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Chapter Text

Chapter Text

“I leave Camelot willingly.”

“I leave Camelot willingly.”

“I leave Camelot willingly.”

Merlin’s words rattled inside his head, as he watched him leave and the door close.

He had really done it this time. He had finally pushed Merlin too far. After years of fearing this exact situation — of dreading the moment Merlin would lose the unrealistic loyalty he’d always possessed, fear of hurting Merlin more than he could ever take back — it had actually happened. Arthur had forced Merlin out of his life.

And the pain was indescribable.

The sigil in his hand burned like hot coal, as a permanent reminder of Merlin’s words."I leave Camelot willingly.”

He left. Merlin actually left Camelot, and in doing so, he left Arthur.

And while he said it was willingly, Arthur knew it wasn’t. He gave his friend no choice — Merlin had to leave or face banishment as Arthur had threatened.

The air in his lungs was pressing on his heart and he felt himself grow dizzy. One hand was curled tightly on the table, gripping it with all his might. “Dismissed” Arthur gritted through his teeth, and the lords and ladies of court disappeared quickly, not wanting to be in the same room as their King another second longer.

His round table of knights and advisors remained. His most trusted knights, Gwen and Agravaine sat in their chairs watching him. Gwaine had been pushed back into submission by Lancelot who looked at Arthur questioningly. As if he didn’t recognise him. 

His heart had stopped beating the moment Merlin left the room. Perhaps it had even stopped earlier, at the exact time Merlin said, "Your uncle is having an affair with your sister” in such a manner that left no room for doubt.

Once Merlin had spoken Arthur heard the truth in his words. As always, Merlin had a way of reading him better than anyone else. As if they shared the same heart and soul; Merlin knew exactly what Arthur was thinking and feeling at every moment.

His servant was no stranger to speaking treason, but he usually did so out of public sight. He would speak his mind where only Arthur could hear, and where he would politely chide him for such speech, before ordering him to muck out the horses. Merlin always made sure Arthur had time to think and reflect on his own terms, without the pressure of others watching.

And while he always thought Merlin had been one to worry needlessly and look for suspicious signs, he had never made such a grave accusation before. Never so publicly, never in such a demanding way. 

Merlin must have therefore been completely convinced of Agravaine’s treachery to make such a public scene. Merlin had forced his hand, and if Arthur didn’t act, he would look like a fool in front of his court and friends. To say he was confused and hurt would be an understatement.

“I have never seen such behavior from Merlin before. He’s never spoken to me like that.” Arthur whispered to himself, almost entirely unaware of the people looking at him.

Agravaine nodded gravely “Indeed, sire. Something must be terribly wrong for Merlin to abandon you. It makes one wonder…”

“It makes me wonder if he was telling the truth.” Arthur cut him off. The King turned his head and looked at the man beside him, daring him to answer.

“Arthur?! My dear nephew, please you cannot insult me in such a manner. I could never betray you! It would be like betraying Ygraine, and I live every day with her memory in my heart — no! Do not say such a thing again.” Agravaine insisted emphatically, shaking his head.

“Hmm.” Arthur hummed, not wanting to believe him, but simultaneously not wanting to doubt him either. Merlin must’ve had some proof, something that could without a shadow of a doubt, incriminate the man.

“I only meant…it makes one wonder how he has come to such a conclusion. I fear I must’ve hurt him quite deeply by telling you about Gaius’ treason. He must be heartbroken to have seen his uncle leave him without a goodbye. Or perhaps he’s even enchanted, or cursed into speaking evil.” Agravaine surmised, looking up into the ceiling as if deep in thought.

Had it been any other day, Arthur would have fallen for it. But not now. He could see it clear as day. The lines around his eyes were smiling, his lips curled in a proud manner. His uncle was amused by the whole ordeal.

Arthur thought back to Merlin’s words and realised with an instant that he had been correct on all counts: Agravaine had been the one encouraging him to show his strength as a new King and execute Crealeon. He had nearly started a war just so he could impress his uncle and council.

Merlin had tried so hard to prevent it, to force Arthur to see sense and not kill a foreign King. But he had done it anyway and nearly doomed Camelot to a long and arduous war. He put his head in his hands and sighed.

Years before, Merlin had done everything in his power to stop Arthur from killing his own father. And three months ago, Agravaine had done everything in his power to make Arthur kill Creleon. A widow and three children were left behind after his actions that day. Had he listened to Merlin, like he promised them both he’d always do, Queen Annis would still have her husband, and Camelot would not be recouping the financial loss of an attempted war.

Also true, was the allegation that Agravaine had been the one to encourage breaking his courtship with Guinevere. 

Ideas of social hierarchy had been ingrained into him since birth, and Gwen and Merlin had worked hard on whittling it down, but Agravaine had put his foot down and told him he could under no circumstances make a servant his queen. And so he had listened to his mother's brother, and ended their courtship.

The woman he once loved so dearly was now happily married — and he was happy for them — but it stung to think about the loss of the only woman he had ever seriously considered making his queen. At least he had made her seneschal, and she had a proper voice at court as a lady. The position was thoroughly deserved, and it was the least he could do after the mess he had created in her life.

Arthur lifted his head and looked at his table. They were sitting at the ordinary council table, not the round one, but it only made the loss of Merlin even more obvious. Merlin, who sat at his right-hand side that dreadful night in the Hall of the Ancient Kings, had never even been granted a place at the official table. He was always standing off to the side, holding his notes or a pitcher of wine.

Merlin, his closest friend and most trusted servant, had always been by his side. A steady and loyal presence. Over the years he’d risked floggings and beheadings several times over, just so Arthur could have a better day. The same could be said for Gaius.

His old physician had never lied to him before. He had always been a steady presence, and even his father had deferred to the man on many occasions because he trusted him. Uther had also personally apologised after the witchfinder debacle. The poor man had been tortured into a false confession and was about to burn at the stake, but his father had not even given him the grace of a public apology.

And now it had happened again. Gaius, who had never steered him wrong before had yet again been wronged by him. Shame overcame him, and he barely heard the smarmy voice of his uncle who had continued to speak.

“And I understand the need to take such an allegation seriously, but Arthur, I assure you; I could never betray you! If it would ease your mind, I implore you, your own men can search my chambers for I have nothing to hide.”

Arthur looked over at his friends, who all seemed desperate to leave the room and search for Merlin. They ought to do that, and he could see Gwaine was itching to get away as quickly as possible. 

Arthur nodded to Leon and Percival. The unspoken order was clear — search his uncle's rooms. The two largest knights got up quickly and headed out.

Arthur looked at Gwaine and Lancelot. “Find him,” He ordered. And in a much smaller voice, he begged.

“Find him, please.”

—

Arthur sent Agravaine to the cells, temporarily, as a precaution. As much as he believed Merlin’s accusation, it hurt him immensely to see his once beloved uncle dragged into the dungeons. But he ignored the bitterness of reality, and set about searching for Merlin.

Everyone had scampered off in different directions. But it became clear that something was wrong when they all met in the main hallway.

Arthur had walked up and down the many corridors for what felt like hours, hoping foolishly to run into his idiot manservant. But Merlin was nowhere to be found. He stopped by an open window and looked out at the castle square.

Behind him, he heard loud clanging of armour, and heavy footsteps on the stone floor. The sound echoed across the hall. He turned to face them, hope quickly dwindling as he saw Lancelot's face.

Sirs Gwaine and Lancelot had returned from Merlin’s rooms. Lancelot looked somber. “All his belongings are gone!” At the same time, Gwen came running up from the stairs, her delicate apron was covered in hay. “Filip said Merlin saddled up with Hengroen and left.”

“How did he get away so quickly? He just left the throne room?” Arthur bemoaned. Sweat began to form at the nape of his neck, and his hands shook. He took a deep breath and looked out of the window again. Merlin couldn’t have made it far, he must still be in the citadel, or near the forest clearing.

It was Gwen who came to a horrifying conclusion. “He must’ve been prepared. He had packed his things before he came to the council. He knew…he knew what his future would look like. He expected this outcome.”

She cried “I can’t believe he would leave without saying his goodbyes! At least to us! To me.” Writhing her hands together, she bit her lip and let her tears fall. 

Arthur felt sick, and he wanted to empty his stomach. Years of warrior training kept him from expelling his stomach contents, but he felt the uneasiness return when two more knights approached.

Sirs Percival and Leon shook their heads at him. “There is nothing in Lord Agravaines chambers that would suggest him being a traitor.”

Arthur half nodded. Looking at them again he said, “There must be something. If Merlin was this convinced my uncle was a traitor, there must be some tangible proof. Something to condemn him.”

As always, Leon was the voice of reason. “Perhaps we should keep him under arrest until we’ve searched his chambers more thoroughly. And if we still find nothing, he could return to court while we keep an eye on him. If he is working for Morgana he will undoubtedly report back to her about today's events.”

The plan is set. Leon, Elyan, Gwen, and Percival return to the lord's rooms to search for evidence, while Arthur, Gwaine, and Lancelot head for the stables. They have a servant to find.

— 

A day goes by. No Merlin and no Gaius.

Arthur can’t eat or sleep. Gwaine never returned and is still out searching the outlying woods. Lancelot and Elyan tackled the city and villages. No sign of him.

Gwen has been walking around with dry tears on her face as she takes on more responsibilities around the castle. Merlin had been doing the work of several servants, and finding people to replace him took time.

In Gaius’ absence, they must hire a new physician. The man’s name is Farris. and he comes from Powys. A healthy and steady man in his late forties sat in Gaius' chair at the round table. Arthur and Gwen had just presented him with the contract.

“I am not signing this. It’s undignified.” He pushed the scroll away and closed his hands.

“What makes you say that? It’s exactly the same as Gaius had. Please, tell me what is wrong and we will take a closer look.” Gwen, as polite as ever, said. Her hands were barely shaking.

“Well, for one, the pay is half of what I would get in any other court. The work is overwhelming — I cannot see anything about potion makers, medicinal gardens, or even where my own chambers would be. Are you telling me Gaius did all this work himself? Planted the herbs and plants, pickled and brewed his own ingredients, worked nights and days on his own…all on this insult of a pittance?” Farris seemed truly outraged.

The man was not rude, but he looked astonished at the scroll as he counted on his fingers. “In my former employ, there were five physicians with three assistants. Some dealt with the court and its knights, others with the people. We had herb gardens and specified potion makers. It seems that in Camelot Gaius and his assistant have done the work of eight people all on their own.”

He looked further down and noticed something. “And the boy was only paid in room and board.”

Arthur could not help widening his mouth in shock. Now that someone had laid it all out, he could see the ridiculous nature of Gaius and Merlin’s work. And had Merlin never been paid? To think they had only one physician to Powys’ eight was staggering.

Gwen spoke. “What do you mean, medicinal gardens? Arthur's manservant, Merlin, used to gather herbs in the forest, and I would sometimes join him if  — “

“My dear lady, that’s because Uther burned the medicinal gardens Camelot used to have.” Farris retorted, and when Arthur looked abashed he added. “Healing plants have an unfortunate tendency to be mistaken for magical plants.”

Arthur sighed. Of course. It always came back to magic.

“You mean to tell me that Merlin and Gaius have spent hours of their lives foraging in the woods when those plants used to grow in our gardens?” He didn’t need an answer. The look on everyone’s faces was all the answer he needed.

“Worse yet,” Farris looked nervous as he added. “Gossip is widespread in our community, and it’s known that Uther only allowed one physician to work in his Kingdom, because of its possible connection to magic.”

Arthur groaned and cursed his father. How had he never noticed, or even considered, the fact that Camelot only had one working physician? All other healers he’d ever met were commoners and their work was unrecognised. Gods, he felt like an idiot.

“And as to your question about the pay.” Farris continued. “I can only speculate, but it is known amongst my colleagues that Gaius was pardoned for his former magic use. He was only allowed to live as long as the King saw fit — no wonder he never complained about the pay of the amount of work.”

Uther had been metaphorically dangling a noose in front of his face for the past twenty-something years. No wonder the man was so eager to please and never complained unless absolutely necessary. He had paid Merlin in room and board for it was all he could afford.

Arthur felt anger take over and he gripped the table hard. Damn Uther, and damn Agravaine.

“Thank you, Farris, for bringing this to my attention. I trust Lady Gwen to go over the details with you in full, and to amend any disagreements you may have. Camelot needs a physician, more in fact, as we’ve seemingly only had one these last decades. Please — whatever you may need, you will get.”

He left the room without a goodbye. He trusted Gwen would take care of it all. She always did.

Behind him, he could hear Leon’s heavy steps. The man had a way of walking that signaled his station and honor. It was an uncanny walk, one Arthur would recognise anywhere.

“Arthur,” He called and Arthur stopped by the same window he looked out of yesterday. Arthur looked out at his kingdom: what else has failed to see? What else had been right there in front of him, but he had never even cared to look. And what else has been deliberately shielded from him?

“It’s not your fault they never told you,” Leon emphasised. He put a comforting hand on the King's shoulder. 

“But it’s not their fault either, for not telling me.” He replied. “By admitting the failures in my father's rule it would be to speak of treason, which is a hanging offense. By gritting their teeth and keeping their head low, they were at least able to survive.” He concluded.

His father had been so afraid of magic that he had burned ordinary plants to ashes. And as a result, the health and well-being of Camelot citizens suffered. It’s a laughably terrifying thought.

“Merlin must’ve been so overworked, even without all the ridiculous chores I gave him. No wonder he spent all his free time at the tavern.” Arthur could almost laugh.

Sir Leon paused in an unusual matter. Arthur signaled for him to speak his mind. “I don’t think Merlin was ever at the tavern, sire. At least I never saw him, and Gwaine swears he’s never seen Merlin drink more than half a cider at Yule. He was probably out doing Gaius work, or hell, taking a nap from all the other chores he had.”

Arthur cursed loudly this time and marched back to his chambers. They were bleak and empty. Cold and uninviting. What used to be his solace, his private space where he and Merlin could exist together in peace, was now a startling reminder of what he had lost.

Arthur fell down on his bed and cried into his pillow.

Chapter Text

Merlin had left Camelot on a Sunday afternoon. He had spent the whole day on horseback, trying to make as much headway as possible. Tracking Gaius’s steps was nearly impossible, even with magic, for it was just another dead end anywhere he looked.

He had no idea where Gaius would’ve gone had he left on his own, but if he had been kidnapped like he suspected, then Morgana would be keeping him somewhere hidden with magic.

He searched The Valley of the Fallen Kings, but he found nothing besides bandits and wolves. Morgana's hut was abandoned, and it looked like it had not been used since the fomorrah incident.

The day turned into night, and Merlin made himself a little camp. Hengroen was tied with a loose rope to a tree, and he made a small fire. In his rush to leave the citadel, he forgot to bring food with him, but he had picked enough herbs in his life to recognise edible plants. Nuts, berries, and even a small fish from the river nearby. He was pretty satisfied.

Merlin spent the whole following Monday scrying for Gaius, searching for Gaius, and scavenging Morgana’s hut. He couldn’t find anything of use, nor could he find Gaius. 

Night came again, and as he made camp, Merlin mourned the loss of Arthur. In his selfish mind, he knew he could live without Gaius, but never without Arthur. The sad truth is that Gaius was most likely already dead, or near dying, if he was hurt or alone in the woods. Merlin kicked a stone into the fire.

As he lay down to sleep, Merlin wondered if Arthur would miss him the way he did. He feels as if he cut out his heart and left it behind in Camelot. Not being around his King was discouraging and strange. Like a phantom pain. A part of him was missing, and his heart was bleeding from the loss.

Every so often, Merlin had seen something he wanted to show Arthur and the knights: an owl, a fox, a cute bird, and every time he had turned around to point them out was just another reminder of what he’d lost.

Unable to help himself, Merlin thought about Arthur. He thought of the way Arthur's eyes crinkle when he laughs and how his teeth are a little crooked. Merlin thought about his laugh, how it was such a delightful thing to hear, and how much he always looked forward to hearing it. He closed his eyes, and reminisced on the many times he’s made a fool of himself just to hear his favourite laugh in the world.

Once he began thinking about Arthur, he couldn’t stop. Merlin thought about how Arthur was so strong, both emotionally and physically. To bear the weight of the crown in such a graceful way, to always put others before himself, to carry the guilt and the burden of being Uther’s son all while honouring his mother's memory…

Arthur Pendragon was truly an extraordinary man, and Merlin was honoured to serve him.

His physical strength was also immense. A born fighter and warrior. A true knight. Merlin had spent hours massaging his muscles and thighs with hot oil to ease the pain from training. Merlin was well aware of Arthur’s muscles. The way his shirts always stretch around his shoulders and upper arms. He had mended many of Arthur’s shirts when they inevitably tore because of his muscles.

Now, Merlin had never been as dense as Arthur liked to believe. Contrary to popular belief, he did have a brain between his giant ears. And he knew full well that his feelings for the King were more than platonic. But it was also more than just romantic. Arthur meant everything to him in a way that was impossible to explain to others. 

And he had tried — Lancelot came closest to understanding, what with him giving up on Gwen so she could marry Arthur. He sacrificed his own chance at love so she could be happy with another man. But in the end, she had chosen him, and they were immensely happy together. 

Merlin had worried about Gwen not becoming the Once and Future Queen and what this would mean for the prophecy, but Camelot and Albion were still standing, so he assumed her role as Arthur’s advisor was fulfilling a part of the prophecy.

Merlin tossed around in his bedroll. He regretted not speaking to his friends before he left, but he also knew that if he did, they would persuade him to stay, and it would all have been for nothing.

Merlin missed Arthur like a limb. He missed the way the knights laughed and talked. He missed the way Arthur would tease him whenever he got spooked by the wind rustling the leaves, but he would still let Merlin sleep first.

He considered scrying on Arthur to see if he was doing alright, but he was too afraid of any potential heartbreak, so he decided not to. He hoped and prayed that Gwaine and Lancelot were still keeping an eye on Agravaine, like they promised to do months ago.

This had been his main concern when leaving. The idea of not having eyes on Agravaine at all times was horrifying, but right now, Morgana was a bigger threat. And if he could find Gaius, he could find her.

He tucked himself into the bedroll, looked over at the fire, and sighed. As much as he believed he had made the right choice in leaving Camelot, his heart ached for Arthur.

Merlin felt a salty tear fall down his cheek as he whispered into the cold, still night. “Goodnight, Arthur.”

—

During the night, while Merlin dreamt of golden hair and crooked teeth, a man hit him over the head and dragged him away from his camp.

 — 

Back in Camelot, Arthur was sobbing.

Two days have gone by with no sign of Merlin. He missed Merlin like he missed his mother. There was a constant pain in his chest, a throbbing headache pushing behind his eyes, and his throat was swollen from grinding his teeth in anger.

Agravaine had escaped yesterday, killing three guards and leaving a trail of blood in his wake. His men had died while Arthur had been out searching the woods again for Merlin. The truth was unavoidable now; Merlin had been right. Gaius was innocent and missing, and his uncle had likely orchestrated the whole ordeal.

Arthur stared out of his window as his hand rubbed his knuckles against his sternum. The pressure reminded him that he was, somehow, still breathing and alive. It was the second night in a row he’d been wide awake, missing Merlin. 

Leon had been nagging him all day about getting some sleep, but he couldn’t: Arthur had spent the day cleaning and tidying up the physician's chambers. It was his duty.

Farris’s amended contract gave him his own chambers, as well as two assistants. They were in the process of hiring other physicians, but the main workspace needed to be readied before any real work could proceed. And so Arthur had spent hours breaking his back cleaning it up. 

He thought back on the revelations he’d uncovered earlier in the day; In the middle of picking up books from the floor, one had fallen open, and Arthur’s worldview changed again.

From the dusty page, a unicom stared at him in wondrous beauty. He remembered the plague that befell Camelot after he had slain one. As he read down the page on the creature it struck him instantly — this was a book about magical creatures. And he was reading it, not unlike what he’d done years before when the griffin attacked or when the dorocha swept across the sky. 

This book, which held so much useful information, was not unlike the ones he had just sentenced Gaius for. Information, which he had used himself for the betterment of his Kingdom, had sentenced others to death. 

Arthur had looked up at the half-empty bookshelves, most of their contents where scattered across the floor. How many of these books had saved his life, or that of his kingdom’s? How many of these books would sentence someone to the pyre, but instead they’ve been kept safely in here? With his father's knowledge and permission.

How many of the potions and draughts Gaius had made him over the years were old druid recipes? He had studied magics alongside the ancient sorcerers of the old religion; surely some knowledge remained and was still used. Gaius had seemingly kept touch with some, like Dragoon, because whenever the King needed help, he always seemed to have an answer.

He felt like such a fool! Why had his father never told him of this? Why had he been expected to figure this out himself while simultaneously being told that any book on the topic of magic was an evil in itself with only one acceptable punishment?!

He had fallen to the floor in exhaustion, and in his frustration, he never got up. It was Gwen who found Arthur many hours later. She had listened to him rant with effortless ease, and after a while she took his hand in hers and made him listen.

“When the law is unjust, innocents die.”

Arthur flinched, but he knew it was true. These last two days had proved that several times over. And while he was rightfully scared of magic, he had always thought his father's paranoia was a tad too strong, and he was too eager to light a pyre. Over the years, Arthur had pleaded the case of banishment over execution for several minor cases, but Uther accused him of being too soft. 

Gwen's soft hand had played with his hair. He sat on the floor, leaning against her on the bench. The silk of her dress was a gentless he needed in the moment. Even though their relationship was over, the respect and love they shared were still present. Gwen would always be his trusted confidant and a great friend.

Gwen had told him about her nightmares. “I still dream that I am trapped in that cell, awaiting my death by fire, for how could I prove a negative? I never enchanted you, nor did I use magic to heal my father, but the king was convinced, and so I stood no chance. I was to burn for a crime I never committed.”

This had made him feel sick, and in an attempt to get away from the truth, he had left the workspace. He had holed himself up in his rooms ever since. Thinking about Merlin and Gaius, about his father, and all those who had burned for crimes they had no way of proving they didn’t do.

Arthur rubbed a hand across his jaw. His stubble was growing longer, irritating his skin, but he had never trusted anyone other than Merlin so close to his neck with a blade, and so the beard grew. As he couldn't be bothered to do it himself, it had grown rather quickly.

Eventually, Arthur fell asleep by the window, his head leaning against the stone walls.

— 

Two days go by. No Merlin, no Gaius.

Arthur was drowning in grief and anguish. Everywhere he looked, he saw another one of his father's failings and his own for not noticing them sooner. Everywhere he looked he saw memories of Merlin, as if the man haunted him and his castle walls.

Studip, honourable, kindhearted Merlin, who cried at baby birds but also ran headfirst into battle with no armor. Merlin, who never left his side, who acted like his anchor, keeping him steady and grounded. Without him, Arthur felt like a ship drifting away aimlessly, hoping desperately to find his way back to shore.

A nameless servant woke him up with perfect politeness. The curtains were opened, the table laid out, his clothes ironed and dried, and Arthur’s schedule had been updated. He hated it.

He missed Merlin’s nonsensical prattle. The way he pushed the curtains open so hard they would occasionally fall off the hooks. The way he threatened to eat his food unless Arthur hurried up, but in the very same breath called him fat and spoiled. Merlin had no sense of decorum and Arthur loved it.

Arthur dressed himself, for the idea of someone other than Merlin seeing him in such an intimate manner disgusted him. As he pulled his tunic on, he missed the feeling of Merlin's long, knobbly fingers and the way he would, accidentally, brush against his shoulders and chest. Completely accidentally, of course, and never lasting too long either.

Camelot felt like a vast nothingness. Merlin’s laugh and incorrigible voice was everywhere he looked. From the sun-faded bedlinen, to the empty chair next to hisown, to the sound of footsteps in the hallways — His castle was haunted with memories of his friend. 

Because that’s what they were, even if Arthur rarely admitted to it. More even, but he had yet to admit this to himself.

Everywhere he looked he saw a staunch reminder of what he has lost. Of whom he had lost. For in losing Merlin, he had lost a part of himself.

Lancelot had stayed by his side for most of the time these last few days. When questioned, he simply shrugged his shoulders. “I made a promise to Merlin five years ago. He made me swear to keep you alive should anything happen to him.” 

Arthur chuckled humourlessly. “Funny, I made Leon swear the same thing about him seven years ago.”

—

It’s been four days since Merlin left. On Wednesday evening, Arthur had joined some of his knights in their evening shift. He needed the distraction, and walking up and down the battlements was fitting. He craved something to keep his mind off of his missing manservant.

Arthur walked the battlements with his hands clenched tightly. Something inside him, his paranoia or perhaps his soldier's training, told him that Camelot was in danger. Arthur walked determinedly, keeping his eyes focused, awaiting danger.

That evening, while the sky was still somewhat clear from the moonlight, his suspicions proved right.

A dragon appeared on the horizon. Over the treetops it came flying towards Camelot and seemed to land in a forest clearing not too far away. Warning bells rang out, knights ran towards the armoury, and Arthur swallowed his panic as he mounted his horse. 

“For Camelot!”

The King of Camelot rode out with his knights. While the dragon had yet to attack, the sight of it sitting so close to the Kingdom's border was terrifying. Forty knights rode quickly, armored as best they could with spears and crossbows, while their King led the way.

The men buried their fear and donned their pride. The last time a dragon attacked Camelot, a hundred people perished, and they were surely marching toward their own deaths in an attempt to keep their home safe.

As Arthur got closer to the clearing he saw the same dragon Merlin told him he had killed four years ago. 

The great beast was standing on three legs, wings relaxed on the ground, as he held something in his right claw. “Peace, King Arthur.” The dragon spoke in a growling voice, its giant head lowering towards him. Bowing respectfully.

Arthur froze in fear at the sound of the very living dragon saying his name. He gripped his spear as he dismounted. Up close with the beast again, he could see the very teeth and eyes he used to have nightmares about.

“It can speak?” He heard from behind him.

“It has a name, Sir Leon.” The dragon huffed, annoyed, and leaned in even closer to the king and knights. “I need your help, young king.” He said with veneration.

Arthur, feeling more lost than ever before, especially with the knowledge that Merlin had lied to him about killing the dragon, dropped his spear. “Me?” He choked.

The dragon lifted his right arm and moved his giant claw towards him. Knights began to surround him with swords and shields, but he didn't let them. For he could see what is in the dragon's claw.

It was Hunith. 

Hunith laid carefully in between the beast's clawed foot. She looked badly wounded and pale.

Gentler than Arthur thought possible, the dragon lowered the woman’s body into the dewy grass. Arthur was on her in seconds, checking for a sign of life. Despite the obvious bruises and pale skin, she had a pulse, she was breathing. She was alive. 

“What have you done to her?!” Arthur shouted at the dragon, whose face was still close to his. It flared its nostrils, and smoke puffed out.

“I’ve done nothing to her.” He retaliated, moving his head backwards, allowing Lancelot and Elyan closer access to her body. They checked her over quickly, Lancelot rubbing her wrists for warmth while Elyan shielded her from the onlookers.

“The witch took her to The Dark Tower, torturing her with dark magic, giving her hellish hallucinations and nightmares.” Arthur listened as the dragon explained.

The witch. Morgana. Morgana had done this.

“How could she do this?” Arthur whispered as he looked at the woman he secretly loved as if she were his own mother. Morgana had once spoken so highly of Hunith, of how she raised Merlin all on her own. To think that she had done this…it was unbelievable.

“Why did she do this?” That was probably the better question. Aside from torturing Merlin and further angering Arthur, what other reason was there to hurt such a lovely woman?

“Information, young king. It’s a powerful tool as you know well. The right information in the wrong hands can be the downfall of a kingdom.” The dragon spoke as if it had lived a hundred lifetimes, witnessing the rise and fall of empires.

“But what could Hunith possibly know that Morgana would have any use of?” Leon asked the dragon, his spear was still aimed at it. 

“More than you can imagine, I think, young knight.” He turned his attention back to Arthur, who was desperately guarding Hunith's body. He was at a loss for words. With Merlin missing, he could not afford to lose Hunith too. Not her.

“How did you find her, and why? How do you know her?” Elyan asked as he gently stroked Huntihs sleeping face. She must’ve been spelled asleep, Arthur realised. For she slept soundly, despite her injuries.

“My lord tasked me to watch over her, and I did. But Morgana was quick and clever —  she snuck in during the darkness of night and took her. The torture used on her will have addled her mind. I have healed her physical injuries as best I can. But she will need proper care and rest.”

Care and rest that a dragon cannot provide. But Arthur could. So that’s why it came. The dragon wanted Arthur to keep her safe. But Arthur was still left with more questions. The dragon, who really should be dead, spoke of a lord. But he had buried Balinors body himself.

“Tell me, who is your lord? Balinor is dead — and you should be too!” If another dragonlord was out there and in control of a great dragon, it would be a terrible thing for Camelot.

“Look into your heart, young king. Who do you think my lord is?” The dragon suggested, and Arthur felt his heart shatter impossibly further. He realised in an instant who the dragonlord had to be.

Merlin was with him that night. It was Merlin who had insisted on coming with him to fight the dragon. It was Merlin who had told him the dragon was dead. 

“Merlin.” He answered himself and ignored the look of distress the knights surrounding him made.

“I always knew you were smarter than Uther, for he never realised what was right beneath his nose. Merlin is a dragonlord, and a rather powerful one at that. He inherited his powers from his father, just like you inherited the throne from yours.” Kilgharrah smarts.

“His father?” He choked.

“Yes, I believe you met him.” 

Arthur was suddenly reminded of the moment when Merlin cradled the dead dragonlord in his arms and stifled his sobs. His friend had been so heartbroken by the man’s death, but Arthur had only assumed it was grief over Camelot's future. 

But Merlin had grieved for himself. Grieved because he had just found and lost his father. Because he couldn't tell Arthur. He couldn’t grieve Balinor — his father — because of Arthur’s father.

Everyone looked on in shock at the Dragon's words. Everyone, except —

“You knew.” Arthur accused his knight.

Lancelot sighed and nodded. “Yes, my Lord. I have known about Merlin’s ancestry for three years now. I have also met Kilgharrah once before; he saved our life from the dorocha. It was Merlin’s power over the wyverns that caused one to fly into the open veil that dreadful night at the Isle of the Blessed. Merlin sacrificed one of his kin to save us.”

Everyone listened as Lancelot explained. Arthur was conflicted and confused, but he had no time to process any of this. He turned back to the dragon leering above him. “And Morgana, what happened to her?” He needed to know. If the dragon, Kilgharrah seemed to be his name, had rescued Huntih from Morgana's dark magic, surely a magical battle had taken place.

“The witch was still on fire when I left her, but I fear her power might yet keep her alive. She will be scornful and angry. But she must be fearing that the great Emrys is working against her.” The dragon seemed to snigger at this. Arthur didn’t know what to make of this statement, but he was happy to hear the dragon had enacted some revenge against Morgana.

As the dragon leaned in closer and sniffed Huith one last time, everyone braced themselves. Now, eye level with Arthur, he spoke. “I entrust her into your care now, Arthur Pendragon.” It was a threat, and everyone knew it.

“I will guard her with my life.” 

“Good. Or else there will be hell to pay.” The dragon flared his giant razor-sharp fangs before taking a step back and leaping up into the sky. Within moments, he became nothing more than a bat-like figure in the dark. He disappeared behind the clouds and was gone.

“Sire, do we stay in await of a fight?” Sir Kay looked nervously up at the sky. Arthur didn’t know how to explain it but he knew the right answer. If Merlin was the dragons' lord, then he knew Camelot would be safe.

“No, the dragon is gone, and he will not be back tonight. We need to bring Hunith back to the castle. I need two long and sturdy branches, we’ll carry her in our capes.” He ordered.

They make an improvised stretcher with their capes and the branches the knights have found. Placing Hunith carefully onto the red fabric, four knights lifted her up. They would have to carry her on foot as they couldn't risk another head injury from the unsteadiness of horse riding.

Arthur walked first, feeling the weight of his guilt and shame as he carried his beloved mother figure home. He looked up at the starry sky and begged whatever gods or goddesses that may be listening to please save Merlin. 

“Please, let him live.”

— 

Somewhere, Merlin screams in agony.

Chapter Text

Merlin hated being kidnapped. It was truly the worst, especially at the hands of Agrvaiane, the slimiest and most pathetic person he’d ever had the unfortunate pleasure of meeting.

He’d been tied to the rock wall for two days at this point, arms crossed over his head in an uncomfortable position. His head was still hurting quite badly from where he’d been struck— probably by a rock — and his vision was a little off. But his hearing wasn’t.

From further into the cavern, he could hear Gaius’ weakened screams. 

Agravaine had informed him when he first woke that a Catha Priest was working on behalf of Morgana to extract information. Information that Gaius was reluctant to give, and wasn’t it just such a happy coincidence that he had found a sleeping Merlin in the woods? And surely, as Gaius' assistant, Merlin also knew something about the sorcerer Emrys.

Emrys. They wanted Emrys. They needed to know who he was and where he was. Were his ribs not cracked, Merlin would’ve laughed at the irony. Aside from the broken bones and bruised, bleeding skin, Merlin was also in pain from the cold iron chains.

Of course, Agravaine had no idea he had captured a warlock in these chains; he had simply picked up the discarded ones Morgana had brought with her. 

Merlin was trapped both inside a cave and inside himself. He could not escape, nor could he rescue Gaius. Gagged by cloth, he had been forced to sit and listen in on his father-figure screaming in pain, while he could do nothing to help. 

Gaius had been tortured for days, even before Merlin arrived. Dark magic and human hands had caused insufferable pain to both of them. The Catha Priest had worked tirelessly on Gaius, while Agravaine occasionally helped out when he was not busy abusing Merlin. 

Bruised and cracked ribs, small cuts into his skin, aching muscles, and a thundering headache kept Merlin awake. The stench of blood and dirt didn’t help, either.

Merlin prayed to the goddess that Gaius would break soon. He hoped that the older man would tell their capturers what he knew, if only so he could die quicker. A quick death would be preferable to this agony, and Merlin didn’t want Gaius to protect him.

While Merlin could save himself, he knew could no longer save his uncle, and so, praying for a swift death was his only hope. 

Merlin tried to cover his ears with his arms as he heard another scream of terror. Smoke from a fire filled his lungs, and he started coughing, blinking his eyes in pain. He tried again to reach for his magic, and while it sizzles under his skin and seemed to be just as desperate as him to escape, he cannot break the chains. Not yet, anyway. Not while his head is still spinning. 

A hard crack was heard and Merlin whips his head in the direction where it came from. The cave was filled with a loud silence, and all Merlin could hear was his heartbeat. He knew in that moment that Gaius had finally reached his end. He had either told them what they needed to know or he had perished from the pain.

Four days after Merlin left Camelot in search of his uncle he had died, and there was nothing Merlin could do. Regardless of how it had happened, his mother's brother's death was on his hands. Still, Merlin had never felt more relief than grief than he had in this moment.

—

Elyan and Gwaine had rushed ahead on horseback to alert the new court physician of the incoming patient. 

When Arthur and his knights finally made their way up the stairs into the castle early in the morning, Gwen was standing there waiting. “I’ve cleared out the guest rooms in my corridors. She will be more comfortable there, and not in a busy workspace.”

Arthur, Lancelot, Leon, and Percival carried Hunith up the stairs and towards her new rooms. She stirred a little in her sleep, but she seemed to be at ease. They moved her onto the bed, and Gwen and Farris began tending to her. 

“Get some rest, Arthur. You need it.” Someone said, but he couldn’t make out who. Wordlessly, he made his way back to his rooms, throwing bits of his armor off as he walked. Behind him, Gwaine followed him like a shadow.

Once safe inside his chambers, Arthur’s knees buckled under him, and he fell onto the carpet in front of the fireplace, where Merlin always sits. They would enjoy their quiet evenings together, Arthur in his chair nursing a glass of wine, while Merlin sits cross legged on the floor mending his shirts, or polishing his armor. 

Hours of his life had been spent listening to Merlin talk nonsense and pretending he wasn’t interested. But he was. He always listened to every word Merlin said because his voice was a solace he craved. The way Merlin spoke about his days and how he spun stories had always fascinated the young prince, and even now, as a king. 

Arthur clenched the worn carpet threads between his fingers. He never knew his soul could long for someone quite like this. He never knew his heart could hurt quite like this. 

The only times he’d ever truly suffered heartache was from seeing his mother's ghost, when his father died, and when he ended his courtship with Gwen. 

Because that’s what this was. 

Heartache.

Fuck. He was in love with Merlin. Oh, sweet gods above, how had he never realised it before? But now that his mind was caught up with how his heart was feeling, he could finally see sense. In Merlin’s bright smile, his stupid ears, and the way his fringe falls into his blue eyes — in him, Arthur sees his future and his happiness. His home.

“I love him,” Arthur choked on his tears as he confessed to Gwaine, who had sat down beside him. The knight rubbed his shoulder in a soothing gesture.

“I couldn’t even admit publicly that we were friends, but I love him!” Arthur cried. Had his father seen him now, he would’ve slapped some sense and decency into him. It was undignified and beneath a Pendragon to cry openly. Especially over a servant, and a male one at that.

But Arthur found he didn’t care what Uther or Agravaine had to say anymore. He had already lost one love due to them, he was not about to lose another. Merlin was his best friend, his faithful companion, and his absolute everything.

Father had always said servants were expendable. Replaceable. But not Merlin. No, to Arthur, he was irreplaceable.

“I’m glad to see you finally admitting it. It’s been rough watching the two of you walk on eggshells around each other, especially since your thing with Gwen ended.” Gwaine teased, not unkindly, but in the same trivial manner he always seemed to use.

“What are you talking about? I only just now realised it!” Arthur sputtered, but his knight laughed.

“Come now, princess. The way the two of you behave like an old married couple, fretting about each other like old wives, it was clear to anyone with eyes what Merlin was to you.” 

And in a much gentler tone, he levelled “…And what you are to him.”

“You don't know that. Don’t say it; don’t give me hope, not now.” Arthur was not above begging.

“Oh, but I do know. Merlin more or less told me so, and don’t think I’m breaking his confidence, because he also told me to look after you before anyone else. Even Gaius. So, I’m only telling you this so you will get a grip: Merlin is still out there. He still loves you, and if anyone can find him, it’s you. The two of you always seemed to have this...deeper understanding of each other.”

Arthur looked at Gwaine as the man helped him stand up.“Guess you could say there is a special bond between us. Something that has always drawn us closer to each other. It’s like…like I can sense him in any room without even setting eyes on him. My body knows Merlins’ like my own.”

Ordinarily, he would be embarrassed to admit such a thing out loud, but not now. He wiped his eyes and steadied himself. Gwaine met his eyes a little uncertainly.

“Even though he can command dragons? Even though it was most likely him who released it in the first place? Will Merlin be safe in Camelot given this newfound information?” 

“I don’t care anymore. I’m sure in time I will come to question things, but right now, the only thing I care about in this world is to get Merlin home.”

Gwaine smiled at him as he leaned against the door. He looked proud of his king, and it made Arthur feel some semblance of hope again.

—

Hunith stayed in her new chambers, hiding under the covers, while Gwen and Farris tried to keep her calm. She still smelled of smoke from the dragon fire that had saved her life.

She’d been clinging to the bedsheets, shaking and crying, for hours. “It’s not real, it’s not real,” she moaned while Gwen kept trying to calm her down. Her moss green dress was torn and dusty. Her hair was matted, and her pale skin was bruised.

She never opened her eyes, too afraid of what she might see, but she did eventually accept the truth that she had been rescued. Eventually, she tired herself back to sleep. 

—

The knights gather at the stables once more. Tired and hungry, they set off for the woods again. Hunith is safe, but her son isn’t, and Arthur is going to bring him home, come hell or high water.

Gwaine's words rattle around his brain, and he cannot get them to stop. Merlin was a dragonlord, and by law, he was to be executed. Of course, Arthur would never do that — and he had never intended to harm Balinor either when he risked his life to save Camelot.

But it still posed another question that confused him. Was a dragonlord's ancestry any different to magic, or was it just another kind of magic like his father had believed. In that case, Merlin never chose to study magic, instead, it was chosen for him by nature.

And that makes no sense. All his life he’s been taught that magic was an evil knowledge that one sought out for power. But if magic could simply happen to people without their consent, then…then that changes everything.

Everyone knows Gaius used to practice magic. He still does, to some extent. The books, the potions, the network of sorcerers. And now that Arthur knew Merlin was a dragonlord, a dragonlord who had studied herbology and medicine under Gaius, he realised something else; 

Merlin always seemed to understand and recognise magical creatures and people. If Merlin could inherit his dragonlord powers, it stands to reason he could have learnt magic from Gaius, too. 

Merlin was a dragonlord who studied magic.

The wind howled as they rode on, Elyan tracking what remained of some footsteps. The king was barely keeping up with them, too lost in his own head.

Arthur remembered the whispered conversations he’d overheard as a child. About how magic was celebrated and revered in Camelot and all throughout Albion for centuries, before his father became King. Even several years into his reign, magic was an integral part of the kingdom, as seen by the dragonlords and court sorcerers like Nimueh, who used to be his friends.

Until one day when father decided it was evil and unleashed a purge that has lasted nearly thirty years…What was his explanation, Arthur wondered? For years, he’d been told that magic killed his mother; how that happened was never explained. 

The incessant talk of the wickedness that was magic was inescapable. Everyone believed it was evil so it must be evil. But how can one man decide the natural forces of the universe is a wickedness, and try to eradicate it?

Arthur dreaded the idea that Morgause had told him the truth. At the time, he had refused to accept the notion that his father could willingly do such a thing. To bargain a life, anyone’s, let alone his wife’s, for that of an heir…well, now he realised it was precisely the sort of thing Uther Pendragon would do.

Arthur cursed and gripped the reins tighter. Merlin had always said he needed to control his emotions. It was this lack of control that had landed them in this situation in the first place. He could ruminate about his father's follies another time — right now, he had a manservant to save.

—

They find Merlin’s bag and belongings a few hours' ride away from the Citadel. A small camp had been made there, the fire had burnt out, and Merlin’s belongings lay scattered across the wet grass. Hengroen was still tied to the tree.

“This belongs to Merlin,” Percival spoke as he picked up a small dragon carved from wood. “He showed it to me once…said it was his family’s.” Everyone stared at the small dragon with a sense of pity and sadness. Arthur packed up the bags and tied them to his horse. He refused to cry again. 

It was Leon who brought him out of his thoughts. “Sire! Look, track marks. Someone was dragged that way.”

—

Gaius lay dead on the floor, and Merlin was still chained to the ceiling with cold iron. He had failed to save his uncle's life, and he would carry that guilt with him for the rest of his own. 

Gaius had told the Catha Priest what he needed to know before he died, but the man had refused to bend for Morgana and had instead left to raise an army in Emrys' name. Frustrated that his role as a spy in Arthur’s court was revealed, and angry that the priest had refused him, Agravaine had decided to make Merlin his new victim.

While Agravaine has been torturing him for information for hours, Merlin was never going to crack. No matter how hard he hits or how deep he cuts, nothing can make Merlin betray his king.

“Accept it, Merlin. Morgana has probably killed Arthur by now. There is nothing left for you back in Camelot, not after your little speech.” He gloated, twirling a dagger in his hands.

Merlin scoffed at the pathetic display. “Arthur isn’t dead. I would know it in my heart if his had stopped. There would not be air in my lungs if he had stopped breathing. My King is alive; I know it in my soul.” He replied with pride.

A hard fist met his face, and he felt his lip split open. Merlin smiled.

Agravaine had no idea he had actually captured the fabled Emrys he had spent months trying to find. He only knew Merlin as Arthur’s pet servant. It had better stay that way, at least until he got out of these chains.

“You know I will never break, you know this is fruitless. Just let me go.” Merlin tried to bargain, but it was too much to hope that Agravaine would ever let him live.

“Never.” Agravaine was but a mortal man, while Merlin was the last dragonlord. He was Emrys. His head was no longer spinning, and his anger was burning hot, fuelling the magic that flowed through his veins.

He held the blade up to Merlin’s face. “Any last words before I gut you like a rat?” He laughed, and Merlin jutted his chin up in a defiant manner. He taunted the man who held no power over him.

“Long Live King Arthur!” Merlin chanted with a huge busted-lipped grin. While he had no plan of dying today, he had always wanted to die knowing he stayed true to his king with his last breath in life. 

The cold iron chains may have dampened his magic, but he could still feel it simmering beneath his skin. Merlin summoned all his strength to break the chains. He could hear the metal crackle and the chains splinter apart. 

Agravaine was thankfully too bloodthirsty to notice the outstanding magic taking place in front of him. He aimed the knife at Merlin’s chest.

But he was too late — within half a second, a flurry of red capes and silver armour appeared through the cave opening, surrounding Agravaine at sword point. Six knights stood strong, swords drawn, ready for battle.

They had found him! His knights. His friends. They had come for him, just as he had hoped they would. He could see Arthur standing tall in the midst of them, his golden hair looking like a crown adorning his head, as he kept his sword pointed at Agravaine.

Merlin could taste his freedom mixed with the blood in his mouth. The worst week of his life was finally over, and Arthur had come to find him. His King.

“Drop the knife,” Arthur commanded his uncle, who was so shocked by their entrance that he didn’t have time to react properly. Sirs Leon and Percival were on him immediately, and grabbed his arms to the side, holding him tightly.

The chains holding Merlin’s arms above his head were loose now, and he wiggled them out as best he could. Gwaine yanked them down from the wall and helped him get free. His muscles screamed in pain from being held up in an unnatural position for days, but he didn’t care because Gwaine was hugging him.

“Where’s Gaius?” He whispered to him as he held Merlin in his arms. 

“He died last night,” Said Merlin calmly. He pointed with his hands to the right side of the cave, where it wormed itself further into the mountains. “He’s in there.”

With sad looks on their faces, Gwaine and Lancelot tried to get him out of the cave, but Merlin resisted. He shook them off his shoulders and turned to face his uncle's killer. 

They were both kneeling on the ground before King Arthur’s feet. They look into each other's eyes. Blue met fury. “Before you die, I want you to know something. And I want you to hear it from me.”

Everyone stilled at Merlin’s hard tone. “I lied to you. I know who Emrys is, and I know where he is.” Merlin taunted the older man. 

“You’re looking at him.”

Agravaine scoffed and hurtled insults after him, but Percival and Leon held him back.“You? Emrys? Don’t be ridiculous, Merlin. You’re nothing more than a servant.” He spat.

“Exactly. I was born to serve my King.” Merlin’s stone cold voice left no room for doubt. Something seemed to register in Agravaine's eyes, and the man shook with anger. Merlin was always there, always by Arthur’s side. Always foiling his plans.

“And you will die with that information. You will die knowing you failed your mistress. You will die a traitor and a failure; Morgana won’t mourn you. She won’t even notice your death. She never cared about you.”

“We were going to be King and Queen together!” 

Arthur inhaled sharply at this remark but kept his sword hand still. Merlin laughed painfully as his broken ribs dug into his organs.

“Is that what you think? Tell me, my lord? Did she ever allow you to get closer than the occasional brush of arms or a kiss on the cheek? No. She never cared about you; she only used you to get revenge on Arthur, and as soon as you proved useless, she planned to kill you without a second thought. You were nothing but a convenience to her.”

Painful humiliation and hurt flashed across the man’s face. He looked struck with grief over his lady and their supposed love. “And you will die knowing you insulted Ygraine's memory.”

Lancelor kept a steady hand on Merlin, who was tired of hiding. Arthur was about to discover his magic, but at least he had proven Agravaine’s betrayal.

“I am Emrys, and I have harnessed the power over life and death. I know you wish to see your dear brother and sister in Avalon, but that’s not where you’re headed.” He paused for a moment, looking into the man’s eyes. “And I think you know it.”

Agravaine swallowed uncomfortably. Percival tightened his grip on him. No one spoke.

“Say hi to Uther for me.” Merlin grinned before Lancelot and Gwaine helped him stand up and carried him out of the cave.

—

Arthur stood before his kneeling uncle. “Lord Agravaine.” He began, his voice stone cold. For once, Arthur didn’t feel guilty about sentencing a man to death. Nor did he feel grief about losing a family member.

“You stand accused of high treason, of murder and torture. There will be no trial. You’ve proved your guilt before us all, and for that, you will pay with your life.” 

His uncle had no chance to speak up before Arthur aimed his sword and swung. A wet swishing sound echoed in the cave as his throat was slit open. No more words were spoken. Percival dropped the man’s limp shoulders, and Agravaine fell flat on the ground. Dead.

Arthur felt cathartic. His uncle was dead. Good. He had killed his last living blood relative. And he was proud of it. He would kill a hundred more family members if it meant Merlin’s safety.

Looking around the cave they were all standing in, he could see the blood splatters soaking into the ground and walls. He could tell the cave went further in, where Gaius was. Leon, Percy, and Elyan went in search of the physician while Arthur walked back out after Merlin.

He sees his friend cradled in Gwaine's arms and Lancelot attempting to assess his injuries. There was a lot of blood and bruises. Merlin winced as Lance's hands touched his chest.

Arthur stumbled over to him, soaking in the sight of Merlin alive and breathing. He was alive! Thank the Gods. Arthur knelt and reached out to him. 

Arthur was so overcome with relief at seeing Merlin alive that he kissed his face. A quick press of his lips to Merlin’s forehead, and then cheek, an expression he would never normally have shown. But he simply didn’t care anymore. Merlin was alive — even if he never found it in his soul to forgive Arthur —he could at least rest knowing his friend was alive. He tried to speak, “Merlin, I...” 

“I know.”

“I’m so sorry.”

“I know, Arthur. And I’m sorry too. I never wanted you to see me like that. And I’m sorry your uncle didn’t love you the way you deserve.”

Kind, sweet Merlin, always thinking of others before himself. Arthur tried to smile at him, but it looked more like a grimace. Things between them had changed. He took Merlin’s hand in his and kissed it. “I am the one who’s sorry, Merlin. I’m sorry for not listening, for not being the King and friend you deserve, and I’m so sorry, Gaius...” He hiccuped.

Gathering his senses, Arthur opened his eyes and spoke more clearly. “He will have a funeral of honour.”

“No!” Merlin refused, wincing against the bandages Lancelot applied to his chest. “Gaius spent the last twenty-seven years of his life fearing the pyre. He died loyal to Camelot. Please, Arthur, grant him some dignity in death. Don’t burn him now.”

“Alright, Merlin, I hear you.” Arthur treaded carefully around the topic of his old mentor's death. “How…how would you like it done?”

“Can you take us to the lake at the edge of the forest? It’s less than an hour's ride away. The goddess who lives in the lake will ensure his safe passing to Avalon.”

“Oh,” Arthur seemed confused, but he was past the point of asking questions. Whatever he could do to make Merlin forgive him, if he ever could, he would do.

Three knights emerge from the cavern, carrying the old man between them. They had wrapped him in their capes. Arthur was ashamed to admit he was happy he was spared the sight of the old man’s wounded body. 

No man is worth your fears, father had once told him. But it had been years since he last believed in it. As they placed Gaius’s body down on the ground near them, Arthur looked at him.

He sobbed over the dead man whom he had loved like an uncle. “I’m so sorry. You deserved so much more, and I failed you. I swear I will honour your name every day for as long as I live. Your death is on my hands, but your life will live on in our memories.”

Merlin leaned into Arthur and gripped his hand tighter. He leaned back into him. The ground was cold beneath them, and the air was crisp. “We should leave if you want to get to the lake before nightfall.” 

Lancelot brought his horse over to them. “I will carry him.”

“No, he should be with me,” Merlin tried to argue, but the two knights shut him down.

“You are too injured, my friend. You cannot hold onto both the horse and Gaius. He will be safe with me, you should ride with someone else, though.”

They start their journey to the lake, Lancelot with Gaius and Arthur with Merlin. The other knights formed a half circle around them for protection. The lake Merlin spoke of was close enough, and Arthur allowed himself a moment to breathe in Merlin’s presence. Arthur cradled him like he was the most precious cargo. The warrior king used gentle hands and a kind voice as he spoke to his servant. He held onto Merlin as they made their way.

He didn’t know how to bring up what Morgana had done to Hunith, but the truth was what Merlin deserved. Arthur explained as gently and calmly as he could because Merlin needed to hear this from him. “Your mother is safe in Camelot.”

“Why is she there?” Merlin tried to look back at him, but with his painful ribs, he couldn’t move much. He leaned back into Arthur’s arms instead.

“Morgana took her and tortured her for information. Your dragon brought her to me. She is safe with Gwen now and being looked after carefully.”

Merlin’s face set hard. His jaw clicked shut, and Arthur felt uneasy. The ground underneath them started rumbling like thunder; gravel and dirt fell away, and Arthur felt the ground shaking under Llamreis’ hooves.

The sky darkened and Arthur felt the telltale sign of lightning forming above in the clouds. Had any other sorcerer done this, he would have been petrified, but as it was Merlin, his Merlin, he was able to calm himself.

He steadied Merlin, who was sizzling with magic, golden sparks flickering between his fingertips. “Breathe, my love. Your mother is alive and safe; you will see her as soon as we return home.” He pressed his lips into Merlin’s head, not exactly kissing him, but the gesture wasn’t platonic either.

“I guess I should apologise for lying about you killing a dragon,” Merlin mumbled as he calmed down.

“I’m glad he’s alive, if only to look after Hunith. But I'm a little sad that I can no longer claim the feat of dragonslayer.” Arthur tried to joke before he continued. “He said Morgana was still on fire when he fled with Hunith. I’m not sure if she’s alive, but I reckon she is. Apparently, she suspects that Emrys is working against her.” 

Arthur didn’t know who or what Emrys was, but if Merlin told Agravaine the truth then he had no reason to worry. If Merlin was this Emrys, then he knew Camelot was safe.

“Is he?”  Arthur whispered into Merlin’s hair.

“With every fiber of his being.” 

—

They sit and watch Gaius's body being sent off into the lake. The boat Merlin had conjured sailed away quietly, bobbing gently in the waves. Merlin had kept a silent vigil over the funeral for a while before he looked over at Arthur.

“I have magic.” There was no point denying it any longer.

Arhrur huffed a little laugh. “I figured it out on my own. I’m not entirely useless, you know.” Arthur teased, but his eyes were still wet. “I don’t care, Merlin. I have questions, many of them in fact, but all I care about right now is getting you back home. You’re alive! That's all that matters to me.”

The other knights pretended not to be listening as Merlin and Arthur had their necessary talk. “You called me love,” Merlin said, but it was a question.

“I did…”

“Why?”

“Because that’s what you are. You are my love.” Arthur had never been more confident. As he held Merlin’s hand in his, their legs pressed up against each other on the stony shore, and he finally felt at ease.

“Does that mean my banishment is lifted, that I can come back?” Merlin’s eyes glistened, but a smile was forming on his face.

“You were never actually banished! Camelot is your home, and your mother is there now too. I want you to come home.” Arthur retorted.

“Then why did you threaten it?”

“Because your words frightened me, it angered me. I was so afraid of losing the last family member I had that I pushed away the only true friend I’ve ever known. And it scared me that you always knew me so well, that you could read me like an open book.”

Merlin smiled at him and pressed their foreheads together. Ever so gently, he threaded his fingers through Arthur’s new-grown beard.

“We know each other so well because we’re connected through destiny. Our souls were chosen for each other. I was born for you. Some say we’re two sides of the same coin — one is always connected to the other.”

“Does that mean you love me too?” Arthur dared to ask, only to be met with a rather unbecoming snort. “Of course I do, you dollophead. I always have, with everything that I am.”

Despite the busted lip and the blood in his hair, Merlin smiled as brightly as he could. Arthur had never seen a more beautiful sight.

“Will I ever earn your forgiveness?” He whispered to his lover, friend, and servant.

“You already have it. But I don’t think I deserve yours…I’ve lied too many times and done so many horrible things. People are dead because of me.”

“Did you have a good reason for your actions?” Arthur asked while he stroked a piece of dark hair behind his ears.

“Sometimes, yes. Other times, no”

“Then we shall talk about it. And we shall listen and cry together. But know that I have already forgiven you for anything you might’ve done, just as you have forgiven me for this.”

—

“Never letting you out of my sight ever again,” Arthur murmured into Merlin’s soft, damp hair. One hand clutched at his neck and the other at his waist, holding him tight, tight, tight. He had practically carried Merlin up the stairs and into the castle upon their return.

“No? Never?” He huffed a little defiantly into the king's shoulder. It hurt to laugh, but he was too elated to be back with his king to care.

“No, you’d just get into all kinds of trouble.” Arthur tried to joke, and Merlin coughed a little laugh. It was a delightful sound, Arthur thought. One he would happily spend the rest of his life listening to.

“I didn’t do half bad without you, you know.” 

“Don’t go fishing for compliments, Merlin; it's unbecoming of the King's servant.”

“So I still have my job?” Merlin tried to joke back, but really, he should know his king better by now, for Arthur just scoffed.

“You’re my manservant, terrible as you are, always late and eating my food, you’re still mine. My rooms are a mess, you know, and I haven’t shaved in over a week. You’re gonna have to work overtime to make up for your lazy ways.” 

—

Merlin spent the next few days being tended to by Farris, while Gwen and Arthur fretted about him like his mother would’ve. Arthur had practically glued himself to his side the last few days. While still tending to his kingdom and preparing for an inevitable attack by Morgana, he spent whatever time he had with Merlin.

Huntih was getting better, but she still relied on sleeping draughts to avoid nightmares. Merlin stayed with her every day, speaking in gentle tones and reading to her. As she smiled at him with all the love a mother has, Merlin swore to the Goddess he would fulfill his destiny and kill Morgana.

—

A week after his return to Camelot, Merlin was about to fall asleep next to Arthur. He rested his head on his broad chest, loving the warmth and safety of their embrace. He closed his eyes in happiness. After everything that had happened, after all their conversations and tears, his king still loved him. Arthur had chosen him over his father's old laws, over propriety and dignity, and his king had never seemed happier.

The king held his whole world in his arms as he hugged Merlin tighter. “I don’t deserve your loyalty,” Arthur mumbled into the dark, pressing a kiss to Merlin’s forehead. His skin was warm against Merlin's, who only curled closer into him.

Merlin rolled his eyes before he looked up at him and kissed his jaw. One day, Arthur would come to forgive himself, but until then, Merlin would have to remind him of their shared forgiveness.

“Still, you will always have it.”

The end.