur never did.

“He loved you. Loves you.” Arthur chokes out, “And you never even wanted him to. Never even cared and he still gave you all of his love and attention anyway and I spent my whole entire life trying to be what he wanted of me and I was still second best to you! Always!”

Morgana gapes at him, almost uncomprehending and it makes Arthur want to scream. Even now, she’s so far above it all, so beyond him, caring about more important things.

“You had everything and you never even had to work for it! My own father thought I had to work for his love but all you had to do was just exist and he was ready to send out armies for you! Because you’re you.”

“I meant everything I said to you- at the fire.” Arthur continues, “But I can’t stop thinking about what happened to you. I can’t stop myself from comparing how he treated you versus how he treated me and-”

“It was because of what happened to you that he tried so hard to keep me, don’t you see!” Morgana cuts in but Arthur shakes his head.

“No. No it wasn’t. Because it’s always been like that. Since the day you arrived in Camelot.” Arthur scrapes a hand over his scalp, feeling like he wants to laugh manically, his cheeks flushed from the rising pressure behind his eyes, “I failed over and over and you would just stare at me, sitting on your stupid throne, looking down at me like you have our whole lives. And now you’re here, with me, and I know it’s because you hate him more than you don’t care about me so forgive me Morgana, for having the mortal flaw of wishing my family gave a shit about me.”

Morgana looks like she’s been slapped, eyes wide and hurt, that perfect expression she always wore wiped clean off. “I wasn’t looking down at you.” She whispers, shaking her head, “I wasn’t-”

“Don’t lie to me now Morgana. What good will it do?” he asks bitterly, looking away.

“I’m not lying! You have this distorted view of everything, thinking it was easy when it never was! Even before the magic! Constantly walking on eggshells, making sure he was pleased, making sure not to step too out of line I-”

Arthur feels an arrow to the heart when he sees her eyes fill up with tears, hands pressed against them to hide, “I was scared.” She confesses, voice barely above a whisper.

He looks at her, lip trembling.

“I didn’t say anything, when he would scream at you because I-” Morgana’s voice hitches in shame, “I wanted his approval too.” She confesses and Arthur’s heart snaps right in two.

“I did love him.” She whispers, “I’d pretend he was my father sometimes, when I was lonely and he had been in a good mood. When I was young enough to want for such things. Wanted it enough that I sat by and watched and Arthur I’m sorry. I’m so sorry but,” and she looks at him now, “you hated me.”

Arthur’s brow furrows, “I didn’t-”

“Yes you did! You always wanted to compete with me and you would constantly harass me-”

“I wanted your attention!” he shouts, suddenly embarrassed as he realizes what he’s just said. “I mean- oh fuck it, who even cares anymore. I was jealous of you alright?” he’s belligerent, even now, glaring at her to hide from the sheer mortification of feeling, “And if I couldn’t be like you then I wanted to be with you but I was stupid and mad and obviously fucked it all up but then it didn’t matter because the older we got the more close to friends we became and-”

Arthur’s silent for a long time and Morgana takes a step forward, filling the gaps. “You realize right, how this is all Uther’s fault?”

He blinks at her, eyes lost and wide.

“Who do you think was sitting on the sidelines, encouraging all of our stupid competitions and giving whoever won all his praise?”

Arthur thinks back, thinks about how Morgana would beat him at chess and their recitations. How when she scored higher on their geography tests Uther would buy her a golden necklace and then send Arthur to his room for days as punishment. Thinks about the resentment that burned within him whenever he saw that stupid flower pendant on Morgana’s neck, how eventually, that resentment turned towards Morgana herself.

“When I used to imagine Uther was my father,” Morgana says quietly, almost like she’s shy, “I would think how having you around was maybe like having a little brother and it wasn’t so bad.”

Arthur’s neck snaps up, the raw longing in his eyes almost too much for her to bear.

“I didn’t hate thinking that.” Morgana admits, “If I’m honest, I wished for it. The sibling I never had.”

“You have a sibling.” He retorts and Morgana shrugs.

“I may have a sister, but I grew up with you.” She says simply, “It was your plate I snuck my beans onto when I didn’t want to eat them. It was you who was there when I sprained my wrist and got me to Gaius blubbering like a baby, it was you I’d keep an eye on in a room because I liked feeling like I was looking out for someone and the person I was always watching out for was you, Arthur.”

A shadow of a smile flits over Arthur’s face, “Do you remember Hector’s face when you told him if you caught him messing with my armor one more time you’d gouge out his eyes with your sewing needle?”

The laugh rips out of Morgana’s throat before she can help it and she presses her hand below her jaw, leaning against it.

“Little weasel deserved it.” She says remorselessly, “Wasn’t even subtle about it.”

“No,” Arthur lets out an amused breath, “he really wasn’t.”

“I don’t regret teaching everyone who hurt you a lesson,” she says quietly, “but I regret letting Uther hurt us both. If I could go back…” Morgana hesitates, but Arthur’s hunched in frame gives her the courage she needs, “If I could go back, I’d pick you, like how I wanted to before I let everything else get in the way.”

Arthur’s eyes widen and Morgana feels her heart squeeze.

“I’d have rebuilt Gana and Art’s Legendary Pillow Fort and we could have just hidden inside it until we were old enough to leave.”

All at once, an image of a much, much younger Arthur and Morgana sprinting down the halls giggling, streams of blankets billowing behind them emerges. In the unused antechamber of one of the guest rooms, Morgana and Arthur had built a massive structure, balanced precariously atop of broken furniture and stolen chairs. They had knicked spare blankets and pillows from the laundress and supplemented the rest of the need with their own.

Arthur had shown Morgana how to make animals using the candlelight shadows- a trick he’d learned from a circus troupe once upon a time. Morgana had shown him her father’s dagger, inlaid with rubies and Arthur had ooh’d and ahh’d, turning it over in his little hand, pretending to know about a blade’s balance to impress the girl with the snarky smile and piercing green eyes.

They had played in that fort every day until Uther discovered it and destroyed it in a fit of rage, reprimanding Arthur for wasting his time when he should have been studying. Arthur had looked at the collapsed pile of blankets and pillows and Morgana’s dolls and felt something die inside him that day.

That something flickers back to life. Right here in these woods. With the girl with the same snarky smile but much kinder eyes.

“I’m sorry,” he says abruptly, “for throwing your favourite doll over the wall.”

Morgana swallows back a laugh, “You’ve spent years denying you did that.”

Arthur shrugs, “I feel like I might as well confess that too, since we’re airing things out.”

An amused grin flicks across her face, “Alright. Well then you should probably know that the person who ratted you out to the Head Knight that one time was me.”

Arthur’s face twists and he points a shaking finger at her, “I knew it! I KNEW IT!”

Morgana snorts, swatting his hand away, “You deserved it and you know it.”

“I know no such thing.” He retorts petulantly, crossing his arms and he looks so ridiculously adorable Morgana can’t help but pinch his cheek.

He startles for a moment, looking up at her with questioning eyes. Morgana flattens her hand against his cheek, squeezing it with her whole palm and shaking his head gently, “Stupid brother of mine, Uther is a fool for not seeing you as you are and so was I for letting him get in between us.” She glowers at him, but there’s no heat, “Tell anyone I said this and I’ll deny it, but I love you Arthur, and I most definitely always have.”

It takes everything within him not to clench his eyes shut and beg, really? Really? Do you swear it?

Instead, he brushes Morgana’s hand from his face and turns away, pretending to be bothered by it all. “When did you become such a sap Morgana?” he says, trying to walk away when she snatches him by the collar.

“Say it back you little gremlin.”

“Oy!”

Morgana gives him another good shake and he raises his hands, “Alright! Alright! I love you too! Obviously! Though why, I’ll never know.”

“Oh shut up,” she smirks, “you were obsessed with me. Didn’t we just establish that?”

Arthur claps both his hands over his ears, “I can’t hear you! I’m deaf! I’ve gone deaf!”

“You loooooved me.” Morgana crows, “You wanted to be my friendddd!”

“Shut UP Morgana! I want you to leave me alone more like!”

Morgana cackles and Arthur yells and in his chest, an overwhelming feeling of home bursts. He’s back in their pillow fort, making dragons with their hands. Maybe he had a childhood after all. Maybe it had been Morgana all along.

At the feast, there’s frivolity and laughter, the villagers gaining their strength bit by bit. As the moon lifts higher into the sky, Gareth approaches them, taking Arthur’s hand and squeezing it. “I’ll confess, when I called you to us, I didn’t think you’d truly be able to help but…on behalf of my whole village, thank you.”

Arthur smiles, opening his mouth when Gareth lets go and raises his hand. “No, I don’t want to hear about this being your duty, you walked to the vilia’s waters and offered your life, that goes above and beyond anyone’s duty. Especially just a traveler’s. We will never forget what you and Merlin, and every one of your friends has done for us. No matter what happens in your future Arthur Pendragon, we will always remember you as the hero of Valeria.”

Beside him, Merlin smiles like the sun and carefully, Arthur smiles back. He had been born a prince, been forced to be a banished traveler, and was destined to be a king. But here’s something he’d made with his own two hands. Here’s a title he had earned just by working for it. Something he wasn’t owed, but something he had been given. You can’t become a hero, you’re made into one. Through sheer faith alone.

What’s a hero but a myth people choose to believe in?

When Gareth leaves, Merlin intertwines their hands, leaning his chin on Arthur’s shoulder, “I guess you really are the hero after all.”

Arthur turns his face, brushes his lips against Merlin’s like trying to determine if any of this was real. “Heroes can be foolish too if that helps.”

Merlin envelops Arthur in his arms and kisses him again, taking his hand and leading him to the woods, “Before we go, let’s say goodbye to our new friends.”

The vilia are pleased to see them when they arrive, floating above the water in little bubbles, all big eyes and bright smiles. “Come here,” the vilia call, “and we shall grant you a gift few mortals are ever lucky enough to receive.”

Arthur and Merlin step right up the shore, looking at the vilia curiously.

“Pull back your sleeves.” The vilia asks and dutifully, Merlin and Arthur roll them up, baring their forearms to them.

A dozen fairies float around their arms, a prickly magic enveloping their skin. Arthur watches with wide eyes as black ink appears on his arm, a stylistic diamond with a curved V on the top. When the vilia fly back, he traces the mark with reverence, eyes bright. “What is it?”

“It is the mark of the fairies.” The vilia answers, “If you ever need help, show them that mark and they will know that you are owed our aid.”

Arthur bows his head, Merlin following suite, “Thank you.” He says hoarsely, “We are honoured to have gained your friendship.”

“You are destined for great things Arthur Pendragon.” The vilia replies, “Emrys too. We look forward to seeing the dawn of the golden age.”

Arthur nods, watching as the vilia dip back into the water with giggles and smiles until the pond loses its shimmer and the water stills.

It’s the night before they’re set to head off on their next adventure and in keeping to the spirit of Gwaine’s promise, they throw themselves a little party, just them. Percival decides to teach them one of his sister’s favourite games, the one that would rile his family up in a tizzy and, he says, eyes sparkling, “Reveal all your true natures.”  

The eight of them sit in a circle, holding their cards close to their faces. Gwaine peers suspiciously at his friends, eyes flicking from one face to the other. Morgana’s brow lifts. “Give it up Gwaine, you won’t read a thing from me.”

“Who says I was even looking at you at all?” he retorts, flicking his hair back, “Maybe I was enraptured by our lovely new friend here.”

Percival blushes a little at this, steadfastly returning to his own set of cards before throwing two cards face down, “Three twos.” He says firmly.

Elyan squints at his direction, “This can’t possibly be fair, we haven’t gotten a chance to really know you yet.” He complains and Percival just shrugs, hiding a grin.

“All I did was teach you the game, I didn’t make you play it.” He responds and to his left, Gwen’s lip flicks up.

Arthur nudges Merlin in the shoulder, “For all your funny feelings you can’t make yourself useful now, Merlin?”

Merlin scowls, nudging him right back. “Shut up. It’s not my fault you ignore me half the time-”

“-I do not-”

“Anyway,” Merlin says firmly, “Percival seems honest enough, Gwen, your turn. Unless, of course…” Merlin smirks, “someone would like to challenge him?”

The group stares at the now hefty stack of cards and gulps. It really isn’t worth the risk.

“Alright then,” Gwen grins, “one three.”

Gwen bites her lip, trying to stop from laughing and Arthur points a finger at her, “I, Arthur Pendragon, do by accuse you of deception dear Guinevere.”

Gwen claps a hand to her mouth, unable to stop herself from her full-bodied laugh, “Every time Arthur.” She crows, leaning forward to flip up her card to reveal a perfect three.

Arthur swears, scowling as the group guffaws around him. Gwaine in particular gives him a leery grin, “All those cards look heavy princess, need help carrying them?”

Arthur throws a stray acorn at his head, scowling, “Oh sod off Gwaine.”

“Lighten up Arthur!” Elyan offers cheerfully, “You might still just make it as second worst instead of the complete bottom of the barrel.”

Arthur pulls his lip but Merlin can see the wave of amusement within them, especially when he looks up and smirks, “Will you be taking that honour yourself then?” he asks and everyone laughs once more.

Three more rounds go by and Morgana places three cards down in a row, “Three eights.” She leans back, eyes sharp.

“That’s impossible.” Lancelot shakes his head, “The math-”

“There’s nothing mathematical about it,” Gwaine insists, looking right into Morgana’s eyes, “I know what you are Morgana.”

Her smile spreads slowly, like a threat. “Oh?” she tilts her head, “And what’s that?”

Gwaine gulps and everyone peers at him, all fairly confident that Morgana is definitely cheating but no one wanting to risk it. Gwen’s gaze shifts between them before she shakes her head, curls tumbling past her shoulders. “Honestly,” she gripes, “aren’t you all supposed to be some of the most fearsome fighters in Camelot? It’s Morgana.”

“Yes,” Arthur repeats, “it’s Morgana.” Not understanding what Gwen clearly isn’t getting.

Gwen rolls her eyes, “Morgana, I love you dearly, but we all know you’re a rotten cheat even when you’re not supposed to be.”

Morgana presses a hand to her heart, looking comedically aghast, “Gwen, you wound me.”

“Cheat.” Gwen announces, leaning over to flip the cards.

Morgana had the decency to put down one real eight, but her ten and queen expose her for her treachery and she humbly takes her losses without much fuss.

Percival leans over to whisper in Lancelot’s ear, “Your woman is certainly something isn’t she?”

Lancelot smiles, rubbing his thumb over Gwen’s knee. “That she certainly is.”

It takes three more rounds for the game to end, Elyan barely able to contain himself as his turn arrives and he slaps two cards down, all but vibrating, “TWO KINGS!” he shouts and Gwaine swears.

“There is no way-”

“Elyan you utter snake, you held back last round-”

“Oh fuck OFF-”

“Cheat!!” Merlin yells, “Cheat! Cheat!”

And as this was the exact thing Elyan had been waiting for, he flips over his two cards with a flourish, revealing two perfect kings and beams.

“Sorry Arthur,” he says extremely unapologetically, “guess you really are the worst but how would you characterize me you think?” he pretends to think, “Is the complete and absolute best sufficient you think?”

Arthur slaps his mouth to keep from laughing, trying to look angry at his loss but unable to stop himself from being stupidly amused by Elyan’s utter glee.

“You’ve always been such a rotten winner.” Gwen teases, mirth dancing in her eyes.

“Maybe if you weren’t such rotten players-” Elyan begins before Gwaine grabs him in a headlock.

“Rematch! I demand a rematch! And this time to a game of skill!”

Lancelot’s lip flicks up, “You really do have bad luck, Gwaine.”

“And don’t I know it!”

“Well you know what we absolutely can’t play.” Arthur says, sneaking a sideways glance at Merlin.

“Arthur you’re such a baby,” Merlin groans, “it was one time.”

“It was certainly not one time. Did you all know,” Arthur pauses for dramatic effect, “that Merlin didn’t tell me he had magic because he wanted to keep cheating at dice games?”

Merlin’s jaw drops, “That is NOT why- are you-”

But Arthur’s head is thrown back in laughter, looking more beautiful than Merlin has ever seen him. So struck by him is he, that Merlin doesn’t even notice when Lancelot clicks his tongue in admonishment, “The lengths to which you’d go to just to win. Shame Merlin.”

“Lance!”

Lancelot shrugs playfully and Merlin scowls, “I’m bringing the dice set right now and you’ll see I don’t need tricks to beat any of you.”

Percival whistles, “Those are fighting words Merlin, care to wager on it?”

“Oh absolutely.” Merlin quips, “I’ll bet you four acorns and a twig.”

Percival laughs, a booming, hearty thing, “All I brought with me were stones. Another time I suppose.”

Chapter Text

The myth unfurls all on its own. Stories start to spread across all of Camelot, told by the sparrows and the starlings and the robins midflight. Across the kingdom, calls for help soar through the skies, falling into Merlin’s open hands. Word begins to spread. When you’re in trouble they say, give your plea to the sky and help would arrive. Arthur becomes part myth part legend, appearing at the time of greatest need, asking for nothing in return. With his group of banished heroes, he prevents floods, beckons the crops to grow once more, slays monstrous beasts, and dismantles rogues in one fell swoop.

The rumors fly, there is nothing this banished prince cannot do. They say his hair glitters like the sun, that his armour was hammered by the old gods themselves. They say that his sword can cut through stone, that the earth itself whispers in his ear. They say he takes with him warriors more fierce than could ever be imagined and sorcerers who could make mountains bow in awe of their might.

The Exiles travel across the kingdom, helping where they can, sleeping under the stars, a deeper sense of purpose than anything they’ve ever known guiding their every move. Two seasons pass and the people begin to chant their name. When they see their horses approach, villagers throw open their windows and flood out into the street knowing their prayers have been answered.

The Exiles come and do what is needed, hoping only for their open mindedness. Merlin teaches magic to little children with sparks in their hands. Gwaine takes new lovers, pouring endless adoration into each one, parting with smiles every time. Lancelot and Gwen dance in every town they visit, sometimes in a feast, often alone. Elyan finds boys who want to learn, showing them how to tie feathers to the ends of arrows and point them straight and true. Percival listens to the stories of people with no one left to share them with, holding them while they cry. Arthur looks on with pride, looking down at his hands and thinking about Iseldir and the wisdom he had shared.

Look what I have built, he wants to say. Look at what you helped me do. He didn’t need a title or a throne or a crown, he could be the hero all on his own. Through just his unfailing heart. Because of simply who he is and the lengths he will go to, to never give up. Power was never the goal, it’s the tool and he understands it now. He finally gets it.

He doesn’t need the crown to be Arthur of Camelot. Look at how the people make him theirs simply because of who he is. He is a hero, not because he sought to be, but because they’ve decided he is.

Maybe he was too wrapped up in his own accomplishments. Maybe he was naïve. Maybe he’ll never grow up, a child blinded by want, always. Maybe that’s why he always misses the signs. Each and every time.

Arthur catches Morgana looking at him, her expression is unreadable. He walks over to her, jostling her gently in the shoulder. “We should be celebrating Morgana. We didn’t even have to try all that hard taking out those bandits.” He says smugly, not noticing the shadow pass her face.

“And we just leave them here? For the knights to fetch, just like always?” she asks tonelessly.

“Not much else we can do. Villages don’t normally have the kind of facilities to deal with people like that.”

Morgana says nothing, “The people love you now.” She comments mildly and something warm flourishes inside of him before he tries to temper it.

“Not always.” He reminds her. “There are still those who think I’ve been tossed out for good reason. People who still run us down to burn you and Merlin at the stake.”

Morgana flinches and Arthur wants to slap himself. “I don’t know why I said that. I’d never let that happen.”

The wind blows and the branches bend in Arthur’s direction, shadows rippling across his face. He looks like Uther. For a moment.

“I know you wouldn’t.” Morgana replies quietly. “But surely you feel…don’t you feel like things have changed?”

Arthur looks out into the crowd, watching as women barter over radishes and men haul bales of hay on their backs. “We’re almost there Morgana. There’s still more to do, I can feel it.”

A little girl runs toward them, stopping just shy of them. She clasps her hands in front of her, her timidness ridiculously endearing, “Miss. Morgana?” she asks and Morgana takes a moment to register the girl’s presence.

When she does, she smiles, bending down, “How can I help you darling?”

“I picked some flowers for you, can I umm…can I braid them in your hair? It’s so pretty.” She gushes, eyes round like saucers.

Morgana’s lip quirks up, “That’s very kind of you…”

“Emmeline!” the girl helpfully supplies.

“That’s very kind of you Emmeline. I’d love that.”

Arthur waves her off, chuckling to himself as he imagines Morgana in a conversation with an eight-year-old. Optimism floods his heart and when he looks up at the sky, he feels like the whole world is pleased with him, it’s the exact colour of his eyes.

Later that night, he will be deprived of his daily Merlin time, so busy they are during the day they rarely cross paths until the evening. Morgana has monopolized him once more, now close to draining him of all his knowledge and spells. Across their travels, they’ve acquired more magic books, new things for both of them to learn together. Tonight, Morgana has once again returned to transfiguration.

“I just don’t understand why I can’t pick it up.” She complains, poring over the book once more.

Merlin pats her on the back sympathetically. “We’re all shite at something or other.” He says, like that’s even remotely comforting.

She glares at him and he laughs, pressing a messy kiss to her brow. She softens then, “You’re lucky you’re so adorable.” She retorts sullenly.

“That’s what Arthur says too, believe it or not.”

Morgana wrinkles her nose, “And now you’ve ruined it.”

“Look,” Merlin tries again, taking the book out of her hands and picking up a small rock. “Transfiguration is as much about visualization as it is about pushing your magic out in the right formation.” Merlin twists the rock in his hand, brows furrowed in concentration, “You have to really see what you’re trying to bring about and want it.”

His eyes flash gold and the rock transforms into a metal sigil bearing the Pendragon crest. Morgana gasps, grabbing it in her hands and turning it over and over. “And it’ll just- it’ll stay like that?”

Merlin nods, “It’ll always give off a magical aura though, I think only powerful sorcerers will be able to pick up on things like that but,” he shrugs, “I’m not really sure if I’m honest. Gaius would know.” He says wistfully and Morgana pats his knee kindly.

“Can you sense auras?” she asks, head tilted just so. “What’s it feel like?”

“I can most of the time.” Merlin frowns, “I can’t always pinpoint what kind of magic it is, but Iseldir told me that would come with time. When you feel it, the closest thing I can describe is how you know what something tastes like. Like with dark magic, I’ll know it tastes bitter but I don’t know enough to determine exactly what kind.”

Morgana nods before handing the sigil back. “Magic is more complicated than I could ever have thought.”

“Well, good thing we’re doing it together then, isn’t it.”

Merlin smiles and Morgana’s own is sadder than he knows. “Thank you.” She says suddenly, “For teaching me and for…for everything else.”

Merlin blinks in surprise before nudging her with his shoulder, “We’re friends Morgana. Family at this point.” He gives her a small laugh, “I know that…I know that I was standoffish when you first came to us but I was just…I was so consumed by fear of the unknown that it made me jump at my own shadow.”

“Are you not anymore?” Morgana asks, “Afraid?”

Merlin traces the dragon on the sigil, rubbing his thumb over the grooves again and again. “I’ll always be worried.” He says finally, “But- and don’t tell Arthur this,” he warns, “but the way he’s changed has been….” He shakes his head, “He makes me feel like everything is going to be alright and for some reason, when he says it, gods help me, I believe it.”

“He does that, doesn’t he?” Morgana muses, catching a glimpse of Arthur roughhousing with Gwaine playfully, “Inspires you without meaning to.” She pauses and the world silences, “Almost like a king.”

Merlin catches her eye, “One day Morgana.” He promises, “It’s just hard for him, to take something he doesn’t think he’s entitled to. That he hasn’t earned or deserved.”

Morgana’s eyes flash and Merlin places a steadying hand over her own, “Obviously we know that isn’t true but it’s like Lancelot once said: Arthur can see the good in everyone else but himself.”

Morgana doesn’t look at him, “What would you do Merlin? For love.”

A familiar pit opens up in Merlin’s stomach. He doesn’t like thinking about questions like that. Is more afraid of the answer than of anything else.

His fist curls. “Whatever it took.”

She tilts her chin at him, “I don’t think you mean that.”

“You don’t know what I’d do Morgana.” There’s a future that never was that haunts them both in Merlin’s voice. “What I’d do for you too.”

Her lip lifts in a ghost of a smile, “I’ll always wonder if I love him too much or not enough.” She whispers, almost to herself.

He’s about to ask her what she means when she stands, running a hand through his hair, “Good night, Merlin. Thanks for the lesson.”

And Merlin will go to seek out the love of his life and he will smile into their kisses and bicker and laugh at his expense and will forget all about the strangeness in Morgana’s sad eyes because Arthur is holding his ear against his heartbeat and saying listen. Listen to how it calls your name.

In Arthur’s arms, everything is always alright.

The next morning, Morgana wakes them all up with the high and mighty snobbishness of a born and bred Lady. “You’re all filthy.” She scolds them, “And you’re ruining a perfectly good morning with your stench.”

Gwaine slaps a hand to his heart, looking wounded but Morgana points an accusatory finger at him, “And don’t get me started on your socks Gwaine!”

Elyan snorts, quickly hiding his laugh lest Morgana turn on him next. Sheepishly, all the men slink to the river where Morgana watches, arms crossed and glaring, as they jump in one after the other. Gwen appears behind her, modestly averting her eyes as she puts out her and Morgana’s new set of clothes to wear once the boys are done so they can bathe next.

Elyan pops his head out of the water, “Gwen, would you mind seeing if you could mend my shirt? It’s torn near the waist.”

Gwen looks up, giving him a wry grin, “I expect you’d like me to wash it too, wouldn’t you?”

At this, everyone pipes up, begging for her help and her hands fly to her waist. “I want a deer for dinner then.” She announces, “I’m tired of stew.”

“I’ll get you two.” Percival promises and Gwen laughs.

In a chorus of louder and louder voices, they promise her whatever her heart desires and extremely graciously, Gwen makes a big show of collecting their pile of clothes as they cheer. Morgana gets up to help, taking an armful of trousers from her arms, “Honestly Gwen,” she tsks, “you should be meaner to them.”

“Oh it’s alright.” Gwen’s curls dance around her face, “We all contribute in our own ways and besides, I’d way rather do this than cook. Thank the lord for Merlin.”

“He’s surprisingly good, isn’t he? Elyan too.” Morgana muses and they turn to each and giggle.

It’s a beautiful day, the sun is warm but the air is cool and crisp. When the men emerge from the river, ready to share, Morgana points in the direction of a large rock. “Merlin, Arthur, I put your clothes out there to dry, here are your spares in the meantime. Now get out of here. If I catch anyone looking, I’ll gouge out your eyes.”

And knowing that she would, the men sprint right back to camp.

A week later, they’re in the village of Amaranth, off to hunt another magical beast, though this time, they’re pretty sure it’s only a griffon and what a thing to say, only a griffon. They dispatch it quickly enough and Morgana gets sent to go into town and refresh some of their supplies, mostly cloth, given how quickly their clothing gets destroyed doing the simplest things.

“You’re all driving me mad, you know.” Gwen had chastised them as everyone bowed their heads in shame.

“Would it help if we sang your praises?” Arthur asked and Gwen’s lip twitched, unable to help herself.

Lancelot grinned, “She really is the loveliest of everything.”

“Stop it,” Gwen’s cheeks flushed, “you’re just going to embarrass me.”

“But you’re so pretty!” Gwaine yelled out, laughing as Gwen buried her face behind her hands, “And strong-”

“Don’t forget talented.” Percival added and Gwaine nodded profusely.

“And talented and-”

“Stop it! Stop it! Fine! I forgive you!”

Arthur had thrown his head back and laughed and Merlin had bottled up the sound, replayed it over and over again. He thinks about it now, as he sees Morgana walk back to camp, a basket overflowing with goods in her arms.

Merlin leaps to his feet, reaching to take it from her. His fingers brush her wrist and he jolts backward, heart beating like a warning drum. Morgana’s wearing a bracelet, a simple metal band, carved with symbols, but it pulses with foreign energy, of something familiar. Something malign.

“Merlin?” she asks, tilting her head.

“I-” his brows furrow, “Did you just get that?” he asks lamely and Morgana blinks before glancing down at her wrist.

“Oh this?” she smiles fondly, “A kind woman gave it to me at the market. Isn’t it lovely?”

Merlin can’t shake the feeling that he’s seen this before. Or not seen exactly. Felt. Yes, he’s felt this before. There’s something about it, some magical aura. A flavour he’s tasted.

“It’s magic.”

“Yes, the woman said it was for luck.” Morgana looks at him curiously. “Are you alright, Merlin?”

He’s still distracted, staring almost too intently. “Yes, sorry, here, let me take that.”

Merlin reaches for the basket, carefully avoiding touching her this time as he does. There’s a nagging feeling in the back of his mind, something obvious and it hits him when he’s set the basket down and is back inside his own tent. Merlin pulls out his jacket, still slightly damp from the wash and digs around in the secret pocket he’d asked Gwen to sew in his jacket inner lining. Finding what he’s looking for, he pulls out the pouch that contained Morgause’s coin. The energy he’d felt, it had throbbed with the same kind of dangerous spirit but when he holds the coin between his fingers, he realizes he was wrong.

There’s still a negative swirl to the coin but it’s different than Morgana’s bracelet. There are layers that are familiar, it’s true, but he had been so sure…they had felt near identical in his mind what-

“There you are!” Arthur disturbs him from his thoughts and Merlin jumps, the coin falling to the ground.

Arthur frowns when he sees it, “What are you doing with that?”

Merlin looks back at the coin, taking it in hand once more, “Nothing I…I thought that…”

“Enough with your worrying Merlin.” Arthur dismisses, waving a hand, “Haven’t you spent enough time trying to decipher its secrets?”

This actually, is true, and oddly enough, is what comforts Merlin enough to drop it back into the pouch, hidden in his pocket.

“Did you come here for something important or just to harp at me?” Merlin asks, lip quirking up at Arthur’s offended face.

“Maybe if there weren’t so many things to critique you for, I’d do it less.” Arthur shrugs and Merlin’s jaw drops with comedic exaggeration.

“Oh says the man who still doesn’t know how to cook an egg in a pan.”

Arthur colours, “It was only a little burnt!”

“Arthur! Even Gwaine wouldn’t eat it! And he’d eat a skunk if you let him.”

“That’s enough out of you.” Arthur threatens before leaping across the tent and tackling Merlin in a mess of limbs and awkward angles, both of them laughing too hard to properly pin the other down.

It doesn’t matter anyway. They weren’t planning on wrestling anyway.

Three months pass and the rumors begin. Birds filter in from the east. They soar through the skies in a panic, their song no longer melodic but strained. Arthur unfurls the notes one by one, stomach clenching. There are sightings that don’t make sense. Riders on black horses crossing the border from Cenred’s kingdom. The sound of a thousand hooves. Wagons of supplies being driven to border villages. He shares it with the group, everyone’s faces grave.  

“Is Cenred fortifying the border?” Percival asks, a low-lying anger licking his words.

“But why? Has Camelot signalled any antagonism?” Arthur answers with a question of his own.

“Let me ask Gaius. He might know.” Merlin offers, calling Elly to him. “If Cenred is just increasing his support to his outlying villages, that’s not necessarily a cause for alarm.”

Arthur nods slowly, “Let’s wait for Gaius then. And why not send a note to your mother Merlin. Let’s make sure she’s alright.”

Merlin presses a kiss to his cheek before running off, his magic radiating off of him, summoning another bird.

“It’s probably nothing Arthur.” Morgana assures him, “We shouldn’t let this distract us. What would you even do anyway?” she asks almost snidely.

Arthur doesn’t answer and bored or disappointed, Morgana walks away.

Two weeks pass, the time flowing quick as they partake in the simple act of helping with a harvest, carrying baskets up and down the bountiful fields. When a robin lands on Merlin’s finger, he’s oddly alone, walking through the woods to go forage some herbs to share with the local physician. He recognizes Gaius’ handwriting immediately and stops what he’s doing to read the whole thing, eyes widening as he does.

When he’s done, he burns the pages, the ashes whisked away by the wind.

And just like in the very beginning of it all, there’s another secret weighing him down. And just like last time, he swallows it down into the darkest part of himself that abandons all pretense of ethics. For Arthur, Merlin had relinquished his fear but the crevices in his ribs it had once filled remained ever empty, ready to embrace his paranoia once more. He feels the familiar heaviness settle inside him and perversely- feels more grounded than he’s ever been without it.

We become addicted to our burdens. When they become who you are rather than what you carry, the battle’s already lost and so is every war after.

There are ashes on his fingertips, he wipes his hands on the grass furiously, determined to leave no trace behind. No, he thinks, no one can ever know.

Not even Arthur.

When he gets back to the village, Merlin is careful to be extra cheery. He greets Lancelot with a hearty clap to the back and when he finds Arthur, leans his chin on his shoulder, peering at what he’s looking at. Arthur doesn’t acknowledge him really, just pets his hair absently and turns back to the map he’s studying.

“Figuring out our next move?” Merlin asks.

The lines on Arthur’s face deepen and unconsciously, Merlin wraps his arms around his waist, squeezing. “We could just stay here for a bit.” Merlin murmurs, “Regroup, think about our next step. Maybe wait to hear about what’s going on at the border.”

Arthur stiffens, turning in his embrace, “Have you heard back yet?”

Merlin opens his mouth but this time, the lies don’t come out as easily as they used to. It’s not like it was anymore. He and Arthur aren’t like how they were anymore. There’s no bumbling his way out of this, relying on his foolish demeanor to see him through. Arthur’s looking at him expectantly, not a hint of distrust in his eyes and it kills every part of him when he says, “Yes, but Camelot has given no signal to Cenred’s kingdom that they should be expecting any hostility.”

This at least, is true.

It’s cold comfort.

Arthur frowns harder, teeth scraping. “You don’t think-”

Merlin rushes to comfort him. “Why would Cenred attack now? He knows how formidable Camelot’s army is and he is well aware of Uther’s ruthlessness.”

He should maybe mention something right about now. Something pivotal. But he doesn’t and he won’t and Arthur still looks uncertain.

“We can go take a look?” Merlin suggests, hating himself as he does.

The last thing he wants is Arthur embroiled in someone else’s war, but he knows that Arthur won’t rest until he knows exactly what’s happening. It’s what he loves and hates the most.

“It’ll be risky.” Arthur says slowly, “Let’s see what everyone says. They’ve always given us wise counsel.”  

Merlin doesn’t think Arthur even realizes what he’s said, doesn’t have it register the way it does in Merlin’s head where it echoes and booms. They’re a team, him and Arthur. Some of the nobility used a royal we, an arrogant and self-aggrandizing way of speaking that only alienated kings from their people. But with Arthur, it always meant him and Merlin. Together, in all things.

The guilt festers in Merlin’s stomach. His words burn like acid on his tongue.

“We can talk about it tonight.” Merlin promises and Arthur gives him a kiss before turning away to stare at the unmoving mountain ranges of far-off lands.

While their group was made up of many distinct minds, they usually tended to think similarly when it came to their future plans. Discrepancies were typically about order of priority or logistics but this time, it’s a full-scale debate.

“We have no purpose there.” Morgana pronounces, eyes razing, “Why should we go?”

Percival frowns beside her, everything about him made of stone. “Cenred deserves everything he has coming to him. And we can give him plenty.”

“It’s too risky.” Gwen insists, “We should gather more intelligence before we go wandering into a foreign kingdom.”

Gwaine, uncharacteristically, agrees, “It could be a trap, Arthur. You told me before that Cenred tried to snatch you and Merlin up from Ealdor. What if he’s the one sending the notes? Or other sympathizers of his cause. We’re good.” He asserts, “But we’re not fight an entire army alone good.”

“Since when were you averse to risk?” Elyan scrunches his face in disbelief, “If the worse is still to come, then we need to warn the court. Give the army time to prepare.”

“Don’t they have sentries? Scouts? What are we needed for?” Gwaine argues and Morgana nods her head.

“Exactly. This is a military problem. Not a traveling group of vagabonds one.”

There’s a flurry of voices, exploding left and right. Arthur watches them all, eyes flicking between them and he settles on Lancelot, the only one still sitting down, arms perched on his knees, thoughtful eyes watching the blades of grass flutter.

“Lancelot, what of you?” Arthur asks and the clearing quiets.

Lancelot looks up, his eyes the brown of the trees and the earth and all life nourishing things. “If we get into trouble, we’ll be entirely on our own, and with us, we have people we cannot lose. But if war really is coming to Camelot then I can think of no better group to weaken their defenses with than us.”

Lancelot stands, looking each one in the eye, “What have we been doing all this time if not protecting this kingdom the way only we can? We’ve been prepared to risk our lives every time we traveled somewhere new, what makes this any different?”

Arthur nods, “You have all raised things to be considered.”

“Arthur, this is no debate.” Morgana cuts in, fervent, “We should leave this to Camelot.”

“It will take almost a fortnight to reach Essetir’s borders from here,” Gwaine replies, shaking his head, “shouldn’t we just signal to Camelot that there’s a threat and have them instruct the men they already have posted there?”

“It’s possible they’re dead.” Arthur says plainly, “If it were me, I would have sent a small force and taken out the squad patrols and learned their signal codes. Then I’d move small battalions closer to the border, using the villages we pass to replenish supplies and recruit more men. Once I’ve gotten to the border, I would take the mountain route to keep myself hidden and then split off the army.”

Gwaine’s eyes light up, despite the weakening of his own argument, “A main force to attack directly and a secondary, smaller one to approach from behind essentially?”

Arthur nods. “Camelot is an impregnable fortress so I’d want to have it surrounded, but it does have a weakness. I doubt Cenred knows anything about it though. Regardless, having a smaller, more mobile force, would be useful tactically.”

Morgana frowns, “What weakness?”

A playful smile darts over Arthur’s lips, “Surely you remember the siege tunnels we used to play in Morgana. An entire army could sneak in entirely undetected and emerge right within the city walls if they knew how to find them. That’s what I’d use the smaller troop for and distract Camelot with the giant force right outside their door. They’d never see the attack coming and you could just open the door for the invaders.”

Morgana eyes him, expressionless, “You’ve certainly thought a lot about this.”

Arthur crosses his arms, “I was the crown prince Morgana, thinking about ways we could get attacked and preventing them was sort of my job.”

“Well did you ever think of a good defense?” she pushes and at this, Arthur looks away.

“Short of closing the tunnels, there’s nothing we can do. We can’t post defensemen at the entrance because that eliminates the whole secrecy element. You could of course, add soldiers within it to defend it but it would be a waste of resources when the tunnel maps are so closely guarded a secret, as are the tunnels’ very existence.”

Morgana nods, but her lips betray her emotion. Misconstruing which emotion that is entirely, Arthur gives her his most comforting smile, “It’s alright Morgana, there’s no way Cenred could know, we’re entirely fine.”

“Maybe we should…” there’s fear in her eyes, that’s clear to see and she fiddles with her bracelet, “Maybe we should close the tunnel entrance. Merlin and I could go do it. We’re not that far from the citadel.”

“The king will know it’s me.”

Arthur does that now, calls him the king instead of father. It hurts Merlin’s heart.

Morgana angles her chin, her hair falling over her ears, “Let him know.”

Arthur shakes his head, firm. “He’s let us do what we please for this long Morgana, I don’t want to tempt him to go after us.”

“Well if there really is war, he’ll be thanking us won’t he?” she replies flippantly and he sighs.

“No-”

“Do you just not trust us with the entrance location?” Morgana steps in closer, like a dare, “Is that it?”

Arthur’s eyes widen stupendously, “What? Of course not-”

“Then let us go close it, it will at least ease your anxieties and we can rest assured that if we fail and if somehow Cenred knows about them, he won’t be able to use it.”

“She has a point, Arthur.” Elyan offers, almost apologetically.

Arthur’s lip pulls, “Everyone thinks this way then?”

A series of non-committal shrugs and affirmations makes him run a hand through his hair. “We can’t have both our magic users gone-”

“Then I’ll go.” Morgana volunteers, “And I’ll take Gwaine.”

Gwaine blinks in surprise but gives her a lazy smirk.

“We’ll be back in a week’s time at most and by then, I hope you will have made up your mind not to go.” She finishes, gesturing for Gwaine to follow her to pack. “You can draw us a map before we leave.”

Merlin watches her leave, an inscrutable shadow in his eyes. “Arthur,” he says quietly, standing just behind him, “do you really think this is a good idea?”

“No.” Arthur confesses, “But I meant what I said. The tunnels are the best way to infiltrate Camelot. Maybe this is for the best.”

Merlin bites his lip but says nothing. The wind rushes past him, it’s icy cold to the touch. Merlin feels the explicable urge to hold Arthur then, feels a compulsion almost akin to his magic. He looks at the sky, at the foreboding grey streaking through it. What are you trying to tell me? He asks, watching as the trees almost sag as Arthur walks by. A leaf drops next to his feet, it’s like a mourning song.

Gaius’ words burn in his memory and Merlin turns away.

There is nothing pressing to be done in the village they’re in and Arthur directs them to a week of training until Morgana and Gwaine return. Merlin dedicates himself to his books, reading and rereading, trying to memorize everything that could be useful, wishes he could summon the power of the gods themselves. What he wouldn’t give for Arthur never to have to fight again.

Merlin is hunched over his tomes, the light of the fire making the words flicker up and off the pages. He rubs at his eyes, squinting to focus when strong hands pull him up. “Bed-time Merlin.” Arthur’s voice is smooth, cascading over Merlin’s cheek and he shivers.

“I have to-”

“What you have to do is sleep.” Arthur interrupts, closing his book and tucking it under his arm, “Don’t make me carry you.” He threatens.

“Sounds like a good time.” Merlin mumbles without thinking and one second later, he’s hauled off the ground, thrown over Arthur’s shoulder like he weighs nothing at all.

It infuriates him to no end that he finds that more attractive than he should.

Arthur tosses him atop the bedroll unceremoniously, lip flicking up at Merlin’s indignant squawk. Arthur takes off his boots and unbuckles his belt. When he’s done, he crouches down before Merlin, slowly unlacing his own shoes and sliding them off. Without breaking eye contact, he unties Merlin’s ever-present scarf before taking hold of his face in both hands and kissing him. Merlin closes his eyes, just wants to savour it, wants to taste it, wants to hold this feeling against his chest and never let it go.

When Arthur pulls away, it’s to fall back and cross his legs, looking at Merlin expectantly. “I’ve given you all day Merlin, now out with it.”

Merlin stops, “What?”

“You’ve been acting strange.” Arthur replies flatly.

Absolutely affronted, Merlin’s expression twists, “I have not. I’ve been perfectly normal!”

“To everyone else maybe.” Arthur concedes airily, “But I know you. I know every inch of that ridiculous face and I know when you’re hiding something.”

Merlin flinches.

“I’m-”

“Merlin,” Arthur almost deflates right in front of him, “There are many things I miss about our lives before.” His hand reaches for Merlin’s hair, just stroking it, “I miss my bed, cook’s tarts, the ability to buy things,” he laughs, “but the one thing I don’t miss at all is you keeping things from me, so I’ll ask you once more.”

Merlin’s voice is just a whisper. “And if I don’t answer?”

Arthur draws back, quiet resignation writing itself in his eyes, “Then you don’t answer and I make up a hundred reasons why.”

His defeat is a knife in Merlin’s ribs. It’s the smell of smoke as he is tied to a pyre. It is the sharp sting of a single taste of belladonna. Arthur shifts to go to his own side when Merlin grabs him, “Wait!”

Blind hope bursts on Arthur’s face and Merlin wants to explode. Gods, he can’t do this. He can’t do this again. He can’t do it ever again. This love is too uncontrollable, he would do anything, give anything, say anything, just to keep that smile on Arthur’s face. Yes, if he could go back in time and keep it all from him he would, but he can’t do that just as he cannot lie to him anymore now that he knows the truth.

Sometimes I wonder if I love him too much or not enough.

Morgana’s words echo in his head and once again Merlin thinks, I don’t know, I don’t know. He’s never been able to think clearly when it came to Arthur. Not then and certainly not now.

“It was Gaius’ letter, wasn’t it?” Arthur spares him from having to find the words and like all the fight has gone out of him, Merlin sways, closing his eyes.

“I burned it after I read it.”

“Were you afraid?”

Merlin meets his eyes, “Yes.” He confesses, hating himself, “There’s…” Merlin clutches at his head, shaking, “I can’t stop hearing the dragon in my head, warning me.”

Arthur grabs Merlin’s hands, stopping him from his tugging and firmly, but tenderly, puts them down in his lap, “Warning you of what Merlin?”

“Morgana.”

Arthur flares, shaking his head, mouth already open to argue.

“Listen to me Arthur, listen. I don’t know why he said it. It was when I tried to get him to help me find a Druid camp to take Morgana to, he said it would be in our best interest if she never learned the true extent of her power. That she couldn’t be trusted.”

“He’s a bloody dragon,” Arthur argues, “what does he know of Morgana?”

Merlin just looks at him helplessly, “I didn’t think anything of it either. I still don’t really…but listen to me Arthur, Gaius told me something and you shouldn’t be hearing it from me and I wanted to hide it from you because I just- I don’t want to be the one to hurt you, Arthur.”

A flicker of fear sparks but Arthur swallows it down, squeezing Merlin’s hands. “Tell me Merlin,” he commands, “before I can’t stand it anymore.”

“After you and Morgana both left…Uther hasn’t been the same. He says things sometimes, things he doesn’t mean to say and there’s a secret that got out. One that Gaius is worried will make it out of the castle and he wanted us to know from him first.”

Merlin takes a breath, “Morgana is your half-sister. Gorlois was never her father, Uther had an affair with Vivienne and they both hid it. That’s why Uther took Morgana in, when Gorlois died. It’s why he’s always been so consumed with attaining her love.” Merlin meets his eyes, “She’s his daughter.”

Arthur’s grip over Merlin, so tight moments before, disappears entirely. Merlin watches the entirety of his identity crumble, shards of his childhood scattering across the floor. Arthur shakes his head, mouth opening before closing again. Merlin knows the moment that Arthur accepts what he says to be true by the sheen that glistens in his eyes for just a second before he blinks them furiously away.

Arthur takes a staggered breath, “How could he do that to us?” he shouts, face reddening by the second. “How could he never tell us?? She’s my- and he never-!”

Merlin surges forward, enveloping Arthur completely, tucking his head into his chest as though he could shield him from his own heart. Merlin hasn’t even said what he’s truly afraid of yet. Hasn’t even given voice to the awful whispers in his head, the traitorous thoughts that thrum through him.

“I’ll never understand the way your father’s mind works.” He says in a rush, “He was wrong about this just as he was wrong about so many other things.”

Arthur shakes his head again, gripping Merlin tighter, “You don’t understand Merlin, you don’t understand how many things would’ve been different. How much I was robbed.”

Merlin pats his back, knowing the difference between when Arthur wanted him to fill the room with words so he wouldn’t have to think and when Arthur was a flood, surging.

“He let us think she was there out of the kindness of his heart. He would take her to Gorlois’ grave- who does that? How could he do that? He watched her sob for weeks Merlin, weeks. All she wanted was a father and he could have given her one. He could’ve ended so much of her suffering.”

She would’ve still felt betrayed, Merlin thinks, but doesn’t point that out. The world was sometimes so simple in Arthur’s eyes. Perfectly formed boxes for heroes and villains.

“He probably did it for you.” Merlin says quietly and Arthur stills before pulling away, deadly serious.

“I never asked to be born and I never asked for the crown, and yet my father has committed unspeakable sins to ensure both. What kind of love is that, Merlin? He didn’t do it for me he did it for his heir.”

And oh how Merlin’s heart weeps.

“I’m just a sculpture for his own legacy, for him to carve into me everything about himself he wants to pass on. He took so much. From me, from Morgana, the people. He doesn’t deserve to be king.” Arthur sobs and Merlin’s eyes widen. “Maybe Morgana was right. Maybe I-”

Arthur falls into Merlin’s shoulder, stubbornly swallowing his cries. Merlin’s arms are anchors, they keep Arthur steady, even amidst this terrible storm. Arthur’s tears are hot against Merlin’s collar, they drip down his skin, permeating into the fabric of his shirt. Merlin cradles Arthur’s head, lips brushing his hair, fingers rubbing circles in his neck.

The night drags on, the crickets never miss a beat. Merlin’s eyes flutter closed then flash open. Somehow, he finds himself falling down, wrapping himself around Arthur as he does. He shushes him to sleep, tells him he loves him, tells him they’ll overcome this as they overcame everything else. That this time, he’ll be the one to make sure everything is alright.

That everything will always be alright.

Arthur doesn’t call him a liar though Merlin knows he’s lying through his teeth.

When he wakes up, it’s to Arthur brooding, one leg outstretched, the other bent, his arm resting upon it. “I’m going to tell her.” He announces when he sees Merlin stir and suddenly Merlin is wide awake, heart hammering.

“What? No, you- Why?” he isn’t even coherent, bits of sleep stuck in his eyes and his mind still fuzzy from dreams.

Arthur frowns, “What do you mean why? She’s my sister, Merlin. She deserves to know.”

“Arthur,” he tries hesitantly, choosing his words carefully, “just think for a moment about where Morgana is, emotionally speaking. She already hates your father, if she learns this too, I fear what she might do.”

Arthur’s expression hardens, “I hate it when you speak in riddles Merlin, just say what you mean!” he snaps.

“I’m not trying to upset you!” Merlin clamours upward, facing Arthur head-on, “Stop acting like I’m trying to be provocative, you know that I would never-”

“Never what? Think the worst of someone just because prophecy tells you to?”

Merlin jerks back, expression crumbling. “That’s not fair.” His voice is hoarse.

“Isn’t it? This wouldn’t be the first time you were quick to burn someone whose only crime was being disliked by a manipulative old dragon with his own agenda.”

“He was foretold to kill you! What was I supposed to think?? And in the end, I helped you rescue him didn’t I!”

“And later?” Arthur pushes, something mean in his eyes and Merlin hates this version of him, the one that lashes out when he’s pushed into a corner.

“When I told you about what I did, you held me.” Merlin’s voice shakes and this at last, penetrates Arthur’s hard veneer.

“Because you made that decision alone in a high-intensity situation but none of those things are true of right now! You can’t keep relying on visions and fortune telling and things that aren’t real. They’re not for certain Merlin! How much of our lives do you want to tarnish because someone else tells you to!”

Merlin’s eyes flash, fire crackling “I love her too Arthur! You’re not the only person who cares about her!”

“Sure doesn’t seem that way.”

“You won’t look at her as she is! You’ve only ever seen what you want to.” Merlin’s words are hot on his tongue, they burn his lips but he’s too far gone to stop now, “It’s not just about prophecy. It’s her anger, her wild nature. She has more power than you realize Arthur. If she wanted, she could storm Camelot herself and kill him in his own throne.”

Arthur’s jaw clicks and they stare at each other, sharp and hard and so unlike the night before.

Merlin’s voice is quiet. “I might be too quick to suspect, it’s true. But you’re too quick to overlook.”

Arthur sucks in a breath and all at once, he’s out of the tent, stomping off to gods know where and Merlin buries his face in his hands and tries hard not to scream.

They spend the whole day apart, Merlin doesn’t leave their tent, content to just sit there and simmer with it all. An hour or so passes and he forces himself to venture out, sure that Arthur is doing what he can and determined not be useless laying about.

Arthur of course, has no idea that Merlin has pinpointed him so accurately, but he is, at the moment, mid-swing, teaching ten young boys how to dodge a punch. It’s a bit pointless teaching them about weaponry when they don’t even have a village blacksmith but you didn’t need steel to defend yourself. Arthur’s fist just grazes George’s head and the boy startles, close to losing his balance.

“Almost.” Arthur tries to be encouraging and George sighs.

“Again!” he asks and Arthur shakes his head.

“Practice with William, I haven’t gotten a chance to show the others yet.”

George sulks but does as he’s told and Arthur goes on to the next one, carefully making his way down the line so everyone gets a bit of his attention.

“Need any help?” Lancelot asks and Arthur looks up with guarded eyes before he shakes himself out of it.

“That’d be appreciated.” He says at last and as the sun slides its way down the sky, more and more of the boys are called back to their homes by their mothers.

Arthur grunts, stretching his arms behind his head, patting his brow with a cloth. “That was exhausting.” He complains but Lancelot just raises a brow.

“And yet, it feels like you still have some things you’d like to work off.”

Arthur rolls his neck to look at him, “Are you offering to spar?”

“I’m offering you a loss.”

There’s a small smirk inching its way across Lancelot’s face and Arthur almost wants to laugh from the contrarian nature of it.

“You’re certainly cocky today.” Arthur drawls, pulling out his sword and bending back on his left knee.

“Something in the air maybe.” Lancelot replies before he springs forward, their blades scraping down each other.

Arthur grins, pulling back and lifting his sword on an angle. Lancelot’s clatters against his own and Arthur pushes back, jabbing to the right where he’s cut off with another block. And so they dance, metal ringing in their ears, lungs burning from exhaustion. Lancelot aims right for his throat and Arthur defends himself instinctively, somehow missing the sweep of Lancelot’s foot.

Arthur’s knees buckle beneath him and he tumbles to the ground, sword clattering. He grunts, lurching upward but the tip of Lancelot’s sword barely graces his skin. Arthur’s eyes snap to the kind brown above and for a second, a terrible rage blusters through him but it dissipates just as quickly with his next breath. His head falls to the earth and he looks up at the blotted sky.

“I guess you had reason to be cocky today.” Is his tired reply.

“Perhaps were you at your best it would not have been so easy.” Lancelot answers, sitting down beside him.

Arthur doesn’t move, just turns his face away.

“I don’t know what you mean.”

“I think duty has always been a natural burden for you to bear because you’ve only been able to do as your heart tells you. You’re lucky then, that your heart and what is right have usually always aligned.” Lancelot says, voice carried by the wind. “This can’t be the first time you’ve felt that you’ve lost your way.”

“What do you think of prophecy, Lancelot?” Arthur asks, turning to face him, “Of destiny?”

“I think there are a great many things pre-destined.” Lancelot says after a pause, “But how are we to know the difference between divine machination and human will? Everything can be changed because though the future might be written, we’ve never read it.”

Arthur looks at him, the measured tone, the calm demeanor, the quiet certainty that was such a trademark in his most noble companion.

“And if I did read it?” he asks, thinking of Kilgarrah and the Druids.

“Then change it anyway.” Lancelot answers easily, “Everyone who’s shared bits of you and Merlin’s destiny have always had their own agendas and aims. Who’s to say what is immutable and what is not? How can anything be inevitable when we always have a choice?”

It’s so long ago now, but Arthur remembers Gwaine’s odd burst of wisdom, the first time he and Merlin had ever fought. It’s all about choices. And there’s only one thing Arthur will choose every time. Over everything.

He stands up, holding out an arm and hauling Lancelot up.

“You don’t worry then?” Arthur asks, “About making the wrong ones?”

Lancelot shakes his head and when his eyes meet Arthur’s, they are sure, “Since the beginning, my choice has been to follow you and I’ve never regretted a single moment. Not one.”

Arthur swallows hard, nodding because the words don’t come for a long time. 

“One day Lancelot, you will become a knight they speak about for ages to come.”

And when they clasp arms, it feels like an oath.

When Arthur returns to camp, he goes in search of Merlin. He finds him at the river, filling up another waterskin and without announcing himself, grabs him by the shoulders and tugs him in, Merlin’s back to his chest. Arthur presses a kiss where his neck meets his shoulder and buries his face in that same hollow. “I don’t want to quarrel with you. I know you’re worried that our fates have been pre-written but I can’t accept that. There is no god perched on any of our shoulders telling us how to act. We make our own destiny Merlin.”

Merlin is silent but he raises a hand to press above Arthur’s own. “I asked you before,” Arthur whispers, “I told you I’d run away with you, that we could leave it all behind.”

At this, Merlin nearly jumps out of his skin, twisting in Arthur’s hold, “No! I’d never ask you to do that. Not now. Not with everything that’s at stake.”

Merlin’s words may have a hold on Arthur’s heart but so do Arthur’s in Merlin’s. He’s never forgotten their conversation, never forgot the shape of his own compassion, long locked up behind walls of worry and fear. Merlin doesn’t want to go back to that. He knows he has so much more to give.

“We have to stop Cenred.” Merlin says firmly.

“Then we are aligned.” Arthur looks away, “On this at least.”

“Arthur…” Merlin cups his face and Arthur leans into his touch, closing his eyes.

“She’s my sister Merlin. I’ve grown up with her for so long I barely remember life without her. I know that she is angry and I know that is frightened. But I know her, I know her heart. She would never do anything to threaten Camelot’s wellbeing.”

“And if she…if she wants the throne?” Merlin asks, so quiet Arthur can pretend not to hear it.

“That would be hard for her to accomplish even with the king dead.” There’s a detached tone to Arthur’s voice and Merlin recognizes the need to separate himself with a layer of royal tradition and politick, “While she is Uther’s daughter, she’s illegitimate. If we were both to arrive in court, she would have to amass a majority of support from the noblemen who will be more inclined to do the opposite. Of course,” he mentions offhandedly, “if I died, that would be a whole other matter but ultimately, she’ll have an uphill battle.”

Merlin’s heart freezes at the thought of Arthur, blue-lipped and limp in his arms.

“Don’t fret,” Arthur sounds exasperated, but they both know it’s forced, “I’m alive as ever. Fighting fit, remember?”

“You could give her the throne.” Merlin says and Arthur shrugs.

“I could. But I don’t think Morgana wants to be queen. She’d rather have her freedom. Even before…when by some twisted sick sense of fate, it was whispered that we should marry,” here, Arthur goes a little green, “she never understood the point of it. She’d rather be a Lady and do what she wanted than be queen and subject to Camelot.”

Merlin doesn’t really disagree, can’t really picture Morgana being happier than she would be as a trusted advisor and dignitary. She would probably be happiest of all being an envoy to the Druids, an ambassador of sorts, ensuring peace between their peoples and the wellbeing of both.

It’s because Merlin can see that future so clearly that it agonizes him all the more to know it might just be a dream.

“Come on.” Arthur tugs on his wrist gently, “Let’s go back. We have a few days of peace before we have to think about the real world once more.”

I love you, Merlin wants to say. He feels the words bubble behind his lips, deadlocked in his throat. He feels suffocated with it, the words pressing down on him from all sides. I love you, I love you, why can’t that be enough? Why is it never enough?

I love you so much my magic wraps around you just to claim you. I love you so much I don’t know who I am without you- I love you so much I’d rather not be at all than ever live without you.

“I love you.” The words he’s been breaking his heart to contain come out from Arthur’s own lips. “I know I don’t say it often, but I do. More than anything else.”

Merlin’s voice shakes, “You say it in other ways. You’re the big, strong, physical type.” He teases, leaping into Arthur’s arms to hide the wetness in his eyes.

He doesn’t even know why he feels like he might just collapse into a lake of heartaches he can’t even name anymore but he knows with a certainty he’s never felt before that he might be able to protect Arthur’s body, but there is something coming for his heart that he will never be able to stop. Arthur swings him around, laughing, and Merlin closes his eyes shut, feeling like he’s already lost him.

Love has an ugly side to it too. Merlin can feel it lurking within him, it smiles at him, teeth glinting, pointy and bloodied. What wouldn’t I sink my teeth into? Merlin thinks, to save the man with the strong arms and boyish smile. There’s a villain inside him, maybe that’s what draws him to Arthur like a moth to a flame. Bards couldn’t write a hero more archetypal than Camelot’s own prince. There is a goodness in Arthur’s heart that is an enduring thing, unmoveable, intractable, a beacon of light in a storm Merlin doesn’t know how to escape. So he follows that light, runs after it constantly, desperate to be bathed in its warmth, like he too, can be good, just through proximity.

But with light comes darkness and Merlin knows as sure as he can feel Arthur’s lips against his own, that if Arthur is the sun, then he will be the night. He will be Arthur’s sin eater, bloody teeth and all. Let Arthur fight fate, Merlin will pray every day on his knees that he wins but if he doesn’t, then Merlin won’t hesitate.

Arthur was right. We make our own destinies and Merlin will see Arthur through to his happy ending even if he has to break fate’s own hands to write it himself.

Chapter Text

It’s been five days since Morgana and Gwaine had left and Arthur is strolling through the woods, wanting time to think. Needing time alone. Elly chirps above him, fluttering her wings and settling on Arthur’s shoulder. Arthur blinks, looking at her in surprise before rubbing the top of her head with his finger, “Hello,” he greets softly, “you don’t normally come to me.”

Elly chirps, almost nuzzling into his finger. Smiling- he can’t help it- he unties the note gently from her leg, petting her again before she flies off with a parting song. Arthur watches as Elly flits into the tree line before opening the note. It is messily scrawled but the point is as clear as any still pond.

Dear Arthur,

I know it’s been a long time since you’ve been gone but I hope you still remember me. I stole the bird from Hunith, I’m so sorry about that but I had to write to you. Please, you and Merlin have to come back. The king is here and he’s snatching up everyone of fighting age and I don’t want to fight Camelot. What if I’m forced to fight you? There’s a witch here, she can make you do things you don’t want to do. Please Arthur- we’ve all heard the rumors of what you have become so I’m asking you now, come be our hero once more.

Your friend,

Freddy

A little face appears in his mind, the crooked grin as he swung Arthur’s sword, the way he’d hang on his arm as Arthur would swing around, pretending to shake him off as he laughed. He had been barely thirteen then, now he must be closer to fifteen, a perfectly reasonable fighting age for someone like Cenred. He will throw Freddy in the frontlines with a chipped blade and no training. He will shed no tears when Freddy inevitably falls, stabbed through the stomach, dying alone, without his mother, just a boy fighting in another needless war.

Arthur curls the note in his fist, breathing hard. No. He won’t let it happen. He won’t see more bloodshed on Camelot’s soil, there’s already been enough. His breath comes in sharp in his lungs and his mind clears at once, narrowing into a razor thin focus. He knows the imbalance of power but he also knows what it takes to sustain an army. It is a massive strain of resources and an endeavor not to be undertaken lightly. It will have taken months of planning to begin a move such as this and all Arthur needs to do is delay.

A few purposeful sabotages and he can cripple Cenred’s army without killing a single soldier. If he makes the right moves, he can buy Camelot enough to time to mount its own defences, to send its own soldiers to meet Cenred’s in these empty lands than have the war be fought amongst the villages, children weeping all around them.

Once again, Arthur abandons his title of prince to become a rebel instead.

Arthur marches back to camp, a renewed sense of purpose surging through him. He knows what he needs to do and he almost knows exactly how to do it. For the first time since he first began this journey, he knows in his heart that he’s doing the right thing. The necessary thing. And it gives him the confidence to interrupt what everyone is doing when something much louder interrupts him first.

“We’re back!” Gwaine procaims, his horse neighing as he brings her to a stop, grinning down at Arthur.

“Gwaine!” he laughs, marveling at the incredible timing.

“Forget me already?” Morgana teases, sliding off her mare in one practiced motion.

“How could anyone forget your annoying voice?” Arthur replies pleasantly and Morgana rolls her eyes.

“Did you do it?” Arthur asks.

Morgana nods. “I collapsed the entry way, there’s no way they can move that amount of rock without being seen by a patrol.”

Arthur frowns, “I wouldn’t be too sure. They have a witch with them, she could easily command the rocks to stand aside but perhaps, with the entrance now looking like a collapsed pile of rubble, it’s even more well hidden than it used to be.”

Morgana pales, “What did you say?”

At this, everyone crowds around them and Arthur’s expression turns solemn. “I’ve just received a note from Ealdor.”

Merlin perks up, bounding over, “From my mother?”

“No, it seems that our little friend Frederick stole the bird for his own purposes.”

Merlin’s brows furrow, “Freddy? What for?”

Arthur reads the note aloud and watches as Merlin’s face pales. “We have to go.” He says abruptly.

Arthur nods, “Of course we’re going. With any luck, there’ll just be a small envoy that we can dispatch and then use to find out where the army is located. Then, we’re going to destroy their infrastructure and cripple them at their knees so they can’t leave.”

Lancelot stares for a moment, before his lip twitches, “How unnoble.” He says with an almost laugh.

“I think the knighthood can stand to bend a few rules now and again.” Arthur replies easily, “Considering I’m trying to stop thousands from dying, I think a few under-handed tricks are alright.”

Percival frowns, “Am I the only one who’s a little confused?”

Lancelot turns to him kindly, “Arthur means to sabotage their stores and supplies. Without food or horses, they won’t be able to make it far without having to restock.”

Gwaine laughs, his head thrown back all the way, “So we’re to become a bunch of pirates? Incredible.”

“With any luck,” Arthur says, “they might just give up and go home.”

“You- you want to stop the war?” Morgana asks incredulously and Arthur stares back just as perturbed.

“What else did you think we were going to do?” he asks, genuinely bemused.

“We can’t!” Morgana insists, “It’s an army! A whole army!”

Arthur waves a hand, unconcerned, “We only have to disable critical elements. With you and Merlin’s magic, the options are even more endless. We can disappear their food supply. We can free the enslaved. We can steal their weaponry, their horses. We can do all manner of things.”

Gwaine grins at the thought, “I quite like this new rogue version of us. Maybe they’ll change our name to that?”

Percival grunt in agreement, “Better than The Exiles.”

Gwen sighs in sympathy, “Not very clever, was it? But I’m sure they tried.”

Morgana looks between them with mounting frustration, “We won’t be able to stop them from crossing the border Arthur and you’re a fool for trying!”

Arthur throws up his hands, “What would you have me do then? Nothing??”

“Let them come.” Morgana answers remorselessly and everyone stares, “Let them come and let Uther’s army struggle. You and I both know you were the heart of the knights, without your leadership, they will surely lose.”

“That’s not-”

“It is.” Morgana interrupts firmly, “And when the battle seems all but lost, then we appear and with our magic and your skills, we turn the tide and prove the case for magic once and for all.”

Arthur looks horrified, refusing to look at Merlin though he feels the burn of his gaze, “We can’t do that. Who knows how many would die-”

“They’ll die anyway!” Morgana shouts, “At least this way their deaths will be for some greater purpose!”

“Morgana-” Gwen says gently, “that might happen inevitably, but we can’t not try to stop it all together. If we make it too cumbersome, Cenred might just give up.”

“He won’t just give up.” Morgana throws up her hands.

“Then it doesn’t matter, does it?” Gwaine muses, “We’ll end up having to save the day the way you want to anyway.”

Morgana’s expression twists and Merlin fixes her with a hard stare, “Are you afraid we’ll actually succeed Morgana?”

It’s not an accusation. But it’s something.

Morgana breathes hard and they stare at each other, gazes fixed.

“Because wouldn’t that be the best outcome for everyone?” Merlin asks again, voice forcefully light, and behind her lips, Morgana runs her tongue over her teeth.

“The best outcome is that this is over for everyone. This is the opportunity we’ve been waiting for,” Morgana asserts, “a way for Arthur to take the throne and have the people celebrate when he does.”

“For that to work,” Lancelot says quietly, “the king must die first, which means the army will have overtaken Camelot.”

“We’d have to bide our time, it’s true.” Morgana concedes, “But we all know petty tricks won’t deter Cenred from invading. He will come regardless so why not time our aid to when it has the most impact?”

There is wisdom in Morgana’s words, it’s cold and dehumanizing, but it’s true. Merlin can see Percival shifting uneasily from foot to foot, Morgana’s words sinking in. Gwen bites her lip, shaking her head. “The cost is too high Morgana. If Cenred’s army really does march through to Camelot, the destruction he will leave in his wake might never heal.” She lifts her eyes to meet Morgana’s, “You, of all people, should know the wounds battles leave behind.”

Nobody speaks for a long moment and Morgana gives in suddenly, a fake smile plastered on her face, “You’re right Gwen. Of course you are. I don’t know what I was thinking. Of course we should do everything we can to stop him, the safety of the people must always come first.”

“Then let’s start preparing.” Arthur commands, shoulders loosening, “We leave at first light.”

The tension lessens and Arthur looks relieved, so much so that Merlin digs his nails into his palms. He hears the dragon’s words echo in his head, louder and louder. But Morgana is teasing Elyan with glee, strapping a bow to her back as they head out to trap some rabbits to take on their journey. Gwen and Merlin go off to fill their waterskins and Lancelot and Arthur have gone into the village to get some supplies, strategizing as they leave.

“Merlin, are you alright?” Gwen asks, dipping the skin into the river.

“I feel like you’re always asking me that.” He answers tiredly, rubbing at his eye.

“There was always a lot on your mind,” Gwen says after a pause, “even in Camelot.”

“There’s something I’m missing Gwen. I feel it, something I’m not paying enough attention to.”

Gwen frowns, setting a hand over his, “Whatever it is Merlin, you can talk to me about it. I’ll listen.”

He looks at her, takes in her sweet face and kind eyes and just can’t. Other than maybe Arthur, Gwen loves Morgana the most out of all of them. She is Morgana’s best friend and closest companion and in case Merlin is wrong- and he wants desperately to be wrong- he can’t do that to her.

“I know. And you too, with anything.”

Gwen looks sad for a moment before she smiles gently, changing the subject. The kindness only makes him feel worse. But he knows it’s for the best.

They are four days into their trip to Ealdor when Arthur thinks he’s rehearsed his lines well enough and pulls Morgana aside. “Fancy a walk to town with me? We still have some coin.” He jingles the pathetic little bag and Morgana snorts.

“Remember the days where we used to hide treasures under our beds?”

“Feels like a lifetime ago.”

The conversation comes easy between them, as it always does these days. When they’re well into the wood, the edges of town coming into view, Arthur stops, sucking in a breath. “There’s something I want to tell you and you’re- well,” Arthur runs a hand through his hair, “I think it’s somewhat good news even though it’s also bad and-”

“Arthur,” Morgana pulls her lip, “just say it.”

“Gorlois raised you,” Arthur says carefully, “and he was a just and honourable man, worthy of being called your father and no matter what happens, nothing changes that relationship you have with him.”

Morgana’s brows knit together.

“But when Gorlois was away, Uther and your mother…” Arthur had practiced this a million times and yet the words lose themselves behind his lips, “they had an affair.”

He can see the ground disappear from beneath Morgana’s feet.

“You’re Uther’s biological daughter and my…you’re my sister.” Arthur tries to give her a smile but Morgana has paled considerably, shaking her head.

“How do you- how could you know that?” she asks, voice straining.

“He told Gaius,” They don’t have to say his name to feel the brunt of his legacy, “and Gaius told Merlin. And as soon as Merlin told me, I wanted to share it with you but I knew that…I had to say it right. I’m sorry Morgana, I’m truly sorry. This was too big a secret for Uther to have kept from us.”

Morgana shakes her head, her hands covering her face, bracelet sliding down her arm. “No. No, Gorlois was- he raised me.”

But he hadn’t though. Not really.

“How could he have kept this from me.” She rages, bashing her teeth and Arthur lifts a hand that freezes in the air.

“Why does he do anything?” Arthur says quietly, “Shame.”

“Well he should be ashamed!” Morgana snaps, “He seduced his best friend’s wife after sending him out to war! He let him die in a pointless battle and then took me in and had me stay in that awful place because of what? Parental concern?” she sneers.

“It wasn’t that awful-”

“What would you know!” Morgana whips around and for a moment, Arthur doesn’t recognize her.

There’s an awful energy pulsing in the air between them. It makes Arthur feel sick, he takes a step back before stopping himself. He’s never been afraid of anything and he won’t be afraid now.

“We can go forward from this Morgana. We don’t have to keep letting him ruin us.”

Morgana scoffs. “Some things can’t be taken back.”

“There’s some good though.” Arthur offers tentatively, “Now you never have to marry me.” It’s a pathetic joke really, but he doesn’t know how else to say it.

Morgana pauses then, something about her deflating through great effort, “I could have had a sweet little sister but I ended up with an annoying brother instead.”

Arthur almost wants to laugh with relief. He could work with this. He could- a wail pierces through the air and both Arthur and Morgana freeze. The grief of a thousand graves curdles in the woman’s cry and the shock of world changing news forgotten, they both sprint into the village square, pushing past the heated crowd.

“You can’t do this!” a man shouts, elbowing his way through, “He saved their lives!”

“With magic!” someone else sneers and the crowd roars in a fury once more.

“He will come.” A woman promises, “The Exiled Prince will come and he will wreak punishment.”

“The prince is a traitor and all sorcerers must hang.”

It’s a voice from above and that’s when Arthur sees it, the platform at the centre of it all, a single crying boy, a loop of rope around his neck.

“NO!” He thinks the strangled cry ripped from his own throat but he sees Morgana, anguished and bereaved.

She’s pushing through the crowd, trying to reach the boy but the executioner doesn’t wait. He kicks the box from out beneath him and the boy falls, gasping and kicking at air. He chokes, his fingers gripping the rope as though it’ll save him. As though that’s ever saved anyone. Everything solid plummets beneath Arthur’s feet and he’s frozen in time, watching as it runs out for yet another person he can’t save.

The snap crackles in the air and the crowd stills with the solemnity of it. The boy’s body sways from the gallows and the grief in Morgana’s eyes is catastrophic. “NO!” she shrieks again and the very earth rumbles beneath their feet.

The crowd screams, clamouring to get away from her and the executioner’s mouth drops, “Witch.” He hisses and Arthur draws out his sword.

“You have committed a sin here today but I will not have you commit another.”

Whispers ripple through the crowd, “It’s him.” They say. It’s him it’s him.

“Too late.” They crow, he’s too late.

Morgana sobs, slamming her hands over her ears as her whole body shakes. “Morgana!” Arthur yells her name, crouching down to hold her shoulder, “What-”

“Your fault.” She seethes.

“What?”

“THIS IS YOUR FAULT!”

Morgana surges forward, the force of it sending Arthur flying backwards on his hands. “I told you.” Morgana’s eyes are wild, lips pulled back in a snarl, “I told you, I begged you. Take the throne, legalize magic once more but no, you were selfish and you were weak.”

Arthur can’t speak, just stares at her, heart breaking over his face.

“How many more have died because of you? How many other innocents are swinging in gallows or burning in pyres? All because you couldn’t do what needed to be done. Because you put your own feelings ahead of this country’s.”

Morgana looms over him, teeth bared. “Everything Arthur! Everything was FOR YOU! Convincing Cenred, mobilizing the armies, making it obvious enough you would notice. Everything! This war, this plan, this scheme. To let you be the hero rescuing Camelot from Cenred’s evil. You would have been able to satisfy your foolish honour and then finally, Camelot would get a ruler it deserves,” Morgana’s voice rips from her throat, “but no longer. That ruler was never you.”

The pieces all fall into place, the dam Arthur had built to push back all the things he never wanted to think about bursting from the pressure. Oh he sees it now. How foolish he was. How blind. Merlin’s words come back bite him and he wants to scream.

You don’t see things as they are, but how you want them to be.

You’re too quick to overlook.

Too trusting, too naïve, too stupid. Foolish heart of mine, when will you learn that before he is a man, he is a role. And people are always trying to play him.

“You stole the coin.” He murmurs, “That’s why Merlin felt it to be odd. You’ve been talking to Morgause this whole time, she- she’s the sorceress. In Ealdor.”

Morgana curls her lip in disgust, rubbing at the bracelet on her wrist, “So now you want to be clever?”

“You would have cast this whole kingdom into war-” fury jolts him from the pain and Arthur throws himself upward, “What were you thinking?? You of all people know the bloodshed Cenred will wreak as he makes his way into Camelot.”

“We’re already in a war, Arthur. You were just always too blind to see it.” Morgana hisses.

“No. You don’t- you would never do that. Who are you?” his voice cracks, “He’s stealing children Morgana, he’s forcing them to die. He will raze the farms we worked so hard to plough. He will destroy the houses we’ve built. He’ll kill anyone who gets in his way.”

“And I will rebuild it all.” Morgana says simply, “When I am Queen.”

Arthur crumbles. He’s grown up with that face, always wondered what people meant when they called Morgana a cold beauty. They never saw what Arthur did, the fiery passion in her eyes, the warmth of her smile, her soft face, still childlike.

He’s been looking at her like he used to when they were children, still awkward and young. When he looks at her now, he sees the freezing glint of her eyes, the sharpness of her cheekbones, her lips, red like the blood she is willing to shed just to get what she wants.

He doesn’t recognize her anymore. This is a stranger, and she is just like all the others, sneering down at him for not amounting to anything.

“What makes their lives worth any less than his?”

The boy’s glassy eyes judge them both.

What’s the difference between justice and revenge?

This, he thinks. It must be this. This never-ending pulse of pain whose sorrow is so heavy Arthur feels his knees buckle. A prince all his life, Arthur is no stranger to betrayal, but this is his sister. This is his blood, as much him as he is her. This is Morgana. And he loves her. Loves her still. Loves her so immensely that if she were to embrace him now and take it all back he would happily knock his head on a rock and make himself forget.

But she doesn’t. And he can’t. And instead, Morgana simply raises both hands and Arthur is flying. The last thing he sees is her back, walking away without looking back.  

Arthur wakes up to a man shaking him. He looks up, dazed, but his head feels perfectly fine.

He’s asking Arthur a question. He’s concerned. A crowd is gathering. Arthur looks at them, can’t seem to focus on any one person in particular. He thinks he should be feeling some pain. His shoulder had definitely collided with a crate when he’d been tossed away and he landed on his wrist oddly but Arthur is just blank. He had been thrown so hard everything that made him a person has fallen right out.

He gets up, ignoring the pleas for him to stay. A hand reaches for him but he tosses it aside, standing on wobbling legs. Somehow, one foot crosses the other and Arthur finds himself walking. Every step feels like he’s running through water. Every step feels like an ocean in his lungs.

When they were younger, he and Morgana would do races in the lake. They’d each swim out to where their toes could just barely touch the bottom. They wouldn’t be smiling, faces contorted in the peak of focus and grit. The sun would glint in their eyes. They would dig their toes into the sand, trying to get some momentum before shouting go at the same time and then running.

The game was partly about getting to the shore first but mostly about trying not to laugh, watching the other flail and twist their body in exaggerated gyrations just to force their way through the current. There was endless splashing and shrieking and when they’d finally make it to the shore, they’d collapse atop it, giggling madly, feeling hot and cold all at once.

Arthur had fallen once, caught in an awkward half-dive. Morgana had leaped upon the opportunity, ensnaring his hair and forcing his head beneath the water. He could hear her cackling above him as he fought and scraped his nails around her arm. When she let him up, she was red in the face from laughing and he was almost blue from dying.

“You can’t even hold your breath!” she laughed and he had snarled.

“I can hold it longer than you!”

Uther found them both later, all but totally brain dead from their unwillingness to back down. Arthur should have known from that very moment she was his sister. Should have known the exact second his lungs went from mildly inconvenienced to utterly distressed that they were made of the same stuff. Morgana knew him and could open him up like a book to any page she chose. She could drive him mad in a way no one could, knew every little door to open or close to get him raging.

But it was her face he looked to across the room.

It was her he sought out, his entire fucking life.

It was her. For so long, it had only ever been her. That’s the thing about siblings, isn’t it? Always in your line of sight until they’re not. Always together until they leave. Why did you leave me?

Why did you leave me?

When did you stop loving me? How could you stop loving me?? Even now, after everything, I love you, I love you.

Arthur’s feet are aching. He’s walked so far, he can’t see either the village or the woods, he’s in an endless plain, the sky terrifyingly infinite and so utterly empty it’s like looking in a mirror. Arthur’s gaze is too weak to hold onto anything for longer than a moment, expressionless and so detached from his body it’s like he’s floating away, just watching.

Well of course Morgana left. He’s pathetic after all. Wasn’t he supposed to be stronger now? Wasn’t he supposed to be better? What had all that pointless development been for then?? Had he not already lived out the plot. Is the story not over?? He’s killed his mother, his uncle never speaks to him, he’s a disappointment to his father, and abandoned by his sister. Really, what was he made for?? When everyone whose bones and blood it took to build him hate him.

Why make him at all?

What has he done wrong? How could he possibly be deemed so horribly unworthy by both his father and his sister, two diametrically opposed people on every issue that matters. To his father, he is an irredeemable prince for wanting change and to his sister, a cowardly king for wanting peace. How can they both be right? How can he be both too pro magic and yet not pro magic enough. How can he be too bold in the court and not bold enough.

Maybe he’s just watered himself down too much. Stood for everything and so accomplished nothing.

He thought he’d been doing the right thing. He thought he was doing the wise thing. Was he just deluding himself? Did he morph reality to suit his needs once more? Wanting to just keep doing what made him happy at the expense of everything else?

Arthur looks at his hands, flexes his fingers. He can see the callouses on his skin, rough and earned. Thinks about all the tools he’s held, from the weapons to the machinery to a simple potter’s wheel. The things that he’s done, the people he’s saved, the towns he helped build, all of that couldn’t have been for nought. His plan had been working, he knows it has.

Yes, some people were still afraid. Yes, some people still thought Arthur would be a terrible king. But whether he had been banished or not, people would still have thought those things, that’s just the nature of the world. But Arthur had been doing something meaningful. He saw it. In the tears, in the smiles, in the feasts, and in the children whose eyes brightened when they saw him, jumping on his back.

Of course he could do more good as king. Of course he knows that. Of course he does. But to prey on the sympathy of a people in mass mourning. To climb over the bodies of children not trained for fighting, to use their glassy-eyed faces to make their mothers roar for change is a price Arthur will never be willing to pay. He doesn’t care if that makes him weak. He doesn’t care if that makes him a coward.

If he can end a war before it even begins. If he can save just one person’s life. If he can stop just a single sprout from being crushed, then it’s worth the sacrifice. One day, he might be king. The grass ripples beneath his heels.

No.

One day, he will be king. It has been foretold.

As had Morgana’s betrayal.

Arthur’s face falls into his hands and he crumbles to his knees. His sobs wrack through him, leaving fissures in his bones. His blood ripples from the force of his shaking, the tears hot and salty on his tongue. He cries because he knows he won’t be able to later. He cries because Merlin had warned him and foolishly, stupidly, arrogantly, Arthur had thought he could fight even fate.

He hasn’t changed at all. He’s still the same entitled little boy, thinking the world should trip over itself to exist the way he told it to. Who was he? To think he could tell the gods they were wrong? Who was he? To think he could ever have protected anyone from anything.

He can’t even protect his own pathetic heart.

The sun has long since set, the moon hiding behind wisps of clouds. Even she, in all her warmth, turns her face from him, disappointed. Arthur sits with his arms curled around his knees, chin in the crook of his elbow. After the catharsis of crying, there’s nothing in him anymore. Nothing left to give. He just wants to give up now. Please accept his resignation. He’s tired now. Good night.

Gentle hands encircle his neck and he’s pulled backwards into an embrace he doesn’t deserve.

“Oh, Arthur.” Gwen cries, small tears splattering across his face as her cheek burrows against his hair.

He should comfort her. Offer her the kind words he knows she has stored up inside her by the millions. He opens his mouth to try but nothing comes out and it just validates what he knows now to be true. He can’t do anything for anyone. All the good he thought he did were just massages to his ego, a way to hide how useless he’d become.

Gwen pulls him up to his feet, her grip over his hand is tight and terrified. He can see the relentless worry in her eyes, in that familiar tug of her lip. He wants to smooth it out, rub his thumb over the creases and make her smile. He tries. He can’t. It’s all he can do to just let her lead him to wherever it is she’s taking them, not saying a single word.

Maybe she sent out a bird or maybe everyone is just magic because one by one, their friends meet them at the edge of the village, somber and speechless. Gwen squeezes his hand and Arthur realizes they’re waiting for him to say something. He’s the leader after all. He’s supposed to have something to give them, something hopeful and reassuring, something strong to tide them through something as dramatic as betrayal.

What a lark. To be betrayed. What a joke.

“If you’re looking at me to tell you it’s going to be alright then don’t hold your breath.” His voice is hoarse from crying and not speaking for hours.

He almost feels guilty when he feels Gwen flinch, her hand falling out of his. He knows where he is now, let’s his feet carry him without waiting to see if anyone’s following or listening or even caring about where he’s going because why should they?

He doesn’t even care about him anymore.

Arthur falls into his tent and shuts his eyes the moment his head hits the ground. He braces himself when he hears the flap open and Merlin step in. He doesn’t need to announce himself. Arthur doesn’t even need to open his eyes. He knows Merlin by just his breath. By the way the air changes between them, charged and alive.

“Arthur-”

“Don’t.”

Pained, “Arthur-”

“I said don’t!” Arthur jerks up, grief pulsing, “You can say I told you so later.”

Merlin flinches, hurt rippling across his features. “I would never do that.” He says quietly and Arthur is drained all of the sudden, falling back on his bedroll, turning his back.

“Well I would.” he replies scathingly.

He hears Merlin take an angry breath. Good, Arthur thinks viciously. Now leave him alone. But instead, Merlin does what he always does. He comes back. He reaches outward. He does the impossible thing and loves Arthur anyway. Loves him always. Loves him despite and because and without reason.

Merlin lies down beside him, wraps an arm around his waist and hugs Arthur to his chest. They are perfectly flush, no part of Arthur left to the world, Merlin shielding him from all of it.

“Leave me.”

Arthur’s voice cracks.

He’s ashamed of what will come if someone who loves him so much stays.

What is worse than rain to a fire? What is worse to a broken thing than glue and a pair of gentle hands. Of being put back together again. Forced to confront all their cracks and imperfections.

“I know what you’re doing.” Merlin’s voice is low, “Pushing me away because you think I’ll leave anyway.”

Merlin’s grip tightens around Arthur’s body, Merlin’s mouth pressed against Arthur’s neck. His hand rises to Arthur’s collarbone, traces over what he’s left behind. “I must have told you a thousand times, but I’ll tell you once more. You are mine to hold and mine to have Arthur Pendragon. When you can no longer see yourself as you are, you only have to look into my eyes and find your reflection within them. You are good. You are kind and courageous and inspire hope in every person you meet.”

Merlin presses his hand over Arthur’s heart, his fingers splayed across his chest, “Even if you stopped loving me, even if you found somebody else, even if you became royalty once more, I’d be happy still just being your servant, until the day I die. Because I will never leave you. I couldn’t even if I tried.”

Arthur’s entire chest aches. It throbs like his pain is suddenly a physical thing, pushing against his skin, trying to tear itself right out. He ducks his head, body crunching forward but still, Merlin follows him, two crescent moons on the forest floor.

“I would never love another.” Is all Arthur can gasp out and Merlin just lets out a little breath, kissing his shoulder and his neck.

“And neither would I.” Merlin answers.

They’re quiet for a long time.

“How did you know?” Arthur asks at last.

“When you passed out, one of the villagers ran to come get me but by the time we got there, you had gone.” Merlin trembles behind him and Arthur bites his lip.

“I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be.” Merlin reacts harshly and Arthur can practically see the swirl of passion in his eyes, the tightness of his jaw. “If anyone should be sorry it’s Morgana. Doing what she did-” he cuts himself off and Arthur can hear his strained breath.

“They heard all of it then?” Arthur sighs, closing his eyes.

“Most of it.” Merlin confesses, “But will you tell me it?”

They’ve shifted so that Arthur now rests atop Merlin’s chest, holding him while being held. Merlin’s arm is loosely wrapped around his waist and his free hand cards through Arthur’s hair in soothing motions. Arthur closes his eyes, focuses on Merlin’s hands, on the movement of his breath, on the warmth of his skin.

“A boy died. For practicing magic. I was trying to cut him down from the gallows but I was too late. Morgana…Morgana got upset. Told me it was all my fault.” His eyes squeeze, “That it was all my fault.” He says dully, eyes dead and open.

He can feel Merlin stiffen, almost sees the words piling up behind his lips. “We argued and that’s when it all came out. I’ve had hours to think about it and I’ve worked it all out. It’s why she wanted to go to the tunnel entrance. Hidden, it’d be impossible to find, but a collapsed pile of rubble that could be easily moved by a sorcerer is impossible to miss. She’s been talking to Morgause for months, she stole the coin, probably when she so kindly washed our clothes.” He comments drily and this time, Merlin completely stills.

“What did you say?”

“It’s why you thought the magic was off.” Arthur replies tiredly, “And once again, I was arrogant and told you to let it go. But you were right. You’ve always been right. Morgana is the one who helped Morgause plan this war. It all makes so much sense now, why she wanted to keep us from investigating at the border, it was all so the army could make it as far into Camelot as possible.”

And that’s when Merlin gets it. Because it’s the kind of plan he would think of. The kind of thing only someone who really knew Arthur could imagine up.

“She wanted to give you a reason.” Merlin breathes, “A legitimate way to have Uther dead and you take the crown. She would have made you a hero.”

“At the cost of hundreds of lives.” Arthur spits, “At the cost of farms and homes and crying orphans, no Merlin. I’d be no hero. Just another war profiteer.”

“You wouldn’t have known though.” Merlin’s hands stay entangled in Arthur’s hair but they stop their petting, “She would never have told you.” He’s almost talking to himself.

“And that makes it better??” Arthur pulls away, staring down at him incredulously.

“No, of course not! I didn’t say that Arthur, I just meant-” Merlin looks away, “What she did…those aren’t the actions of someone who hates you.”

Angry tears prickle in Arthur’s vision and he commands them to vanish. They obey by trickling down his lashes instead. “Then tell me Merlin,” all but begging, “tell me why she decided I was another disappointment, unworthy of the throne and anything else. Tell me why she all but disowned me and then threw me ten feet without even looking back. Does that sound like someone who loves me.” He finishes bitterly and Merlin reaches for him once more.

“I know, I’m sorry Arthur. You know I’d…if I could take this pain from you I would.”

Arthur grips at shirt, twisting the fabric, “I don’t want that.” He rasps, “I just wish it never existed at all. I want to go back.”

“I know.” Merlin whispers, “It doesn’t make sense. None of it makes sense.”

“Why are you saying that?” Arthur doesn’t even look at him, “You’ve been warning me of Morgana for weeks.”

Merlin shakes his head, “She started a war for you. Because she believed in you and because she didn’t want to taint your heart.” He looks away, “It doesn’t make sense.”

Arthur turns away, lies back down. “Months ago, you asked me to believe you if you told me something was wrong and I broke that vow.” Arthur’s voice goes cold, “It won’t happen again. I swear this to you here and now. You, Merlin, are the only one I can trust now.”  

Merlin grips their blanket with anguished hands. No, he wants to say. I never wanted this. I never wanted this at all. But he can feel it, Arthur’s heart going cold, retreating back into its small little shell before it learned it could get so full it could cover the whole sky.

Chapter Text

Arthur sends out a single bird. It is addressed to Leon, warning them of the incoming army. Around him, his friends watch with bated breath, thinking they will catch the beginnings of his return. Arthur lifts his hand into the air and Elly soars into the sky. He watches until he can no longer see her and then goes back into his tent, not saying a word.  

They don’t see Arthur for four whole days.

Their camp becomes a graveyard. Haunted by the spirit of two siblings whose fierce love had been corrupted by power and fear. There’s a coldness in the air, a fog that had never existed before creeping between the trees intent on chilling them to the bone. When the leaves in the trees shake and writhe, it sounds like shrieking and no amount of pressing their hands to their ears hides even a second of the screaming.

What is a grave but a place without hope? There are no second chances in death. No extra minutes, no stolen bits of time. You die as you are, whether you were still in the middle of your story or heroically met the end. Here, in these woods, around this pitiful fire, they all feel unfinished, a book with a thousand empty pages.

Merlin tries at first, to corral them into what they used to be, but his heart isn’t in it and in the end, he doesn’t even bother to finish his sentence, turning right back and walking away. They eat and they stare out into the distance and no one really speaks. They may as well just be spirits too.

On the fifth day, just before dawn, when it’s still purple and dewy, Lancelot wakes up with a start. He doesn’t know what’s happened, instinctively turning to find Gwen, still beautifully curled up beside him, her curls falling over her eyes. Lancelot brushes them away, tenderly placing one over her shoulder but even gazing at her, all things splendid and good, does not dissolve the oddness in his blood, the instinct he feels coming straight from the earth.

He stands, making his way out of the tent, not sure what’s looking for until he sees it. It’s Arthur and Merlin’s tent, the flap ever so slightly parted and Lancelot simply knows. He doesn’t know how, will never be able to explain it, but his feet decide for him, carried on by their secret knowledge. Lancelot moves quietly through the trees, the roots themselves receding to keep him from making a sound.

He finds Arthur on his knees, staring at his reflection in the river. The pale light shines brighter somehow, layering itself atop the water. Tiny ripples break up Arthur’s face and behind him, light glows and it reflects almost like a halo. Arthur shakes his head, shattering the image with his hand, turning away. “You have the wrong man.” He says to no one at all, but the flowers seem to wilt around him and the river bubbles past the bank trying to persuade him.

Lancelot regrets it then, telling Merlin that he admired Arthur for his immunity to adversity. He feels like he’s jinxed him, deprived him of his humanity, the thing that keeps us below the gods. If we don’t fall to our knees, we’ll never rise. If we don’t rip our muscles apart, they don’t grow back stronger. Arthur needed this. He had been pushed and shoved and kicked to the ground over and over and each and every time, he’d forced himself to stand all on his own, glaring at the world because it had given him something to prove. A never-ending mountain that only grew more insurmountable with every cliff he scaled in the quest to find value in himself.

At their lowest points, Arthur had given them something to believe in, a purpose to live and die by; and more important than any of that, he gave them his faith. His belief that they themselves were worthy and better men than they thought. He had plucked Gwaine out of a tavern, lost and listless. Grabbed Lancelot out of world of dishonour and shame. Extended a hand to Elyan, running from his past and the disappointments he’d thought he’d created. Given Percival somewhere to go after having lost his family and his home.

Arthur had been alone his whole life, doing everything for himself. Lancelot can see now, how it molded him into the man he is now, the one desperate for belonging and willing to give every part of his body and his heart to make sure no one else in this world ever had to suffer. Like in doing right by others he can finally do right for himself. Make all his loneliness worth something. Make all the merciless and rigorous training and work mean something.

That’s enough of that now, Lancelot thinks. None of them are alone anymore, so it’s time to stop pretending that they are. He and everyone else would stay at Arthur’s side until the very end or die trying and it’s about time Arthur realized why. Realized the extent. How deep this love ran.

When Lancelot slips into bed, he pulls Gwen in close, kissing her on the forehead. She stirs in her sleep and he stills, waiting for to settle once more. There are dried tear tracks on her cheeks and his heart aches at the sight of them. When they’d been told what Morgana had done, when the villager had run to them panicked, Gwen had told them firmly there must have been a mistake. Morgana would never do such a thing. It just wasn’t possible.

But as the hunt for Arthur carried on, Lancelot could see the toll that it took. When she saw the state Arthur had been reduced to, when she heard the story again from Merlin’s own mouth, she had all but collapsed, her arms folding around her body as she sobbed without tears. Sometimes, there exists a sadness so annihilating that it robs you even of catharsis. Shrivels you up, from the inside out.

Lancelot can’t bring back Morgana, but he can certainly bring back Arthur and make sure they, and most importantly Gwen, don’t have to lose a single thing more. They’ve given enough to the world; it’s time they were given something in return.

Lancelot speaks about it to Gwen in the morning, hushed whispers between them. He tells her what he saw and her eyes well with compassion. She asks that he speaks to the others as soon as he can.

“What will you do?” he replies and Gwen stands up resolutely.

“Merlin is my closest friend. Let me deal with him.” 

Gwen finds Merlin in the village, trading in some hares for preserves. She waves up a hand and Merlin almost smiles when he sees her, his stress evident in the hard lines of his shoulders and the shadows beneath his eyes. “Let me help you.” Gwen greets, taking a crate from him.

“You seem awfully cheery.” Merlin comments, almost resentful but still too good a person to truly begrudge her.

Gwen looks to the sky, almost smiling. “That’s because change is coming, I can feel it.”

“No.” Merlin’s mood darkens, “There is no change. Nothing can ever change apparently. Destiny will come for us whether we want it to or not.”

Gwen’s brows knit together but Merlin carries on like he’s been dying to get this off his chest and now’s the only time someone will listen. “I knew. I knew what was to come. I’ve always known. But I couldn’t decide whether I wanted to fight fate or embrace it and so I did nothing. Trying to shove away Arthur’s destiny while ignoring Morgana’s and I should have stopped her.”

They’ve reached the woods and the crate in Merlin’s arms shakes with him. “I knew what would happen and I let her stay with us. I let her do this. This war, this heartbreak, all of it is my fault.”

Gwen moves faster than Merlin can react, dropping her own crate and ripping Merlin’s own right out of his hands. Merlin blinks, taking a step back before Gwen draws him in roughly, squeezing him half to death. Merlin’s breath stutters before he wraps his own arms around her, unable to stop his wild tremors.

“Nothing is your fault.” Gwen asserts roughly, tightening her grip, “You did nothing but treat Morgana with love and kindness. Her choices,” her voice breaks but she soldiers on, “have only ever been her own. That’s how she’s always been.”

“But I knew-” Merlin bites back a sob, “I had a feeling, I knew something was coming but Arthur wanted so desperately to believe. He wanted to trust in her so badly, saw so much good radiating off her he could ignore the dark and I wanted to live in his world Gwen.” Merlin steps away, wiping at his eyes.

“I wanted to live in his world where people are good and people do their best and there aren’t monsters lurking in every corner because I- because if he was right about Morgana then maybe none of it was right and we could have just gotten our happy ending in a cottage faraway and it was selfish.”

“You’re many things Merlin.” Gwen disagrees, “Kind and witty and brave. But no one could ever, ever call you selfish.”

“Aren’t I though?” Merlin asks, head tilted, self-deprecating, “I want him all to myself.” He confesses, “He’s sacrificed so much for Camelot. We all have. And I know even as I’m saying this that we’ll keep doing that and we’ll enjoy it and be proud of it and I want to make Camelot a better place, for non-magic users and magic users alike. But there’s still a small part of me that wanted Morgana to be good not just to keep her because I loved her and love her still,” he says in a broken voice, “but because then maybe Arthur could just stay this way forever, heroic and free and mine.”

Gwen’s voice is heavy, more grounding than even the roots in the forest floor. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting a softer ending for the people you love Merlin. There’s nothing wrong with wanting Arthur to be at peace when he’s been carrying the world on his shoulders for so long. And you said it yourself, you love Morgana too. Why is it so wrong to want to believe in the people you love? That’s not a sin. If you want to know what I think,” she says quietly, “I think that makes you an even better person.”

“I wanted him to be happy but I just hurt him instead.” Merlin whispers and Gwen grabs his hand.

“No.” she he says fiercely, “No you didn’t. Maybe the gods know what is to come but what about the why or the when or the after? What comes next? Why do things play out the way they do? The pieces of destiny you’ve been told are only part of the story Merlin, it’s not wrong to want to see the bigger picture, to not miss the forest for the trees.”

Gwen pauses before looking up with tear filmed eyes, but eyes that flare with a dare to be proven wrong, “The prophecies say nothing about her regrets. About whether she comes back.”

Merlin swallows back a cry and Gwen touches his cheek with a gentleness that could break a man.

“What’s important now,” Gwen continues, looking out into the distance, like she can see the future running, “is for us to let go of our shame and our guilt. I’m tired of all that. Aren’t you? We’re responsible only for our own choices. The next thing we need to do is bring Arthur back to life. And only you can do that.”

“How can I?” Merlin looks at her, grief spilling over.

“We just need to remind him of who he is. And remind him of what he means to us and us to him.”

Merlin laughs, rubbing at his hair, “Oh, is that all?”

Gwen smiles, nudging him playfully, “That’s all.”

As they walk back to camp, the air feels almost warmer, the smell of leaves and earth all the sweeter. Merlin can feel his magic pulsing all around him, feels it spiraling out in tendrils, caressing everything they pass. There’s a spark within him, something lovely and determined. He blows gently upon it, watching as it brightens.

Yes, he thinks. This just might work.

He has to give in now. Has to let himself succumb to the push of the world he’d been fighting off so desperately since this adventure first began. All this time, there’d been something holding Arthur back, a tiny bit of doubt, a tiny bit of fear, all born out of love. Merlin wanted desperately to keep him and so Arthur let himself be taken, knowing full well of what he was leaving behind.

No longer, Merlin thinks. He’ll make it right this time. He’ll be the first to give into their joint destiny. The man in his bed is not just the person he loves, he is Arthur Pendragon, the one who was promised. And Merlin is Emrys, the greatest sorcerer to ever live, the kingmaker of their time.

Merlin is Arthur’s destiny just as Arthur is Merlin’s own.

As Arthur keeps to his silence, Merlin gathers the rest of their friends together, shares his plan in bursts of furtive whispers. No one disagrees. Everyone plays their part. It will work. It will work. Merlin dismantles their shared tent with Arthur still inside, ignoring Arthur’s yelp and his scrambling to make it out.

“What are you doing??” he bellows and Merlin almost wants to cry

It’s the most Arthur’s spoken in days.

“We’re leaving.” Merlin replies airily, already packing the fabric in bags, “So chop chop, or we’ll leave you behind.”

“Leaving?? Where?”

Merlin stops what he’s doing and gives him a little smile, “You’ll see soon enough.”

Arthur’s still staring at him incredulously, turning to appeal to any of their friends, but they’re all busily packing around him, not even deigning to give him a sympathetic look. Too tired to argue, Arthur throws his things into a bag, not bothering on doing anything properly. In the back of his mind, there’s a faint curiosity, a warmth that flickers through his cold body. He neither encourages it nor quashes it, just exists without caring as he’s done for what seems like ages.

They ride out over the course of three days and Arthur doesn’t fail to notice the secrecy, the quick glances, the hushed conversations, the birds that fly day in and day out. He notices all of it but says nothing. What does it matter anymore?

At this point, he’s recognizing where they are. They’re nearing the castle, still far out enough, but so close that now Arthur can retrace his own footsteps through these woods he’s ran through so many times he’s lost count. This is his land. This is his home.

It used to be his safe place.

“What are we doing here?” he mutters to Merlin and Merlin merely presses a kiss to his cheek.

“Trust me.” He answers and Arthur can say nothing to that so falls silent, watching him do what he does.

It happens the next morning. Merlin wakes Arthur up and for a moment, Arthur’s convinced he is a prince once more, being awoken by the boy he shouldn’t love as much as he does. “Arthur, come with me.”

Arthur sits up. It’s too quiet. “Where is everyone?”

“Waiting for us.” Merlin replies cryptically and Arthur frowns.

“Merlin.”

And for a second, it really is just like old times and they both hurt from it before Merlin leans in and kisses him. It’s a soft kiss, loving more than anything, sweet and kind and asking to be trusted. Arthur kisses him back, helpless almost. This is the person he loves most in the world after all. He would respond to him instantly, without having to try at all.

“Come along Arthur. It’s time now.”

When Arthur tugs off his shirt, Merlin is ready with a new one, it’s freshly cleaned, white as snow. He dresses Arthur with the reverence he’s always showed, smoothing out the wrinkles, tying up the laces. When Merlin pulls out the armor, Arthur’s mouth dries, opening and closing. “How-”

Merlin smiles. “I called in a favour of sorts.”

Arthur can’t believe it. He knows this armor. It’s his. It’s his. He feels the first trickle of joy, of excitement, when he notices the one difference. Merlin catches his eye and smiles. “I thought you wouldn’t mind.” He says softly, “Adding the chest plate from Culcheth to it.”

Arthur brushes his fingers over the familiar engravings, unable to stop his affection, “You always know me better than I do, Merlin.” He says at last and Merlin only gives him a kiss, moving Arthur’s arms so as to better dress him.

Arthur can barely stand still, forcing his body to hold as Merlin straps him in, his fingers working the clasps just as quickly as if he’d been doing it all this time. It’s a familiar ritual, bathed in the soft light of reverence and belief. When Merlin steps back, he drinks the sight of Arthur in, feels how right it is, to have him standing in this armor once more, how it contours to his body. How Arthur was made to be a knight. Made to be the hero.

Arthur reaches for his sword but Merlin steadies him with a hand. “Not today.”

Arthur gives him a curious look and Merlin laces their fingers together. “Come on.”

Arthur’s heartbeat thuds in his ears and for the first time in his life, he understands what Merlin means, about the land’s energy thrumming around them. He can feel it in every step. The earth is vibrating in anticipation, the very world holding its breath.

What is it waiting for? Arthur wonders and swears he can hear the grass murmur you, you, you as the breeze rustles through it.

Merlin’s hand is still in Arthur’s own as he leads them through the wood. “There is a legend,” Merlin starts, voice low and beautiful, “about a king who would come when Albion’s need is greatest to unite the land and bring back peace. Many rulers claimed to be said king, using their divine providence to justify acts of horrific evil against the people claiming it was god’s will.”

There’s something glimmering in Merlin’s eyes, a true grit that has Arthur mesmerized.

“Saddened at the state of the nobility, the people gathered together and begged the gods to save them from their tyranny. Moved by their grievances, the gods asked the people to forge the strongest sword ever made. When it was done, the gods then asked the dragons to breathe upon it to make it an immortal blade, capable of cutting through anything, even the dragons themselves.”

“Merlin…”

“Just listen Arthur.” Merlin says softly, squeezing his hand, “To ensure that the sword never fell into the wrong hands, the land itself wove a spell, only someone worthy would be able to wield it and that person,” Merlin proclaims, “would be the true king of Albion.”

Merlin stops, “Of course, stories are just stories.” He says with a cheeky grin and Arthur almost wants to groan. “But every story has a kernel of truth and there does exist a sword, forged within a dragon’s breath, with power so great the land sought to protect it after I made it.”

Arthur’s eyes widen and Merlin drops his hand, walking backwards, still speaking. “I made the sword for you, and you alone, and to keep it out of the wrong hands, I asked the land what I should do and it showed me a vision and a spell.”

Barely conscious of it, Arthur follows Merlin into a clearing, the sun reflecting off the hilt of the most beautiful sword Arthur has ever seen. It is inlaid with gold, carved with runes he cannot read but know hold great meaning. It is stunning. It is incandescent.

It is also plunged into solid stone.

Arthur shakes his head, “Merlin, no.”

Merlin carries on, “Only the Once and Future King. The true king of Camelot and all of Albion, can pull the sword out of the stone. Only the man the gods themselves chose to be worthy, can wield this blade forged just for you.”

“Merlin, stop it. That’s not- that’s not me. It’s never been me.”

“Yes actually,” a voice calls out, “it is. It always has been.”

Arthur blinks, looking up to find the woods suddenly alive, dozens and dozens of people coming out from behind the trees, standing in a semi-circle around him. Arthur can scarcely believe it when he sees him, “Leon?”

Leon bows his head, smile so full of love and joy Arthur’s knees almost buckle from it, “Hello again, my lord.”

Arthur shakes his head again, face twisted in confusion. “I don’t understand.”

“Look around Arthur, don’t you recognize anyone?” Merlin coaxes and when Arthur looks, his heart only beats louder.

So many faces, so many stories. There is Katharine from Culcheth, the old couple from Valeria, the little boy from Hengist’s castle, now much taller. The Druids surround them, Iseldir smiling serenely, Alana right beside him. There’s so many of them, they crowd around one another, pressed shoulder to shoulder. He could call out to them each by name if only he had the strength to speak.

All over his body, Arthur can feel the mementos of everyone he’s met like they are glowing against him. The chest plate, created from metal a village could ill afford to lose. A bracelet, woven with love and admiration, placed on his wrist by the smallest pair of hands. A tattoo, offering protection wherever he goes. What is he, he thinks, but a mosaic of all that he loves and cherishes.

“These are your people, Arthur.” Merlin declares as he walks towards them.

“This is your court.” Merlin says, standing next to Gwen and when Arthur sees Gaius his breath hitches.

“These are your knights.”

Leon steps forward and then there is Elyan, Lancelot, Gwaine, and Percival, all dressed in Pendragon red, looking like they were born to wear his crest, chins held high and proud.

“We are your people and this is your land and I know you can feel it.” Merlin throws out his arms, gesturing to the world, “I know you can hear it, how Albion sings your name.”

And all at once a hundred birds soar into the air, the flap of their wings sending thrills of excitement through the branches and the leaves. The flowers sway in their joy, turning their heads to the sky. The birdsong is low and melodic before bursting with colour, an orchestra so heartfelt, Arthur feels tears spring into his eyes. They swoop as they sing, dropping hundreds of notes, swirling around Arthur as they do just to get close to him, to have their spirits brush his.

“Maybe you were born to be king.” Merlin’s voice lowers, “Maybe it’s been foretold. But it wouldn’t matter even if it wasn’t. You have earned the title of Camelot’s true king and you have earned the love of the stars and the earth and all the souls that live within it. This is your sword just as you are ours. You have been building a nation as just a man and now you will unite all five kingdoms as a king. Every single one of us believes in you Arthur, it’s now time for you to believe in yourself.”

Arthur is achingly beautiful. His eyes ashine, his lip ever so slightly pulled with emotion. He takes a step, then another, wrapping his hand around the hilt and looking at the sword like it could reveal all the answers. He doesn’t know if he can do this. He doesn’t know if he’s worthy. If he’ll ever really be worthy.

But God, he wants to try.

He wants so desperately to try. He wants to be good. He wants to be just. He wants to be a safe haven. He wants people to smile when they see him coming, welcome him because they know he wants them to fly not fall. He looks at each and every person here, thinks how they’ve helped him far more than he has ever helped them and finally, always, inevitably, settles on Merlin.

It's always Merlin.

It’ll always be Merlin.

Arthur looks into his eyes like asking a question and Merlin nods ever so imperceptibly. They’re choosing destiny then and all that entails. They’re choosing to face the future without fear, to accept the inevitable, to give in to the world chanting their names.

Arthur swallows.

He feels whole again. Feels assured. If the best man in the world still looks at him like that, then maybe, Arthur thinks, maybe he is worthy. He thinks of his father. Of the way he used to cry as a child. Maybe, he’s been worthy all along.

Arthur takes one last look at the love of his life, at his family, at his people, and tightens his hold, pulling the sword out in an arc, sunlight beaming and for a moment, the entire world stills, he’s that breathtaking.

Let it be me, he had asked, arm swinging, let it be me so all this love I have has somewhere to go. Let it be him so he can protect these people with everything he has. Let it be him because he wants the burden. Is both afraid of it and respects it. Let it be him because he’s finally ready. He is as intertwined with the land and its people as he’s ever been, blended so seamlessly, his breath came in time with the push and pull of the tides.

The crowd is overcome, they stare in open mouthed awe as the very trees bend towards their king, the grass coiling up his boots, the sun stroking his cheeks and his hair. Arthur is alive with magic and Merlin resists the urge to sink to his knees.

Arthur looks up at the sword, still held high before effortlessly sliding it into his empty scabbard. “There are no words to express how I feel about Camelot and all of you. What you have shown me today just by simply being here is humbling and I will never forget it.” His word a solemn promise, “Camelot would be nothing without each and every one of you and I will do everything I can to keep the kingdom we love so much from being destroyed by tyrants simply after power.”

“When I am king,” the words feel right in his mouth. They feel certain. Inevitable, in a way that no destiny had ever felt because this wasn’t fate. This was a gift, it was offered, served to him with grace and expectation. He might have been born prince, but he was never guaranteed anything. Not until now.

“I will never let the people suffer for the trifles of the nobility and the first step to uniting Albion will be stopping Cenred now and freeing his people from his rule. Even now, they send us calls for help and we shall not abandon them as I would never abandon you.”

Arthur turns to look at them, looking carved right out of the legends of old, “So one more time I will ask for you to stand with me so that we may soon sit down with our families and enjoy the quiet of peace.”

Gwen steps forward, almost aglow in the sunshine, “I will always stand with you.”

“As will I.” Gwaine says and all around them, the chorus grows and grows and Arthur is dizzy with it.

Merlin watches on, fond and in love and ready to move forward, his magic helplessly careening towards Arthur, wrapping around him but this time, it feels like a sign. With a start, Merlin blinks, wriggling his fingers, pulling his magic back. It comes, after a time, but it yearns to be with Arthur, reaching for him anyway and that’s when Merlin gets it. That’s when it all makes sense.

As the crowd begins to dissipate, Merlin darts for Iseldir, pulling him aside.

“Emrys, you seem troubled.” Iseldir comments kindly, tilting his head.

“I need your help.” He answers in a rush, “I fear something terrible has happened. Something I should have noticed.”

Iseldir gestures for him to continue and it comes out all in a rush, Merlin not really having fully thought it through before grabbing him. “When Morgause gave us the coin to summon her,” he starts, deciding to just carry on as though Iseldir knew of whom he spoke, “I could feel its magic, sticky and angry. It’s why I didn’t really notice the difference at first, when Morgana enchanted the stone to mimic the coin’s shape because her magic was also driven by anger but it was…it was different. It was…righteous. Kinder. I don’t know, it’s hard to explain.”

But Iseldir isn’t bothered, just nods.

“But then one day Morgana left and came back with a bracelet and I knew I could recognize the magic, it was seeping into her- Morgause must have given it to her. She loves Morgana, no matter how twisted she is, her magic must do the same thing as mine does to Arthur, it reaches for the people you care about, but her magic is dark. There’s something wrong with it.”

“You think she’s been manipulating Morgana.” Iseldir says after a pause.

Merlin licks his lips, “Is it possible?” He asks, thinking back to Gwen’s words.

We might know the what but not the why. What lies beneath the underneath? What comes after?

“This bracelet, can you describe it?”

Merlin summons one of the notes to use as scrap paper and Iseldir procures him with a quill, “Charmed to always have ink.” He says cheerily, “Lovely invention.”

Merlin accepts it gratefully, sketching out the best he can the symbols he remembered carved into the bracelet’s surface. When Merlin’s done, he hands it over and Iseldir inspects it carefully, expression turning grave.

“Yes, Emrys.” He says in a low voice, “I believe you may be correct.”

Merlin hardly dares breathe.

“I can’t say for certain as this is an incomplete script, but there is a spell, one that only High Priestesses would know. While it doesn’t implant unwanted impulses like a femorrah, it amplifies feelings that already exist. What might have been just a passing irritant can become an all consuming fury. A lingering affection can become an obsessive love.”

Merlin chews on his lip, thinking it through. “So…Morgana really did feel that anger but she was never given the chance to really work through it? Or move on at all?”

Iseldir nods, “Again, I can’t be certain. But it’s possible that this bracelet was used to stoke her rage into something terrible. If Morgana was already confused, combined with this magic and perhaps, this Morgause’s ability to persuade her or trick her, it’s very possible indeed that she has been thoroughly misled.”

Merlin can barely breathe. This is- this is-

“What’s going on then?” Arthur asks and Merlin whips around, heart in his throat.

Later that night, their whole group together, Merlin tells them what he’s learned and the group simply erupts. It almost doesn’t matter who says what, that’s how quickly they cycled through their thoughts, sometimes agreeing, sometimes shouting they still didn’t care.

“What does it matter if there was magic? It was still her feelings. She still felt those things!”

“We don’t know how she really felt! What if it was just a passing thought that became something bigger. Don’t you ever have thoughts like that?”

“She betrayed us.”

“What if she betrayed herself too?”

“She never got a chance to choose! Not properly.”

“She made her choice pretty clear when she blasted Arthur into a wall.”

Arthur lets them yell it out. He lets them exhaust themselves, knowing the hurt he felt had been felt by all of them too. Knowing that Morgana had a magnetic smile and an aura that drew you towards her before you even knew it. Knowing how cold it is to feel the warmth of her favour just to have it snatched from you.

“She betrayed us.” There it is again, but quieter this time, less blame and more hurt.

At this, Arthur looks up, sincere and still, “Haven’t we all done things we regret?” he asks.

Gwaine opens his mouth to argue but Arthur silences him with just a hand, “I all but gave up just now. I let you all down and yet none of you left. You pulled me out and if Camelot has any hope at all, it’s because of all of you.”

Arthur’s hand curls into a fist save for a single finger. “One chance. Everyone deserves one chance and she deserves a choice. A real choice. Without anyone’s influence.”

“How can you trust her?” Percival sputters.

Elyan looks like he wants to agree before looking at his own sister, his shoulders dropping. He knows exactly how. Knows how it doesn’t even matter. He’d drop everything and run for Gwen, no matter what she had done or where she was.  

“I don’t.” Arthur answers simply, “But Morgause doesn’t trust her either. Why else would she enchant the bracelet like that? That means there’s hope.” The corner of his lips lift, “And you know how I am about that.”

Gwen bites her lips, fussing with her dress before she nods, almost to herself. “I agree with Arthur. We can’t give up on her yet. Not until we try. Not until we’re sure.”

“I’m with Gwen.” Lancelot says, taking her hand.

“And you Merlin?” Gwaine asks, eyes peering into Merlin’s very soul.

Merlin glances to Arthur, looking at him from the corner of his eye and thinks about destiny. Maybe they can’t fight the gods but words on a page are only so deep. In the end, neither of them had been right. They couldn’t change fate but nor did they understand it. What will be will be, but who’s to say that any of it is as it seems?

Merlin’s worst fears about Morgana have already come true. What more is there to be afraid of? How much could he gain if he stopped being paranoid and just started doing what he thought was right? What more could anyone do? Other than just the next right thing.

“I think the world has let Morgana down enough.” Merlin answers, “Her friends shouldn’t too.”

“Well how are we supposed to argue with that?” Gwaine sighs, “Fine, I’m in.”

Arthur almost smiles, “Then it’s agreed. Morgana gets a second chance.”

“And if you’re wrong?” Percival asks, only giving voice to everyone’s shameful question.

Arthur’s eyes turn to steel. “Then I’ll take her down myself.”

Arthur asks everyone who would like to stay and help to stick around and then tells the rest they should feel no shame if they must return home. He’s proud when most of them decide to stay, shoulders held back with pride. He splits them up between those who can fight and those who can’t, asking the ones who can’t to go and warn the villages on the warpath to flee if they can. To the Druids, he asks that they do not break their commitment to pacifism but only to help take care of the injured and the sick. Iseldir grants him his request and yet some of his clan approach Arthur anyway, telling him they would like to fight at his side.  

Invigorated once more, Arthur feels the wheels begin to turn, he can picture it all in his mind now, this impossible battle. He’s told Morgana everything, all of his ideas, all of his schemes, the positioning of Camelot’s once best kept military secret.

He rubs at his temple.

There’s no time for foolish regrets. Only foolhardy action.

Arthur has no doubt that the journey ahead of them is treacherous. That he can plan and plan but something inevitably will muck it all up anyway.

But.

And just the fact that he can say that tiny little word at all gives him all the hope he needs to carry on through anyway. Using the intel they’d gathered from Leon; they know that Cenred’s army will be at Camelot’s doors in two day’s time. With Arthur’s warning note to the castle, Uther has made sure to fortify the tunnels, so at least that has been thwarted.

Still though, Morgause brings with her a wealth of magical power and who knows how many sorcerers Cenred has in his employ, willing or not. There’s also the matter of the warpath. How many villages had Cenred ravaged in his quest to come here? Arthur bites his inner cheek. The pain centres him. Keeps him focused. One thing at a time.

He can’t do anything now to protect that which is already lost but he can damn well fight tooth and nail to keep the citadel from falling. To keep everyone in Camelot’s walls alive and well. And it all starts in the heart. At the very beginning of it all.

“Morgana won’t come in with the army. She’s too impatient for that. She’ll want to kill Uther as soon as she can.” Arthur declares quietly, studying a map of the castle Leon had brought with him. “At the end of the day, I know she doesn’t want this war to drag on anymore than we do. If she can end it fast, she’ll take the opportunity and then use her lineage to make a claim to the throne.”

Around him, the people he trusts most in the world look at him from their spots around a circular table. To stay safe, Arthur had led them to someplace only he knew. Someplace he had shown no one when he discovered it in his youth. Not even Morgana.

It is an abandoned castle of the ancient kings that was once ruled by Camelot, now stuck in a state of disrepair and decay. When he was younger, it had scared him. How quickly mighty powers can topple. How fast a legacy can be extinguished from existence. Later, as he returned, not understanding his compulsion, it became a motivator. He would not abandon his people like the kings of old. He would not fall. He would not crumble into chipped stone, ivy curling around his edges.

In the centre of the castle, there is a room of dusty and forgotten things. Arthur pulled off a tarp, unveiling a wooden table, entirely round and still looking as proud as the day it was built. He liked it immediately. Liked what it signified. The utter symbolism of it all.

“Around this table,” he said, “we are all equal. Around this table, we acknowledge that we move as one, that without each and every one of us, we would not have been able to get as far as we have. I am proud to stand next to each of you and fight to protect that which we hold so dear.”

He won’t forget Merlin’s smile after he said that and now here they are, back at the round table once more, poring over maps, expressions grave.

“I agree.” Gwaine nods, “She’ll want to go right for his throat herself.”

“And she won’t need to come in with the army, she’s grown up in Camelot, she’ll know how to sneak in. Even if she has Morgause with her.” Merlin adds and Arthur nods.

Arthur assigns Leon and Merlin to the task of finding each weak point of the castle after which they find six. “We don’t have enough people.” Arthur says with a frown before Gwen crosses her arms.

“Of course we do. With you and Merlin away, you have Elyan, Lancelot, Percival,” she lists, counting on her fingers, “Gwaine, Leon,” she raises her chin, “and me.”

“Guinevere-”

“Don’t tell me it’s too dangerous. Just because I’d prefer to make myself useful in other ways doesn’t mean I don’t know how to use a sword if I need to or that I can’t take care of myself.”

Arthur doesn’t look convinced but Lancelot looks at her like she is a marvel, shaking his head. “She won’t give up until you let her do as she pleases Arthur.”

“Besides,” Gwen adds, “if everything goes to plan, they won’t even know I’m there. And!” she adds for good measure, “Whatever happened to all of us being equals?” 

Arthur sighs, ducking his head before revealing a proud little smile, “You’re a force to be reckoned with, you know that?”

Gwen blushes, her bravado disappearing just as quickly as it appeared. “I don’t want to be a reckoning, I just want to do my part.”

Arthur smiles at her and something passes between them, a silent understanding. A river of friendship, flowing free.

“Then we have our six.” He declares. “You all know what to do. We head out in a half hour.”

Arthur watches everyone go, weaving between the stacks of cobwebbed things and pretends he sees a flash of black curls heading out the door. He knows what he said to their friends. That he would cut Morgana down where she stood if she proved to be an enemy of Camelot.

Only he knows that isn’t true.

That it could never be true. That there’s no way he could hold a sword to her throat and not see the little girl he grew up with, mischievous green eyes and all. Morgana may have been destined to betray him but nowhere in the prophecies does it say that she won’t come back. Nowhere does it say that she stops loving him. That she doesn’t miss him. That she doesn’t regret what she’s done.

Nowhere does it say that he doesn’t save her. That he doesn’t get her back.

They travel by foot, not far out from their destination. Everyone knows their assigned spots; everyone knows what they need to do. Merlin hands them all little pouches and instructs them to keep it close. Before they break off, each to head to their own post, they stand in a circle, the six of them, together, as Arthur hopes they always will be.

He extends out his hand, looks each of them in the eye as they place their own atop of it. “The kingdom might never know the extent of your bravery and unfailing determination, but I do. I am honoured to fight by your side and I know that we’ll meet again.”

Arthur presses down on their joined hands, “For the love of Camelot.” His voice is somber and Gwaine’s lip flicks up.

“We might love Camelot,” Gwaine’s lip flicks up, “but that’s not who we’re fighting for.”

“For the people.” Elyan says.

“For magic.” Percival adds.

“For the future.” Lancelot smiles.

“And the man who will deliver it to us.” Leon looks at Arthur, the man who had been by his side longer than anyone else, “Long may he reign.”

Arthur swallows, trying to think of something to say when Gwaine jostles him in the shoulder playfully, “Don’t worry princess, we know you’re busy dreaming up how many jewels to put in your little crown.”

“Careful Gwaine,” Arthur warns, “or who knows what sort of ceremonial robes you might end up in.”

Merlin hides a snicker, “You should listen to him Gwaine.” He says, trying hard to be serious, “Arthur can do horrifying things with feathers.”

The moment lightens between them all, something warm and comforting settling over their shoulders like a blanket. They’ve always known it, somewhere deep in their hearts, but they feel it now, loud and beautiful. This is their family. These are their people. This is where they belong and it would never matter whether they were in a village at the end of the world or in a castle draped in red, home was in the clasp of their hands. It was in Merlin’s rabbit stew, in Lancelot’s calloused palms, the way Gwaine talked in his sleep and prattled on about his dreams. It was in the stitches of Gwen’s needle, in Percival’s quiet smile. It was in Arthur’s infectious heart, drawing them all into his dream.

It was even Morgana and her diamond laugh, her eyes glittering.

Arthur thinks that no one knows he won’t press the dagger to her neck. What he doesn’t see is that they’re all hoping that he doesn’t. That the thing they long for the most is Arthur doing the impossible thing one more time and finding the only blind spot in destiny’s plan.

Arthur pulls his hand away from their pile, making steady eye contact with each of his party. “We meet again in the Great Hall.” He says before raising a menacing finger, “No mourners.”

This isn’t the end of their story. This is only the beginning. It has to be.

Chapter Text

Arthur tries not to let himself linger, tries not to watch their friends until they disappear. “Come on.” Merlin tugs gently at his wrist. “We have to get inside.”

Arthur nods and they walk past Percival in his hiding place, sneaking in through a servant’s entrance that will lead right to the kitchens. Being back in the castle is overwhelming. It’s nostalgic and strange all at once and it takes every ounce of him for Arthur to keep walking without reflecting too deeply on it. They head straight for Arthur’s old chambers, Leon having confirmed they’d been abandoned, untouched since the day he’d left.

It’s odd, to be back here again. If Arthur tries hard enough, he can pretend they’re both just here after a long hunt and Merlin will stroke a fire, complaining about having to polish Arthur’s armor the whole time. Arthur will huff and heave, being unsufferable just to watch Merlin’s face go mad with irritation. They will bicker and then they will quiet before Arthur makes an odd comment that will make Merlin snicker and then Merlin would crack a joke that Arthur will laugh too hard at. They would spend the whole night talking and when Merlin blows out the last candle as Arthur slips into bed, they’ll both pretend that neither of them lingers and that Merlin didn’t just stroke his hair goodnight.

“Odd, isn’t it?” Merlin comments, looking around like he too, is seeing the ghosts of the past.

“I can always order you about if you miss it.” Arthur jokes and laughs in spite of himself, when Merlin curls his nose.

“I suppose it’s better than you throwing goblets at my head.”

Arthur claps a hand to his mouth, biting back a guffaw, “I really was the worst, wasn’t I?”

Merlin’s eyes sparkle with amusement as he walks over, kissing Arthur chastely, “You weren’t so bad.”

Arthur sobers quickly, sitting down at the edge of his old bed, “This is always the worst part you know.” He mentions, almost casually, “Of war, I mean. It’s all the waiting. Sometimes it feels like you’re just holding your breath, getting weaker and weaker with the fear of it.”

“You have nothing to be afraid of.” Merlin responds, voice a promise, “Nothing will harm you.”

Arthur shakes his head. “I’m not afraid for me. I’m worried only for Morgana. And that it won’t be enough.”

Merlin softens, coming to sit down next to him. “I can’t see the future and I’m wise enough now not to want to. But I can share your burdens.” Merlin presses a kiss to Arthur’s shoulder, leaning his weight against him, “Like you once offered to me. Give your fear to me and I’ll trade you for my faith that you will succeed.”

“We’ll succeed because there’s no other option.”

Merlin hums his agreement, “Morgana will appear before the army does and probably take his crown as the prize. The best way to win a war is to debilitate their army and you can do that without wounding a single soldier just by obliterating their morale.”

“War is a funny thing like that.” Arthur agrees softly, “It all seems so important until it isn’t. Until you discover it’s always just been pointless, a single man’s greed made into a problem for the many.”

Merlin doesn’t have anything in response to that but he knows Arthur isn’t looking for one. “I’m going to head out and find out where Uther is. I’ll be right back.” Merlin pulls a cloak over his face and whispers an illusion spell, another trick he’d learned from the Druids.

Arthur nods his goodbye and continues his long wait. When Merlin returns, slightly out of breath, it’s to confirm that the king is in the Council Chambers. The two of them fly out the room, avoiding the guards and hiding behind walls. When Arthur bursts into the chamber room, he’s hit with a wave of déjà vu. Of fear and anguish and loss and a deep simmering bitterness of how could you, how could you?

I was your son and you banished me.

“Arthur!” Uther throws himself out of his seat, staring at him incredulously.

He's aged.

Uther's beard has grown out and his eyes are lined from stress. There is a deep despair that looms like a cavern in his eyes but Arthur is older too and takes no pleasure in it. The chambers have been reconfigured into a war room, a long table in the centre, a handful of advisors and many more Lords scattered across it. Arthur doesn’t spend much time assessing, he’s gotten all the information he needs.

“There’s no time to explain. But Morgana is coming to kill you. She has Morgause with her and maybe Cenred too. You need to leave.”

Uther splutters, turning redder by the second, “You just come in here, after all this time, to tell me lies?”

Arthur’s expression is a patchwork of exasperation and disbelief, “What exactly is the point in lying to you after having not seen you in almost two years? I’m trying to save your life! Despite how little you care about mine.”

“I never stopped caring about you Arthur.” Uther proclaims, his words barbed and cold, “It is you who turned your back on Camelot. Who turned your back on me.”

“You’re the one who banished ME!” Arthur shouts before Merlin’s hand is at his wrist and he sucks in a haggard breath.

This isn’t the time to be a child. He is no longer a son. He can’t afford to be.

“Please.” He says again, grinding his teeth, “Just listen to me. Cenred has sorcerers in his army and they’re led by Morgause. You know how powerful she is. You also know that Morgana has magic and you must know that she blames you for all of it. The persecution, the bloodshed, the oppression of magic users everywhere.”

Arthur eyes his father intently, entire body a straight line, “She’s coming here. For you. And she won’t stop until you’re dead.”

“No,” Uther shakes his head, “no she wouldn’t. She couldn’t. She-”

“She will.” Arthur shouts, “She will but we can save her. Together we can bring her back. Admit that you were wrong. Tell her you’ll repeal the ban on magic. Tell her you love her. That you’ll change the law for her. Tell her you know magic can be good because you know that she is.”

Beside him, Merlin swallows his heart down back into his ribs where it belongs. Thinks about parallels and mirrors. About how Arthur is a better man than his father will ever be. Because those are the words from Arthur’s own heart about Merlin and they’re words that can only exist because Arthur has no pride when it comes to his people. When it comes to the ones he loves, Arthur will admit that he is wrong. He will learn from his mistakes. He will listen when people tell him things he doesn’t want to hear and he will do it because he is noble and good. So good, that he thinks even someone like Uther can change.

Merlin closes his eyes so he won’t have to see Arthur’s heart break.

“Repeal the ban on magic?” Uther all but spits, “Are you out of your mind? Has your mucking about in the woods for the past two years made you ill? You tell me Morgana is coming to kill me and fail to mention how it’s the magic that’s corrupted her.” He can barely form the words, his vile hatred spewing with every syllable.

“She was born with it!” Arthur shouts, “How can that be her fault? How can it be anyone’s fault!”

“They were born twisted. Born a mistake.” Uther answers ruthlessly and Arthur jerks back with the force of it.

“How can you say that?” he whispers, unable to understand, “She’s your daughter.”

Now it’s Uther’s turn to pale, robbed entirely of words.

“She’s your daughter. How can you turn your back on her!” Arthur demands, forgetting how Uther had turned his back on his son.

“Arthur.” Merlin whispers under his breath, showing him a coin that is now burning orange, “It’s Leon’s.”

It’s terrible luck really. Leon’s passage being the closest to the Council Chambers.

Arthur pales and he turns to his father beseechingly. “Everyone needs to flee. Now. Morgana is coming. She’ll be here any minute now.”

Around him, everyone sprints out, some having already left. Uther remains where he is, head held high. “I won’t run from you or her or anybody else. This is my kingdom and I will run it how I see fit!”

“Father please.” Arthur begs this time, stepping towards him, heart in his eyes, “For once in your life just listen to me! Why can’t you just admit that you were wrong? When will you stop punishing the world for your mistakes.”

Arthur doesn’t understand it. He’s thrown through time. He’s so many years younger. He’s back in a room just like this, yelling the same things, his father yelling the same replies right back. It’s been so long. It’s been a lifetime. Arthur has changed so much, how is it possible his father hasn’t changed at all?

“I’ve already told you,” Uther responds cruelly, “my only mistake was having any faith in you.”

The door bursts open behind them and Arthur feels his stomach sink right to his feet.

“No father,” Morgana says with a sneer, “your biggest mistake was letting me live when you should have burned me at the stake."

“Morgana-!” Arthur turns to her but she only has to flare her palms and him and Merlin go flying across the room.

Merlin shouts a spell and the force of their landing softens somewhat, but not enough for Arthur to avoid his entire back feeling bruised, stars dancing around the corners of his vision. He moans, rubbing at his head, watching as Morgana strides in, Morgause at her side, Cenred at the other. From the corner of his eye, Arthur can see Merlin brush his thumb against the coin, signalling their arrival to their friends.

“Morgana.” Uther looks smaller than Arthur has ever seen him, utterly defeated, just by a look.

“It’s been a while.” Morgana greets, looking around the room like she’s cared enough to miss it. “I suppose you’ve been well," she shrugs, "but I don’t care either way.”

“Morgana.” Uther implores, robbed of every other word.

His weakness only infuriates her further and with a snarl, Morgana’s eyes burn gold and Uther flies into the wall, held up by her sheer hatred. He chokes, straining to move but he can’t fight the force of her will and he stays trapped, the stone all but cracking beneath the pressure.

Arthur groans, forcing himself upward to his knees. He can hear Morgana walking closer, her heels clacking against the ground in ominous clicks. She stops a few paces away and just stares up at the man who gave her half of herself.

“I’m going to enjoy killing you.”

A sword appears in her hand and she spins the hilt in her palm just like she did when they were kids. She spins it like Arthur does. Like Uther does. She spins it like a Pendragon and Arthur sees her as a child again, his only companion, and he suddenly gets the strength to stand, throwing himself in between the only two relatives he has left, arms out.

“Wait!”

“Arthur,” Morgana snarls, “step aside.”

Faintly, Arthur is aware of Morgause raising her hands and then of Merlin sprinting past him, a battle Arthur wouldn't ever be able to fight happening across the room. He can hear Cenred pull out his sword, hears Merlin's voice drop three levels. Every part of Arthur aches to run to him but the battle he needs to fight is here; sibling to sibling. Kin to kin.

“Morgana listen to me! Listen!” Arthur raises his hands in front of her, fingers splayed, a gesture for peace, for please, please, please. “You have every right to hate him. I know he’s hurt you. By lying to you about your parentage, your lineage, your birthright. By making you grow up in fear of your own self. By loving you and then rejecting you. I know your pain.”

“You can’t know it!" Morgana shouts back, teeth bared, "You’ll never understand!”

Uther yells something but Morgana’s eyes flare and his mouth shuts though he strains against her power.

“Understand what?” Arthur challenges, “Never being able to be what he expects you to be? Never being enough? Always being defective even though there’s nothing wrong with you?”

Morgana’s lip parts and Arthur sees it, sees the tiny bit of hope in the compassion in her eyes.

“I know what it feels like to be let down by the man who was supposed to raise you and love you. And I also know what it felt like to have the only person who made it just barely survivable be the person standing right in front of you.”

“Then let me kill him.” Morgana appeals. “For both of us. For the little boy who cried when his father told him he was a disappointment. Let’s kill him for your mother, whose legacy he tarnished by using her to justify the deaths of thousands who’d done no wrong.”

Arthur stares at her, his mouth dry, his breathing hard. He can’t look away from his sister’s eyes and he wonders, who’s really persuading who. What’s the difference between justice and revenge? The punishment needs to fit the crime but an eye for an eye makes the whole world blind.

What’s the difference between justice and revenge? Merlin stopped Arthur from killing Uther because he knew it would twist him beyond repair but would it heal Morgana instead? Would she sew her bleeding heart together with the last threads of Uther’s life? Who was Arthur to decide?

Whose life was more worth saving? His sister or his father.

“Morgana,” he implores, voice low, “I’m sorry I never chose you. Before. When we were younger. I’m sorry I left you to be alone and that I didn’t call you to join me sooner when I left. I know you’re afraid. That you’ve always been afraid. But I’m here with you now and I will never abandon you.”

Arthur steps closer, watching as Morgana trembles, confusion and despair and a deep penetrating anguish that makes him ache. He’s so close to her now, he can count the stray hairs curling around her face. She stares at him, a frightened creature, sword shaking in her hand.

Just a little closer.

Morgause’s expression twists. “Sister! Don’t listen to him! He’s trying to manipulate you!”

Morgana turns around, the bracelet she wears almost seems to throb. Her face throbs with hate and she whips around to Arthur but she’s too late. Arthur grabs her wrist, pulls her in so close their noses collide, "Do what you want Morgana, gods help me, I'll forgive you for it. But don't let anyone make those decisions for you." 

Arthur rips the bracelet clean off. It clatters against the stone floor. Morgana stares at him in incredulity before she gasps, clutching at her wrist, staring in open eyed confusion. “What-”

“No!” Morgause shrieks and the air in the Council Chambers whips up in a frenzy. “You’ve ruined everything! This was going to be her chance! Kill him Morgana! This changes nothing! Kill him!”

Cenred takes a step back, only now realizing how things have gotten too far out of his control. Merlin sees him leaving and pushes through the wind until he’s close enough to shout his spell, watching as Cenred falls to the ground, neck snapped, no one noticing at all.

The wind shrieks with ever growing intensity. Everything flies off the walls, the paintings, the tapestries, the books on the shelves. The cacophony of chaos waters Arthur’s eyes, he can barely see from the squinting but he feels Morgana fall to her knees, hears her weeping.

“Make it stop!!” she screams, “Make it stop!”

“Kill him Morgana!” Morgause commands, “Kill them both!”

But Morgana drops her sword, twisting around, “What did you do to me! What have I done!”

“Nothing you didn’t want.” Morgause says, “Nothing that wouldn’t have been for the greater good. He is a tyrant and you would have been a revolution.”

Uther falls to the ground in an unceremonious heap, Morgana’s magic wearing out. Morgause looks at him, a solemn resignation in her eyes. “I would have made you queen, sister. Forgive me for how much I loved you.”

Morgause’s lips form the spell, the words lost in the noise. Morgana’s sword jumps into the air and hurtles straight towards Arthur’s heart.

Morgana wails, scrambling off her knees, limbs flying. There are tears blurring her eyes and she can’t see anything but Arthur’s face, a terrible look of calm that breaks only when she collides into him. She doesn’t scream when she feels the blade slice along her waist. She doesn’t scream when they fall against the stone, Arthur’s armour bruising her hip. She doesn’t scream when her sister’s head cracks against the wall as Merlin roars a spell, eyes a furious molten gold.

Morgana screams when she notices Uther’s body, realizes Morgause’s last act of cleverness before she died. Uther’s very own sword sticks out of his chest, his eyes vacant, blood dribbling down his chin. Knowing both Merlin and Morgana would be more distracted with Arthur, Morgause had slaughtered Uther with no distractions, trading success with her life.  

Merlin runs to the old king, pressing two fingers to his neck before shaking his head. “He’s gone.”

Arthur’s breath comes in a gasp but he tears his gaze away, closes his eyes to centre himself, reminds himself of the war just outside their door.

“She was manipulating you with that bracelet.” He says instead of a thousand other things, needing to get it out, to explain, to do something so he doesn’t fall apart, “Your actions haven’t been entirely your own since the moment you put it on but we don’t have time to deal with that right now. We need to end this war before it truly begins.”

“I- I can’t-” Morgana can’t string a sentence together, every emotion her body is capable of feeling shrieking in a whirlwind that’s deafening. “Arthur I- I was so angry at you but I- I didn’t want to be I swear I-” she breaks into a sob, “I tried so hard.”

Arthur takes her hands and squeezes them, forcing her to look at him. “Go hide in your chambers, Gwen should be waiting for you there, she can bandage you up, you need medical attention Morgana. We’ll get you when this is over.”

Morgana shakes her head, grabbing at him, “Arthur, no! You don’t know- Cenred’s army- it’s massive. It’s-”

Arthur flicks a glance at Merlin, “He may have an army, but I have the greatest sorcerer to ever live on my side and we have a plan.”

“What could you possibly-”

Arthur bends down, gives her a kiss on the forehead before dropping her hands and turning away, “You’ll see Morgana. You won’t even believe it until you do.”

Right on time, the doors burst open and Arthur’s knights come in panting, looking no worse for wear. “Ready?” Arthur asks them and at once they straighten, nodding.

“Go on Morgana, I’ll see you soon.” Arthur says to her, reaching for Merlin as they watch Percival sling Cenred over his shoulders like a sack of potatoes.

Outside the chambers, Lancelot steps to Merlin’s side and their little group splits into two. “We all know our stations. We know our roles. I’ll see you all when it’s over.” Arthur’s word sounds like law and they turn to opposite sides, ready to go before Merlin tugs at his arm, drawing him in for a crushing kiss.

“Don’t die.” Merlin commands furiously, “Don’t you dare die until I come back to you.”

“Come on Merlin,” Arthur replies with that crooked grin Merlin adores so much, “I’m the hero, remember? And heroes never die.”

Either way, he thinks, his doom has apparently been foretold, so what is there to fear?

Together, he and his friends make the run for the outer gate. Arthur thought perhaps the guards and the soldiers would see him and jeer but he’s surprised when instead, they cry out his name. “Leon told us you had returned, he said you'd come back for us." their relief is dizzying.

Arthur swallows, the words don't know how to fit in his mouth, "The king is dead. Cenred had him killed."

The guards gape.

"We must push back Cenred's army and take back what is ours!" the backs of the guards stiffen and they all straighten, "For the love of Camelot!"

The crowd roars back.

Arthur’s never really thought of the gap he left behind in Camelot beyond his own self and what he lost. It’s jarring almost, to see the way the soldiers crowd around him, desperate for a leader in the face of such terrifying doom.

They make it all the way to the top of the citadel wall and it is there that they come face to face with the might of Cenred’s army. There are thousands of soldiers lined up at the gates and at the very front, Arthur recognizes the colours and lavish outfittings of Cenred’s military council.

Arthur strides to the very edge of the castle wall and looks down, eyes hard. The sun beats down over them, Arthur’s face bathed in shadow as the sunlight streams behind him. A soldier hands him the speaking trumpet and everything silences. “Army of Essetir!” Arthur proclaims and he sees the Councilmen lift their heads up to listen, “Your tyrant king who brought you here for a war without reason was cowardly enough to abandon his army and so I have brought him back to you, to urge you to turn around and leave Camelot unless you wish to fear the wrath of her army.”

Arthur gestures to Percival and he grunts in understanding, lifting Cenred over his head and holding his body out for his army to see it. There are gasps and hundreds of murmurs, the voices collect together in a sea of unintelligible noise.

“Look how he abandons you!” Arthur proclaims, “What was your purpose in coming here? You have nothing to gain and everything to lose. Leave now and we will spare you your lives.”

A councilman laughs, “We are already here Prince Arthur and our army is mightier than yours, the loss of our king is no great loss at all.”

Arthur looks down in disgust until he remembers the kind of man Cenred was and doesn’t fault them for their disloyalty. “You can stay.” He answers, almost collegially, “But you won’t be able to handle Camelot’s full strength, with all her magic and dragons.”

“Dragons?” The councilman laughs, “There are no dragons anymore.”

A distinct rumble shudders through the earth and everyone freezes. Arthur only smirks, looking down at them. “There is far more magic in the world than you know.” He replies and laughs in amazed disbelief as he sees Merlin atop of an honest to god dragon, grinning madly.

Kilgarrah roars, the force if it knocking fear into everyone’s hearts. His mighty wings create unavoidable gusts and he bares his teeth in a snarl. Above him, Merlin lifts his hands into the air, chanting a spell Arthur knows he’s been practicing. The sky above them, sunny as it was, darkens almost instantly into the most thunderous of black clouds. A boom of thunder tears into them, the very air crackling in anticipation.

Arthur outlines their options politely. “You can either broil under the Great Dragon’s flames, burn under my sorcerer’s lightning, be cut down by my army, or you can leave.”

To punctuate his point, Merlin sends down the first streams of lightning, it flashes earthbound in just a second, smoldering the ground as it hits. Below them, the army scatters, people running this way and that. Above, Kilgarrah roars once more, dipping downward, belly almost scraping the tips of their helmets as he breathes fire over the barren ground.

“Let all of Albion know!” Arthur shouts, “That its chosen king is now on the throne and let all of Camelot’s enemies beware of our might!”

The crowd titters before a soldier raises his spear and shouts, “Long live Essetir!”

His squadron roars in approval and they rush towards Kilgarrah, spears aimed high but the dragon only lets out a puff of smoke from his nostrils. He doesn’t need to use his flames to knock them down like flies with just a single claw. The soldiers slam against the citadel wall, crumbling feebly into unnatural angles.

There is a horrible silence. Arthur doesn’t relish in it.

"We will never bow to you!" One of the Lords yells, eyes burning.

There's a moment where it seems like the sentiment will pick up momentum when all at once, the earth beneath their feet starts to tremor violently. Merlin raises his arms higher and the rocks lurch, sending the soldiers tumbing to the ground, palms scraping the dirt.

Arthur bites back a smile, "Seems like you are already on your knees, my lord."

The man opens his mouth to speak again but Merlin's eyes flash and the ground shakes again before falling still.

“I have no desire to see any of you dead.” Arthur says once it's over, considering this to be his final warning, “I am sure the army of Essetir is filled with men of honour.” His voice drops, “But I will not hesitate to annihilate each and every trespasser on my land if need be. What I am offering you is the chance to live and fight for Camelot instead.”

Beside him, the archers all line up their bows, pointing them downwards. His knights pull out their swords, the metal flashing. The infantrymen stationed at the base of the castle lift up their glaives. Kilgarrah flaps his wings and Merlin makes the sky rumble once more.

Even from up high, Arthur can see the Councilmen flinch back and knows that he has won.

Feeling Merlin’s gaze, Arthur summons him over. Kilgarrah flies to him and Arthur bows his head, “I am sorry for your imprisonment all these years and I thank you for your help, though I have one more favour to ask.”

Kilgarrah gives him a look as though to say they will be having words later but brings himself close enough for Arthur to hop on his back and be brought to the ground where he makes short work of finding the councilman he needs.

The man drops to the floor, crawling backwards on his hands and knees as he sees him approach, “Please!” he begs, “Spare my life!”

Arthur looks down at him with barely hidden disrespect, “I have no interest in taking your life.” He answers, “I’m interested in making you a messenger. Do you see that man riding the dragon?” he asks, pointing at Merlin.

The man nods profusely.

“That man is the most powerful sorcerer to ever walk the earth, he can command the elements just as easily as you would command your own body. You’re making a wise choice leaving Camelot and you’d make a far wiser one to accept that I will be amalgamating Essetir into Camelot’s fold for this transgression.”

“You-you can’t!” the man sputters and Arthur just gives him a look.

“Can’t I?” he asks, “I have the most powerful army in all five kingdoms, certainly the best trained one, even before all the magic. Cenred had no heir and no relatives. There is no quick successor to the throne. I will provide for the people of Essetir and push back Lot’s kingdom, who I know has been trying to infiltrate your western border.”

“What do you want from me.” The man asks at last, pushing himself off the ground.

“I want you to go back to your kingdom and let them know the name of their new king. Welcomers of the new power will be greatly rewarded.”

“And resistors?” the man asks bitterly.

Arthur only shrugs, pointing back at Merlin, “Ask the man with the dragon. He’s the one responsible for my protection and I can assure you,” he says, leaning in close, “Merlin does not forgive mistakes.”

The man swallows and that’s when Arthur knows he’s done his part. “Retreat!” the man yells, clamouring up to his feet, “Retreat!!”

Knowing the power he holds, Arthur turns his back on the enemy, waving up at Gwaine who yells down at the guards to open the gates. And even while all of Cenred’s army surrounds him, Arthur knows not a single soldier will follow him in as the gate doors rise up, the groan of the chain sounding like music to his ears.

When Arthur walks back into the keep, he does so as king and when he walks down the streets, he is treated as one, every man and woman and child bending their head as he passes, the gate still wide open so they can see his power. Feel the strength of his might, the binding quality of his word.

I will protect you, he had promised, and there was Cenred’s army, running farther and farther away. I will protect you, he had said, and here the people were, hands at their hearts, saying we heard you, we heard.

Before anyone can find him, Arthur heads back to the Council Chambers, the emotions he’d had to strangle in his own hands to carry on through the day invading him without defense. Uther’s body is exactly as he left it, though paler than before. Colder too.

Arthur gently removes the sword from Uther’s chest, carefully moving his body so that it rests on the floor, more dignified than his neck falling to the left. Arthur tears at his cape, using the torn fabric to wipe the blood off Uther’s lips and using the clean portion to throw over his body, hiding his gaping wound and the blood-stained shirt.

The last thing Arthur does is close Uther’s unseeing eyes, not taking a moment to look within them one last time. He knows he will see only more emptiness and he’s had enough of that.

“You weren’t a good man.” Arthur whispers, “Except for when you were.”

He holds Uther’s stiff hand in his, thinking how this is the first time he’s done so. Thinking how rarely his own father had ever touched him. How cold he had been, even in life.

“I don’t know how to mourn you when I know we’re better off without you but it still pains me so deeply to just admit it. I loved you-” Arthur’s breath staccatos in his throat, “I loved you so much father. You meant everything to me. Even when you preferred everything over me. So why- why couldn’t you have just loved me back even half as much, so I can sit here and cry properly the way you’re supposed to instead of feeling relieved that now there’s one less thing I have to worry about.”

The tears prick at his eyes and he doesn’t know if they’re from grief or anger or frustration or just this child-born desperation that still pleads with Uther, even now, even at the end, even after everything, to please just love him.

“I would have forgiven you for all of it. If you told me you still wanted me, I would have forgiven you for everything.”

Arthur reaches down, takes the crown off his father’s head and holds it in his hands. It’s an embellished thing, carved out of pure gold. It’s heavy, he admits. But not so much that he couldn’t have lifted up his own child with it. Not so much that he had to drop everything else just to carry it.

“You thought power was the goal but it’s only ever been the method.” Arthur whispers, tracing the patterns in the metal, “I’ve done so much good with so much less, so tell me father, how were you able to do so little with more?”

Arthur closes his eyes, feeling his time here coming to an end. “I love you anyway.” He says at last, “I always have. But it wasn’t enough anymore, to excuse what you had done. But thank you anyway. For teaching me how to use a sword, for teaching me what it is to be a knight, for putting that helmet on my head the day of my first tournament and telling me you believed in me.”

Arthur stands, looking down for the last time, “Goodbye father. I hope you find my mother in the next world and I hope you become a better man for her. Maybe I’ll meet you again in some other place and I’ll be the son you always wanted and you can be the father I never had.”

Arthur lifts the sheet over Uther’s face and turns away, walking until he gets to the doors of the Great Hall. This is where they’re all supposed to meet when it’s over. This is where he reunites with his family, the one that he chose and who more importantly, chose him in return. How beautiful is that? To know that people keep choosing you every single day, staying by your side because they want to, because they know they belong with you just as much as you belong with them.

Grief sometimes feels like being locked underground with the water rising past your chest. Coming home feels like the ceiling being torn away and hands reaching to pull you out into the sun.

Pushing open the doors feels a lot like that.

Merlin barrels into him first, burying his face into his neck and then Gwen is there and Lancelot and soon they’re all engulfing one another in an embrace more joyous and relieved than Arthur’s ever felt. They’re laughing and they’re crying and they’re cheering and they’re smiling and smiling and smiling.

“Did you see their faces!” Gwaine guffaws, “Holy hell when I saw the bloody dragon, I almost keeled over myself!”

“I can’t believe we even had a dragon.” Leon remarks.

“We don’t really have a dragon.” Merlin corrects sheepishly, “He almost threatened to burn Camelot down instead of Cenred’s army but when I told him everything that had happened he seemed alright helping us out.”

Lancelot shakes his head, “That’s not exactly how it went but what does it matter now. Cenred’s army is gone and Essetir is yours.”

They all turn to stare at Arthur and he feels almost uncomfortable in the heat of their gaze.

“What are you looking so confused about?” Morgana asks, appearing from the other side of the room, “You’re going to be king. The way you were always meant to.”

Everyone turns to look at her, various levels of mistrust on their faces. Morgana averts her eyes when she notices and Gwen’s lip pulls as she runs over, taking Morgana’s hand and holding it to her chest. “Stop it everyone.” She admonishes, “We’re all susceptible to enchantments and when it came down to it, she saved Arthur’s life and she has the scars to prove it.”

Gwen punctuates her point by touching Morgana’s bandaged side and everyone looks away.

“It’s alright Gwen.” Morgana smiles at her tiredly, “I have to earn back their trust just like anyone else would have to. But please, let me say I’m sorry.” She looks them all in the eye, taking her time, “This whole time, it’s like I’ve been living with my vision blurred and the only clear thing was my grief. Everything got so twisted until even all the beautiful things like my belief in a better future became something dark and I-” Morgana looks down at her hands. They tremble quietly. “I’m more like our father than I wanted to admit.” She whispers before looking up, expression set.

“I won’t make excuses. I won’t say I wasn’t angry. That I wasn’t disillusioned. And I’ll never know…” her hand reaches for Gwen’s and squeezes like it’s a life-line, “What was me and what was my sister’s magic but what I know for certain,” her eyes well with tears, “what I know for sure. Is that betraying you was the worst thing I’ve ever done and I wish I could go back and change it.”

Gwaine is the first to break, taking three steps and pulling her into a rough hug, “Stop looking so vulnerable, you’ll make us think you’re enchanted again.” He says gruffly and her laugh in response is watery.

He whispers something in her ear, something for just them, “Do you regret the war?”

Morgana’s nails dig into his back, “He would've let me kill Uther." she chokes out, "He chose me."

"You think this war was you choosing him?"

"It all started because I love him. I can't regret anything I’ve done for him if he looks like this.”

Gwaine looks past her shoulder to see Arthur squeezing Leon’s shoulder, his smile relieved and aglow.

“But what I did to you-”

“Hush my Lady.” And Gwaine can feel the way she jumps at the title, “We’re all okay.”

Trust is a wall and Gwaine has paved their very first brick. It will take time, but beautiful things always do. But for right now, it’s enough just to believe, to look down the winding path and hope for maybe, maybe, maybe.

In the immediate aftermath of the war that never was, Arthur prioritizes the wellbeing of Camelot above all else. He sends scouts to the villages on the warpath, instructing them to send back reports through the birds on the state of the damages so Arthur knows what resources and supplies to send. He sends emissaries to Essetir to prepare them for their new change in ruling and to ensure the villages Cenred had stolen soldiers from saw the return of their children. He sends out supplies of food to the farmers whose land had been pillaged and he does this all before he is king of anything.

Three weeks pass and the preparation for everything he wants to see have been established, now they just need to be executed and he doesn’t need to be around for that. There are whispers of course. Whispers of crowns and successions and when, when, when.

Arthur ignores all of it. Even from the ones he trusts most, the family he always wanted. The family he can now almost take for granted, in that wonderful way that confident love is oft to do. What a gift, he laughs, to feel so secure he’s almost cocky with it.  

Now that he’s finished what he needs to, Arthur invites Merlin to meet him in their chambers, smiling when Merlin enters with a skeptical stare. “I feel like this is a trap.” He says bluntly and Arthur laughs.

“You’re so cynical Merlin.” He shakes his head, “What if I just wanted to throw you on the bed and have my way with you?”

Merlin rolls his eyes, “Then you would have cornered me in the hall and done it anyway like the impatient brute you are.”

“Oi.”

Merlin snickers at him, a twinkle in his eye and Arthur scowls. “I had a whole speech prepared, but you’ve turned me off of it entirely.”

This at least, piques Merlin’s interest and he walks over, pulling Arthur in by his hips, “Well go on then. You practiced and everything.” He murmurs in a low voice and Arthur very much wishes he really was just propositioning him.

“Thank you.” Arthur says and Merlin’s eyes widen almost imperceptibly, “For what you did in the forest. With the sword in the stone.”

Merlin opens his mouth but Arthur raises a hand, pressing it lightly against his lips. “Let me finish.”

Silently, Merlin nods.

“Your belief in me means everything Merlin and I would never doubt your faith that I’m destined to be a great king. If it weren’t for you, I could never be where I am.”

“Well of course you are, I-”

Arthur gives him a look and Merlin promptly closes his mouth, giving him an abashed grin.

“Have we ever tried entering you in a talking contest?” Arthur muses, “We could win a pretty penny for our troubles I think.”

Merlin glares silently and Arthur bites back a chuckle, knuckles grazing Merlin’s cheek gently. “I don’t know if you remember, but I once told you I’d give up a thousand kingdoms to be with you,” Arthur’s lip flicks up, “but I only have the two.”

Merlin freezes, looking up through his lashes, entranced, “I know that you think I put my duty before anything else and Camelot was my first love, it’s true.” Arthur says, thinking of the weight of the crown as he took it off his father’s head, “I never thought I could love anything more. But then I met you.”

Merlin’s hand rises to his face to wrap tightly around Arthur’s own.

“You gave up everything to come with me when I had nothing and felt so defeated I was sure I’d never recover.” Arthur eyes him steadily, hoping to convey the sincerity of his words, how deeply he means them, how completely honest he is, “I want you to have everything you want and I will wear the crown long enough to bring magic back to Camelot and fulfill the prophecy but say the word, and we can go wherever you choose. Say the word,” he whispers, “and I’ll follow wherever you want to go.”

Merlin’s lip wobbles and he throws himself into Arthur’s arm, just holding him, feeling the solid weight of him.

“I even packed our bags for a quick getaway.” Arthur jokes, trying to lighten the mood and that’s when Merlin sees it, a bloody candelabra sticking out of a rucksack. And damn it all, Arthur is a dollophead and Merlin loves him so goddamn much.

“You’re ridiculous.” Merlin laughs, unable to keep the emotion out of his voice.

“I thought it’d be funny.” Arthur replies, tickled at his own comedy.

Merlin stares at the bags again, notices how full they are. How real it all is. How ready Arthur is to go. “You’d really do this? You’d leave the throne…for me?”

“I’d do anything for you Merlin.” Arthur replies like it should have been obvious by now, “There’s no point to it all without you. What’s a crown to a heart?” Arthur takes Merlin’s hand and presses a kiss to his knuckles, “What’s a kingdom compared to you?”

Merlin shakes his head. “Camelot needs you.”

“You need me.” Arthur answers, “And I choose you.”

Merlin moves before he even realizes it, arms wrapped around Arthur’s neck as he kisses him, pressing tight against his lips. Arthur moans into his mouth, startled, and Merlin’s desire only deepens. It’s suddenly all too much, this voracious, consuming, monopolizing love that bursts out of him in uncontrollable waves. He needs to show it, he needs Arthur to know it. Needs him to be so overwhelmed by the strength of Merlin’s pure adoration that he understands when Merlin gives him his answer. Understands why.

There’s nothing to fear anymore. They had proven that together, when Morgana had cried in Arthur’s arms. There’s nothing to fear anymore, because all of Arthur’s being is no longer tied up in his kingdom and the people’s perceptions of him. There’s nothing to fear anymore, because they’re not alone and they never will be. There’s nothing to fear, because they’re finally home.

Merlin realizes now, that all along, peace was just acceptance. Accepting both who the other truly is and what they truly wanted and accepting that just as they belonged to each other, they belonged to Camelot too. They might be happy in the woods, but they would only be complete in the castle. Everything that held them back doesn’t matter anymore; when you’re allowed to be who you are in every authentic way, when you have the luxury of being able to choose the right thing to do over the safe thing to do, you can change even fate.

We might know the what, but not the why. What comes next?

Only we decide.

Merlin doesn’t know how to say all of that though and so he decides to show Arthur instead. This is an exercise in devotion and there is no better disciple than him. They tumble onto the bed, Arthur’s hands roaming over Merlin’s back, groaning his name as Merlin sucks and licks his way down his neck. Their shirts fly off, trousers too. Merlin sits atop Arthur’s lap, staring at the perfect planes of his chest, the dips of his muscles, flattening his palm over Arthur’s stomach and tracing his path with his fingers.

What can Merlin say that hasn’t already been said? That Arthur is stunning? That he is the sun? That he is the entire reason Merlin had been born and that he is grateful for Arthur’s very existence every day? What are words anymore? To a love this powerful. A love so strong it saved a kingdom.

Merlin kisses his way down Arthur’s body, showing exactly how much he worshipped Arthur’s skin, how precious every inch of him is, how treasured. Arthur is Merlin’s most prized possession, he is the thing he puts above all else, his reason, his purpose, his answer to everything.

“I’m not me without you.” Merlin confesses, leaning up to capture Arthur’s lips once more.

That’s not even enough. It’s not nearly close to how he feels. You fall to the floor and I’ll feel the bruise. You smile and I’ll feel the joy. Ask me to get rid of the moon because you fear the dark and I will make the sun everlasting.

“You are the most perfect thing the world has ever made.” Merlin opens the vial, pours it over Arthur’s fingers and leads him down the way. “I’m complete only with you and I need you now Arthur, make me whole the way only you can.”

And Arthur is gazing up at him, pupils blown, lips puckered and bruised. His fingers are slick and warm and Merlin arches beneath his touch, keening with need. Arthur pushes forward, cradling Merlin against his chest as he kisses his neck, stretching him as he does. He answers Merlin’s love with his own tenderness, the deliberate way he touches Merlin’s skin; Arthur’s own form of adulation. Merlin’s breath is hot against Arthur’s shoulder, murmuring Arthur’s name like a prayer he knows will be answered.

“Merlin-”

“Shh,” Merlin shushes him with a kiss before pushing him back down, lowering himself until his neck snaps back in that aching pleasure and he moans, rocking back and forth as Arthur presses a fist to his mouth.

“Let me hear you.” Merlin asks him, planting both hands on Arthur’s chest as he moves, slow at first and then at a rhythm that draws out the most beautiful sounds from his lover’s mouth.

Merlin closes his eyes for only a moment, wanting only to feel. Arthur’s hands at his hips, the fullness in his body, the sheer force of their connection, finally a binary become one. His eyes flash open, intent on not losing out on a single moment of Arthur’s flushed cheeks and bitten lips. Arthur bucks beneath him, fingers squeezing around his hips and Merlin hopes they’ll leave a mark, rings of violets around the part of him that only Arthur can ever touch.

Arthur gasps, his body shuddering beneath Merlin’s, back arcing, looking so stupendously gorgeous Merlin takes his own self in hand and finishes alongside him, simply staring, appreciating that this is all his for the taking. That the man of his dreams belongs to him and there are faces only Merlin knows he can make.

Spent and enamoured, Merlin falls onto Arthur’s chest and presses a kiss to the base of his throat. With a wave of his hand, it’s like nothing had ever happened and Arthur hugs Merlin close, just breathing him in before kissing him languid and slow.

When he pulls away, Merlin’s heart skips a beat at just the soft crinkle of Arthur’s eyes, the satisfied little smile, the way his hair falls over his brow. Merlin holds a hand to Arthur’s cheek, kissing him once more before pulling away. “We’re staying.” He says quietly and Arthur’s brow furrows, argument at his lips but Merlin merely smiles and that alone silences him.

“We’re staying.” Merlin repeats, brushing the hair from Arthur’s eyes. “Because this is where you belong and I belong with you and together, we’re going to build such a beautiful world.” Merlin strokes Arthur’s cheek, “History will never forget you, Arthur Pendragon.”

“We don’t have to.” Arthur insists, squeezing Merlin’s hand. “We don’t.”

“I want to.” Merlin promises, “I can feel it, Arthur. This is where we’re meant to be. I know it.”

Merlin leans and kisses him, soft and sweet. “We’re going to be so happy. You’ll see.”

And Arthur’s grinning, rolling atop of Merlin for a messy hug and cuddle and Merlin is laughing, allowing himself the simple pleasure of just being happy.

They can do that now.

Arthur’s coronation follows a small state funeral for Uther. The mourning crowds are minimal and the ceremony short. It’s no matter though, there are more pressing things to attend to than paying tribute to a memory. Arthur suspects Merlin as having done something to the weather because what was starting off as a distinctly rainy day has become suspiciously sunny by the time the ceremony is set to start. When he calls him out on it, Merlin just gives him that secretive smile, shrugging lightly as he adjusts Arthur’s cape. “I have no idea what you’re talking about.”

“Really?” Arthur raises a brow. “So the weather just happened to turn.”

“Stranger things have happened.” Merlin retorts easily, pressing a kiss to the corner of his mouth. “Now come on, we have something important to get to.”

Arthur and Merlin walk hand in hand to the Great Hall. Merlin accompanies him all the way to the steps to the throne before moving to stand in the front row, all of his pride and joy in his eyes. Geoffrey is waiting for him, crown in hand and Arthur nods at him as he gets down on his knees.

There are a hundred birds chirping, Arthur can hear them, even within the stone walls. He can hear the people outside in the courtyard, all of them waiting to catch the first glimpse of their new king. The sunlight pours into the room, everything awash in its golden light and for a moment, Arthur can hear the whole earth humming.

“Do you solemnly swear,” Geoffrey intones, his voice reverberating across the room, “to govern the peoples of Camelot according to their respective laws and customs?”

The words spill from his lips like he was born to say them. “I solemnly swear so to do.”

“Will you, to your power, cause law and justice and mercy to be executed in all your judgements?”

“I will.”

The crown raises above his head, it reflects the light of a new era. “Then by the sacred law vested in me, I crown you Arthur Pendragon, King of Camelot.”

Arthur can feel the crown rest upon his head. It’s heavy. But he turns around and in the faces of everyone he loves, the burden feels lighter.

“Long live the king!” Geoffrey cries and immediately, a singular chorus bursts in the room.

“Long live the king!”

“Long live the king!”

Arthur raises a hand, waits for the crowd to quiet, looking at him expectantly. “There are three things I must do now that I am king for I can wait no longer to do them.” He looks around the room, catches Lancelot’s eye, and smiles.

Finally, a promise he can now keep.

“When I was banished, I strove to help Camelot anyway I could, and I could not have accomplished anything were it not for the brave men who fought by my side purely for the good of the cause. I could offer them no reward, not coin nor power or fame, but these men stayed anyway. They are the strength of Camelot, her entire beating heart. I call Gwaine, Percival, Lancelot, and Elyan to me now.”

The four men walk towards him like caught in a trance. Like they didn’t believe he really would. They fall to their knees, heads bowed. There is not a sound in the chamber except for their hopeful breaths. Arthur pulls Excalibur out of its sheath and walks straight to Lancelot, “To the first knight I ever chose, the one most honourable and noble, rise Sir Lancelot of Camelot.”

Lancelot looks up at him, blind faith in his eyes. Arthur smiles at him and unable to hold it in, Lancelot smiles back, tears glistening.

“To the knight who embodies both strength and gentleness, rise, Sir Percival of Camelot.” Arthur taps Percival on each shoulder and Percival plants his fist to his chest, something fierce in the draw of his brows.

“To the knight whose kind heart is the source of his endless courage and to whom I owe a special life debt, rise, Sir Elyan.”

Elyan beams, swallowing back a puff of amusement and Arthur grins back.  

“To the knight whose prowess with a sword and unshakeable loyalty are rivaled only by his terrible sense of humor, rise, Sir Gwaine of Camelot.”

Gwaine shakes his head, almost laughing, “Couldn’t give me a fancy speech could you princess?”

“That’s king princess to you.” Arthur replies loftily and this time, Gwaine throws his head back and guffaws.

Arthur turns to the crowd, heart high. “Welcome to our new knights! May their swords and their hearts always remain true.”

All four of them rise as the crowd cheers, bowing low to their king before stepping back to the front row.

“My second order of business,” Arthur continues, “is to announce that it will no longer be a requirement for members of the council to be of noble birth or necessitate a position in the household. To provide advice to the ruler of the day should be based on what you can offer and I can think of no wiser counsel, no better advisor, than Guinevere of Camelot. She will be a representative of the people and I know she will take on this role with the grace I know her for.”

Gwen claps a hand to her mouth, tears welling in her eyes.

“I also invite my sister, Morgana, to join me in forging new alliances with the Druids, as an ambassador between our peoples.” Arthur lifts his wrist, the bracelet he had been given still wrapped around it all this time later.

Already, things have changed because there stands Meyorie, now ten, clapping fiercely, her own matching bracelet dangling off her wrist. Next to her is Iseldir, who smiles gently in acknowledgement. Arthur doesn’t look away from him when he says, “May this era be one of peace and prosperity for all who reside on our lands.”

From the back of the room, Morgana gives him a nod and Arthur nods back. A little time and space will do them all some good. But Morgana knows her home is here, in these walls and within these hearts. She’ll come back.

Arthur knows it. But for now, he wants to help her heal.

“My last decree,” Arthur declares, “is to announce the official repeal on the ban against magic. Gone are the days where people are persecuted simply for being who they are. Using magic, our kingdom will only grow stronger. No longer will our people go hungry or our children die of diseases. And I can think of no better person to help guide Camelot into this new era than the man who has taught me everything I know about magic, Merlin, son of Hunith and the sky and the seas.”

Merlin’s eyes widen and Arthur’s smile only grows. “He doesn’t know it yet, but I’ve decided to create a brand-new position for him. Everyone say hello to our new Court Sorcerer.”

Merlin’s glaring at him but he can’t keep it up for long, simply laughing at the joy of it, Elyan and Gwaine jostling him in pride.

“It’s also worth noting that as I am reinstated as nobility, I shall be officially courting our new Court Sorcerer so for those of you who I have noticed admiring his admittedly handsome physique, consider this your only warning.”

Merlin chokes and Gwaine full out cackles, biting his tongue to keep from howling with laughter. “Arthur.” Merlin says in a strangled voice and Arthur’s smirk widens as he practically skips down the steps.

“Close your mouth Merlin,” he says primly, “you’ll catch flies.”

“I can’t believe you.” Merlin hisses.

“Yes well,” Arthur flashes him a boyish grin, “I am quite unbelievable. You can feel awed that we’re together later though, we have things to do now.”

“What things?”

“Plan our trip to Essetir to establish our power for one.” Arthur says easily, “I thought Ealdor could be our first stop.”

Merlin stops his grousing, turning to him with incredulous eyes. “Did you just make up the fact that you wanted to take Essetir because you remembered my mother?”

Arthur shrugs, “I hadn’t thought about it until we were at the gate and I was looking at that toad of a councilman, but then I thought, if I’m meant to be the king of all of Albion, why not start with the village I owe the most to?”

“You really are unbelievable, you know that?” Merlin asks, shaking his head before kissing Arthur senseless, right in the middle of the coronation.

It will take them a few weeks to get to it, but the first thing they see when they get to Ealdor is Hunith waiting for them, drawing them both in for a hug. The second, is all the people gathered together, welcoming Merlin and Arthur of Ealdor back home chanting long live their king.

When historians write their books, there will be almost too much story to tell. Do they talk about how when the people found out Arthur had become king, they celebrated for seven straight days? Do they talk about the villages he rebuilt? The schools he created for non-magical and magical children alike, understanding how education is what made him the king he was? Do they write epics about the adventures and triumphs of the mighty Knights of the Round Table, of both their fortitude and their kindness?

Historians will write detail after detail about how the Golden King united all five kingdoms at last, becoming High King of Albion, ending the pointless bloodshed that had plagued the land for centuries before. They will talk about how he trained magic users and knights alike, how he would stop in village squares to play with the children, how every growing season, he would visit a farm and help plant the seeds.

The Druids will live in an era of peace never before experienced, their children allowed to grow up without fear, their customs no longer reviled but respected. They will become the points of help for people of all types and they will be marked in history as a peaceful people, who supported the king in his goal of a better world.

The books will speak of a never before seen alliance with magical creatures and their own kingdoms. How the vilia throw a celebration every spring in honour of Camelot’s court. How the Sidhe, stubborn as they are, were swayed by the cheeky Emrys’ charm. How a magical enclosure was built for magical creatures too dangerous to let rum amok amongst the villages but still deserving of the basic right to exist. One day, the secret will be spilled about the last Dragonlord and the world will remember the dragons, Kilgarrah the Great and Aithusa, Camelot’s hope.

The books will miss a few things though. Some of the most important parts.

How Lancelot and Gwen fell deeper in love and got married beneath a weeping willow on a cloud-streaked day. Merlin whispered to the earth and it grew flowers by the dozens, all bright in their joy and congratulations. They will live out the rest of their days in Gwen’s old cottage because it makes her happier to be amongst the people than in the castle and it’s big enough for their two children, two little girls that make up their entire world. They grow up just like how Lancelot had hoped; with the bravery of their mother and the gentleness of their father.

Gwaine never quite settles down, giving his love freely as he gives all parts of himself. When a battle injury makes being a knight impossible, Arthur gives him the most important task of all, to train the next generation and be a sword-master of legend. Gwaine becomes a mentor to almost every new knight until one of Camelot’s signature moves becomes the one he invented, where your opponent’s sword goes flying right into your hand. He spends the rest of his days defending the people and land that had become his home, finding peace in his purpose, finally putting to rest the Gwaine that had been lost and restless. He feels fulfilled, for the first time in his life.

Elyan meets a girl in a distant village that he’d been sent to protect from a violent beast. He gets injured during the mission and she nurses him back to health. Gwen bursts into tears at their wedding, trying to get through her speech but it takes her ten whole minutes. Elyan reaches out to steady her and tells all who are gathered how he is the man he is today because of his sister and how she is the best person he knows. No matter what had happened, Gwen never lost faith in him and because of her, he found Arthur and because of Arthur, he found a purpose and with that purpose, found the love of his life.

Percival becomes a father though he has no spouse. After a plague takes out a village, he finds three orphaned children and takes them straight back to Camelot. He raises them as his own and when he finds out one has an affinity for magic, sends her straight to Merlin to be taught by the very best. He won’t know it at the time, but he will have raised one of the most innovative minds of her generation and she will help Merlin create spells that are forces to be reckoned with.

Leon waits for the woman he loves for many long years. She has raven hair and green eyes, with a wit that’s sharp to the touch. It takes her a long time to forgive herself enough for love. Even longer for her to trust her heart to another. But when she does, it’s worth every minute.

Morgana disappears shortly after Arthur becomes king, going to live amongst the Druid people as he expected, to set her mind at ease and find peace with what has happened. She returns every so often, always with a story and a gift. She will be godmother to Gwen’s children and love both as though they were her own. She will attend Arthur and Merlin’s wedding, crying as she hugs her brother, crying harder when he whispers, “Let yourself be happy now Morgana, it’s time.”

When Morgana returns for good, ready to be her king’s Advisor as he’d been asking for all this time, she brings back with her a teenage Mordred, now more of a man than a child. Merlin stiffens with fear at the sight of him but Arthur steadies him with a calming hand.

“What will be, will be.” He said into Merlin’s ear, “All we can do is what we can.”

Some things might be foretold, it’s true, but if certain things are set in stone then all you can do is live the way you’re proud of. To never live your life by fear but with love. Keep doing the next right thing and build a world where people can afford to do the same.

Nothing is ever as it seems and prophecies are no different.

So Merlin keeps the way Morgana had cried the day Arthur had ripped that bracelet off her wrist on his mind and thinks about how when Mordred was just a boy, they had all bent over backwards to save his life. He welcomes the boy with a smile and Mordred’s eyes light up when he sees him, “Emrys,” he breathed, “I’ve been dying to see you again.”

Merlin knows he’s done the right thing.

Arthur brings Mordred into the fold, trains him to be a knight and oh, how courageous a knight he becomes. Mordred quickly becomes one of Arthur’s favoured few, someone almost like a son. Merlin watches, can’t help but fall in love with Mordred too, and wonders how such a thing like prophecies can be written, when Mordred looks at Arthur like he has hung the very moon and stars.

What they won’t know until years and years later, is that when Arthur falls ill at his extremely old age, the pain will become too great, and full of love and compassion, crying as Arthur asks him to, Mordred will bring him a draught to end his suffering. And so Mordred is Arthur’s doom, but he holds his hand as he goes, thanking him for everything he has done. And what more could a person ask for? Than to leave this world surrounded by love.

As for Merlin and Arthur?

Their story is never ending. It lives eternal in the hearts and souls of every generation. They are a legend unto themselves. They will go down in history, both for what they’ve accomplished and for the immensity of their love.

Forty years from his coronation, Arthur will stand where Geoffrey stood and hold the crown over his first-born daughter’s head. She is one of four children he and Merlin have adopted after getting married in these same walls and she is powerful and stubborn yet tender and wise; a perfect combination of the best and the worst of them.

“Then by the sacred law vested in me,” Arthur pronounces, “I crown you Lilith, Queen of Camelot.”

The crowd cheers, “Long live the queen! Long live the queen!”

Beside him, Merlin wipes at a stray tear, staring at their daughter in pride.

“Come on Merlin, you knew this was going to happen.”

“Shut up.” He shoots back, “I’m having a moment. This is our daughter and I’m proud of her, be quiet.”

“Father.” Lilith mutters under her breath and Arthur snorts, taking her hand and squeezing it.

“Sorry darling, you know how he gets.”

“I was talking to you.” She sniffs primly and Merlin hides his laugh behind his hand.

“Shut up Merlin.” And it really is a wonder that even decades later, with just one word, Arthur can throw them both back to their youth.

The celebrations of course, are nothing short of stupendous. Arthur’s daughter deserves nothing less. When the night is too dark and the festivities have been long drawn out, Arthur takes Merlin’s hand, thumb stroking the golden band around his finger and leads him to their room.

At first, Merlin’s confused, staring at the packed trunks on the floor. “Arthur? What are you doing?”

Arthur’s lip flicks up, “I thought we were overdue for a trip.”

“A trip?” Merlin asks incredulously, looking at him like he’s grown another head.

“Yes, a trip. Can’t a husband be romantic anymore without his husband getting suspicious?”

Merlin huffs out a laugh, amusement flickering in his eyes, “How about you just tell me what you’re obviously dying to tell me.”

“You know I can’t keep a secret.” Arthur shrugs and Merlin rolls his eyes.

“I’m well aware of that, thank you.”

Suddenly, Arthur looks nervous. Like he’s not sure he’s gotten the situation right at all. “Do you remember in the beginning, when we were on the run?”

Merlin blinks, something almost fond dancing over his face, “Of course I remember. We had quite the adventure.”

“Well,” Arthur says carefully, “do you remember when all it is I wanted was a cottage on the lake and all you wanted was a simple life for just the two of us together?”

Merlin’s eyes widen, “Arthur, did you-”

“I’ve had them build the cottage in secret. Near Camlann, right next to a lake.” Arthur says in a rush, “And it’s- honestly Merlin, even if you don’t want to go live in it, you really should see it because they did a great job and-”

Merlin crosses the room in three long strides, grabbing Arthur by his face and kissing him hard. He pushes against Arthur’s body until his back hits the bedpost and he groans into Merlin’s mouth, pulling him flush against him. Merlin pulls away with an obscene smacking sound and that’s when Arthur realizes he’s laughing, “Of course I want to bloody live there with you, are you mad?”

“Really?”

“I can’t believe you’re asking like I’d ever say no. We’ve done our part for Camelot. We’ve trained the next generation, we’re leaving it in the best hands I can think of. We’ve done so much- you’ve done so much- it’s time now, I think. Time for us to get that cottage after all. Live a slow life suited for two old men.”

“Hey.” Arthur chides, “I’m still fighting fit.”

Merlin laughs, high and free and they’re kissing once more, slow and sweet, the way couples do when they know they have all the time in the world. “You’re still just as annoying attractive as the day I met you.” Merlin promises, smiling as he feels Arthur grin against his lips.

“Feel free to go on Merlin.” Arthur goads.

“You’re insufferable.” Merlin makes to pull away when Arthur grabs him close, throwing them both on the bed and rolling around with him over the covers.

“Don’t ruin the mood Merlin, we’re celebrating!”

“The only thing ruining the mood is your giant ego.” Merlin retorts but he’s smiling as he says it kissing down the length of Arthur’s jaw.

When Arthur and Merlin arrive at their new cottage, Arthur carries him over the threshold, just to be funny and also so he can throw Merlin onto the bed and break in their new home the old-fashioned way. The next few years are the happiest they have ever been. They wake up when they want to and do whatever they please. Arthur plants rows of wheat and apple trees. Merlin reads book after book, curled up in front of the fire. They host their friends and their family; they go and visit the castle too sometimes. When they miss it.

Mostly though, they exist in a serenity that is the reward for all their efforts. Sometimes, Merlin just watches Arthur as he tends to the flower beds, eyes crinkling when he sees how the land still adores him, even now, when he is like a boy once more, enchanted with nature. The grass still ripples beneath his feet, the wind still strokes his hair, and the petals still turn to face him smiling there he is, there he is. Darling boy.

Arthur catches Merlin looking and gives him that same boyish grin from when they were young and Merlin falls in love for the thousandth time. There stands the man he loves. There stands the boy made of gold and he is Merlin’s to adore and Merlin’s to cherish. Even now, after all this time. There stands the boy who never stopped choosing kindness and mercy. Who never once let his heart harden though he had every reason to let it.

“You were right all along.” Merlin whispers, almost to himself, as he thinks about what Arthur said so many years ago.  

I’m the hero Merlin, he grinned, and heroes never die and with these very words, their story lives on forever. An eternal myth, an everlasting legend. Until the very end of time.