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Chapter Text

"W-where were y-you?" Merlin breathed, his eyes fluttering closed. His ribs expanded quickly as he took in shallow pulls of air. Arthur's fingers trembled as he carefully undid the knots around Merlin's frail wrists.

"I-I waited," he whispered, his eyes still closed, "I waited and w-waited and y-you said-" he took another shallow breath as his freed hands fell into his lap, "you said y-you would come b-back."

"I know, I know," Arthur choked out, kneeling to untie Merlin's ankles from the chair's legs, "And I did."

"No," Merlin's eyes opened a fraction of an inch, "You d-didn't."

He closed his eyes and his brow furrowed as he attempted to keep his breathing under some kind of control. Arthur's stomach lurched as he finished unwinding the rope around Merlin's ankles. His feet fell together with a soft slap and Arthur took in the raw, thin skin where he'd struggled against his bonds. He'd fought back, but he'd never had a chance.

Arthur glanced at Merlin's neck nervously. The collar was still there, heavy and glowing faintly against his pale, broken flesh. It had been made for Merlin specifically, and Arthur had been so proud of it.

The iron had been measured precisely, the runes etched by the neatest scribe in the kingdom. Each of the jewels and precious metals were cut and fitted to ensure the optimum amount of contact between them and the vulnerable skin of Merlin's neck. Iron to numb the magic, nickel to weaken the muscles. Rubies to slow the blood, amethyst to slow the mind, emeralds to slow the lungs.

It was a truly beautiful piece of equipment that Arthur now found utterly revolting. He itched to rip the thing from Merlin's neck, but forced himself to remain calm. He feared the only thing keeping Merlin from unleashing a pain-fueled wrath on him was that collar, so Arthur would keep it on him until he was sure everybody was safe.

Instead, he focused on everything else. The bruising all over his body. The gashes weeping bloody puss down his rib cage and abdomen. His fingers and toes broken at odd angles. They were classic marks of interrogation; Arthur wasn't surprised by them. He'd ordered the guards to get any information they could out of the sorcerer, and he didn't expect any less.

The sensitive skin of Merlin's inner arms and thighs resembled minced meat, however, and Arthur stared at the wounds for a moment, stumped as to what could have caused them. A vague memory floated through his mind.

"The sorcerer isn't giving us anything, sire."

"Well, then you're obviously not doing your job well enough."

"We have tried all of the standard techniques, he simply isn't talking. Is it possible that he truly doesn't-"

"Don't you dare. He knows something and I will not hear my own guards sympathizing with a lying sorcerer."

"I'm not sympathizing, sire- I am merely suggesting the possibility that-"

"He knows something! I know he does! He was here for a reason, and you damn well better figure out what that reason is."

"But we have already gone through the procedure for interrogation, and he has said nothing. What do you suggest we do now?"

"I don't care! Be creative! You have an entire kingdom of instruments at your disposal! You can figure something out!"

"Y-yes, sire…"

As the memory ended, Arthur turned his head and promptly threw up across the stones. He heaved again when he saw the myriad of stains already there, and had to force his eyes closed as he recognized the shape of the Pendragon crest burned into the sole of one of Merlin's feet.

He'd told them to get creative…

And they'd obeyed him.

Of course they'd obeyed him -they'd had no other choice. The king of Camelot had ordered them to torture an innocent man, so they had tortured an innocent man. God, the head guard had even said they believed he was innocent, and Arthur had refused to listen. And now… now Arthur was taking mental inventory of his best friend's wounds.

Merlin shivered suddenly, his unbroken toes curling and releasing again. Arthur instinctively put a comforting hand on his arm and was met with a full-bodied flinch. Merlin's eyes opened in panic and he jerked his arm towards his chest, breathing more heavily than before. Arthur's hand stayed frozen in place for a moment, and Merlin stared at it as if it was going to reach out and strangle him.

It was then that Arthur noticed the overlapping bruises across Merlin's throat... somebody already had.

He lowered his hand.

Merlin's breathing slowed slightly, but he was still staring at Arthur's hand with wide, fevered eyes. His arm was trembling.

"I'm-" Arthur began to apologize, but was cut off.

"Don't apologize," Merlin snapped, lowering his arm to his lap. "And don't you dare touch me again."

In the dim light of the cell, Merlin's blood-occluded eyes glittered with malice. Arthur shivered. What had he done?

He finished untying Merlin's bonds in silence. Merlin rested his head against the back of the chair and focused on breathing once again. As the final rope was removed from his chest, Arthur took a step back to allow Merlin room to get up.

Merlin's eyes fluttered open and surveyed Arthur, then the floor in front of him, and finally the rope burns across his own bare body.

"Um," Arthur didn't know what to say, "you...you're fr- you can leave now. Um, I'm not going to… to hurt you."

Even in his head, Arthur thought the words sounded pathetic.

Merlin must have thought so, too, because he smirked. One of the corners of his mouth twitched up, and he let out a low, hysterical chuckle.

Arthur jumped at the sound. It wasn't Merlin's usual carefree laughter -this was deeper, more crazed than joyful. He opened his mouth to speak when the laughter abruptly stopped.

"It's a l-little late for that n-now, isn't it A-Arthur?" he hissed darkly, and began to giggle again. "W-what do you h-have left to t-take?"

Arthur tensed as the noise echoed against the stone walls of Merlin's prison.

"You can go now," he said again, but Merlin kept laughing. Arthur rose his voice. "You can leave now!"

As quickly as the giggles had started, they stopped as Merlin suddenly roared.

"I can't, you useless prat! Don't you understand? I bloody can't!"

On the last two words, Merlin jerked up to stand in front of the chair for a moment, the tendons in his mutilated neck standing out, his fists clenched tightly at his sides, and Arthur had a moment to witness the pure powerMerlin could possess before Merlin promptly crumpled to the ground.

His knees jarred painfully against the stones and he caught himself with his elbows, his spine curved downward in utter defeat. Arthur watched as each of his prominent, bruised ribs pulsed under his skin. When Merlin spoke, he spoke to the floor.

"I can't," he whispered. Arthur saw a few weak tears drip from his cheeks. "Can't you see? I have nothing left." His arms gave way beneath him, and he collapsed fully, curling to cradle his fragile abdomen. "D-do what you w-want. I d-don't care anym-more." He squeezed his eyes shut, and a few more bloody tears slipped down his face."J-just please...make it end."

Arthur didn't move. He was frozen to the spot, shock paralyzing his muscles and keeping his feet stuck to the floor. A few thoughts flashed through his mind at once.

Merlin was too weak to stand.

Merlin was too weak to defend himself.

Arthur banished the second thought immediately, hating himself for thinking it. But the first thought stayed. For some reason, the thought that Merlin - brave, stubborn, stupid, powerful Merlin - didn't have the strength to walk out of his own prison made Arthur's stomach clench.

As Arthur watched the sorcerer sob into the floor, things suddenly snapped into perspective.

Arthur had taken everything.

Chapter Text

His lungs froze at the realization. He, Arthur Pendragon, had taken Merlin's strength, trust, magic, and life and ripped it away. He had taken gentle Merlin and crippled him into a trembling creature in a stone-dark cell, and because of what? Paranoia? A need to prove to his dead father that he could be king? He didn't know. He only knew he had been so angry, had felt so betrayed and righteous in the shadow of that betrayal.

He hadn't thought, just acted, and now-

Merlin's crying changed patterns. Arthur looked at him, hoping to see him standing but fearing what he would do if he was. Instead, he watched as Merlin twisted himself into hysterics. His sobs were being punctuated by odd, hitching giggles every minute or so. It was unsettling, the way his shoulders shook themselves from tears to laughter to tears again, and Arthur thought back to the collar around Merlin's neck, of the discovery and the fury that had lead them both to where they were now.

"What is this collar for, your highness? ...If I may ask." The jewel smith said, carefully setting a shard of ruby into the iron. "If I know its intended use, I can set stones accordingly- rubies are only the generic option."

"And what do the rubies do?" Arthur asked, morbid intrigue moving his lips for him.

"Slow the blood flow, sire. I assume -as it is an iron collar -that you are intending to subdue a magical creature of some kind? These rubies should aid in that."

Arthur nodded silently in order to avoid correcting the smith's use of the word "creature." If that was what he wanted to call the sorcerer, then so be it. That was an accurate term anyway, for what was a creature but a lower being, one that could not be entirely defined as human?

The jewel smith nodded back. "Well, I do need to know the nature of the beast's magic if I am going to design a collar that will properly subdue it."

Beast, Arthur thought. Beast. He liked that word even better.

"The beast," he said, probing the word with his tongue, "is clever and cunning. It can summon magic with a simple thought, and is extremely adept at slipping away unseen."

He stopped, thought of Merlin on that terrible night, when in the darkness of the woods he slipped away from the camp and summoned the dragon from the sky as Arthur watched unnoticed under the shelter of the trees. He had told himself that dragon calling wasn't strictly forbidden, and that surely Merlin wasn't hiding any other secrets. Still, he found himself vowing to keep watch on the servant.

"It can hide its motives easily, and change nature very quickly."

He thought of the days of watching Merlin from the shadows. Of watching him secretly flash his golden eyes and summon fire, heat water, call light to his hands, even freeze the very fabric of time, all under Arthur's nose, and wondered how he was so stupid to allow another sorcerer so close to his heart.

"It is self-serving and will do everything in its power to keep itself safe."

He thought of the countless magical raids that had barraged the kingdom, and how Merlin had conveniently slipped away during all of them, only to reappear unscathed later on, and shuddered. How many times had Morgause mocked Arthur with knowledge she couldn't possibly possess? How long had that knowledge been coming from Merlin?

"The beast is very dangerous," Arthur concluded, "a threat to Camelot and it's people."

He thought of Morgana. Sweet Morgana. Who had disappeared and come back changed. The guilty look in Merlin's eyes whenever her name was mentioned, the way he seemed so blatantly unafraid and unsurprised when she turned. What had he done to her? How had Arthur not noticed his own manservant destroying the king's beautiful ward?

"Do whatever you can to keep this thing subdued," he ground out, his emotions getting the better of him. He imagined snapping the collar around Merlin's throat and burning him for his crimes against him, against his family, against Camelot.

The jewel smith nodded and lifted an amethyst from a pouch still flashing full of flickering stones. "To weaken the mind," he said, and Arthur watched as the purple rock glittered in the dying light of the day.

"G-Guards," Arthur choked out as the memory faded. He needed to make things right, needed to fix things, needed to get that bloody collar off of his neck but there was something bitter caught in his throat, and he swallowed and called again, "Guards!"

Heavy steps thudded down the corridor. Merlin's body tensed, his sobs stopping abruptly as the footsteps got louder. His face turned towards Arthur, stained with grit and tears-

And he was smiling.

Arthur's throat filled again. He took a few steps back.

"R-Running away again, A-Arthur?" Merlin hissed, still on the floor. His bloody teeth glinted behind his lips, but the malice was gone. Tears continued to slide down his cheeks, and his eyes kept darting between Arthur and the corridor, his smile twitching at the edges as the footsteps got louder.

He dropped his gaze to the device still pressed against Merlin's skin.

He had gotten what he wanted in the end.

Of course he had gotten what he wanted. He had gotten to savor the way the metal hissed as it closed around Merlin's windpipe. He had gotten to smile when Merlin let out a feeble noise and sunk to the ground of Arthur's chambers. He had stood motionless as Merlin dropped the breakfast tray and pitcher of wine, as the rubies tainted his blood and the nickel locked his muscles. He had felt triumph as he ordered the sorcerer to the deepest dungeons and he had felt pride every single time a shaking, traumatized guard handed him a report of Merlin's misery.

And now all he wanted was to take everything back.

"GUARDS!" he roared. They weren't moving fast enough, weren't saving Merlin from Arthur's mistakes as quickly as he needed to be saved. "GUARDS!"

The guards scrambled in suddenly, tripping over one another in their haste to make it to the doorway. Something akin to panic suddenly flashed through Merlin's eyes. The eerie smile dropped. Arthur ignored it.

"Guards, please...please escort him to Gaius' chambers," Arthur said. Quickly. God, please just get him out of this cell, was left unspoken.

Arthur realized his mistake the moment the guards seized Merlin's arms.

"N-No-" Merlin gasped, his eyes widening as he was dragged to his feet, "N-No p-please, I-I c-can't- n-no-" he tried to jerk his arms out of the guards' grip, but he was too weak and the guards' hands didn't collar and the torture had done their job, and Merlin came to a quivering halt between them. "Please. Please, please-" he shook his head, new tears streaming down his face, "D-don't-"

"Stop!" Arthur cried over Merlin's pleas, and the guards froze.

They looked at him expectantly. Merlin remained slumped between them, too exhausted to lift his head up.

"Put… put him down." Arthur said carefully.

The guards did as they were told, lowering Merlin back onto the stone floor and releasing his arms. Merlin curled into himself immediately, wrapping his arms around his bony knees and pressing his face into them, softly speaking into his own chest.

In the raw strain of Merlin's murmuring, Arthur knelt.

"Merlin," he said quietly, and, horrified, realized he hadn't called him by his name in weeks; not since he'd ordered his imprisonment and interrogation.

Merlin didn't respond to his name. Had anybody called him by his name since he'd been locked down here? Instead, he pulled his knees in tighter and continued whispering. He flicked a furtive glance at Arthur, then back to his bony knees, the syllables coming faster as Arthur leaned a little to hear them.

"L-leave me alone. Not again. Not again. I'm n-not... I-I don't kn-know- anything. I p-promise, I promise," he was saying, and Arthur's fears were confirmed.

He cursed. What was he thinking? The guards had been in charge of torturing the man for the last few weeks, and Arthur had just called them in and ordered them to drag him away. The destination didn't matter; Merlin's fractured mind was unable to see the difference between now, when guards and orders meant salvation, and the day of his arrest, when orders and the very same guards meant a cell with questions and pain. And why would he? It had been the same for weeks: wake him up, strap him down, interrogate him into unconsciousness, repeat.

Merlin continued rocking, whispering his innocence into his cupped hands.

"Merlin, can you look at me?"

Merlin shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut, "I d-don't k-know about the p-plans. I-I told y-you. I t-told y-you."

The plans.

The plans.

"Sire, the raids-" Leon's voice echoed in Arthur's mind.

The memory came faster than the others, and Arthur wanted them to stop even as he convinced himself that he deserved the torture of reliving them.

"-the raids are increasing as we speak. She is readying an army, sire. She heard of Merlin's imprisonment, and she will attack." Leon's face was carefully neutral as he relayed the news.

Merlin had been in the dungeons for a week and a half, and Morgana was preparing an army.

"Does she intend to get her traitor back?" Arthur asked.

Leon shook his head slowly. "Your charade worked, sire. She believes him dead. All of Camelot does. The pyre was very convincing."

Arthur felt a little pride in that. A single announcement at dawn, a pig's carcass, a blazing pyre in the middle of the night, and Merlin was easily considered dead to the kingdom's people. He had hoped the false news would reach Morgause and Morgana -if they believed their rat was dead, they wouldn't worry about rescuing him-and then Arthur could interrogate Merlin about their plans without the threat of them barging in hanging over his head.

The only problem was, Merlin had so far denied knowing any of their plans. And now Morgana was preparing an army.

"How many days until she reaches the castle?"

"A fortnight, sire. Maybe a little more."

"Please tell the guards to move on to the next step of the interrogation. I want something out of the sorcerer before she arrives."

"Yes, sire." Leon said, shuffling away.

It was only four days later that the head guard had approached Arthur.

It was only four days later that he was told the methods weren't working.

It was only four days later that Arthur had told them to get more creative.

But it was four weeks before Arthur had found out the truth:

There had never been any fucking plans.

"I know, Merlin." Arthur said, pulling himself back into the present. Merlin needed help now. "And I'm not asking you about any plans."

"D-don't h-have a-any."

"I know." He tried to keep his voice soft while catching his eyes, but Merlin's gaze kept sliding away, following invisible patterns through the air and rolling from the guards' hands, to Arthur's hands, to their heavy boots, and back to his own broken fingers.

"Can you please look at me?"

Merlin shook his head. Arthur shuffled forward a few more inches.

"Yes, you can. I need you to." This time Merlin didn't even shake his head. He just closed his eyes even tighter. Arthur took a deep breath, sending the guards a pleading look. They hung back. The older one was shaking his head slowly, guilt lining his brow.

It takes a lot to break a man like this, Arthur read in the guard's face, who was looking Merlin over and cataloging the damage done, no doubt remembering every cry of innocence each mark had forced out of the boy's throat. Arthur had read the initial reports. He knew that Merlin had talked back the first week, shouted the second, begged the third, cried the fourth, and whimpered his way through the fifth. He'd stopped reading midway through the fifth.

The guards hadn't had that option.

"God dammit, Merlin," he muttered, his tone softening again, "I'm not going to hurt you."

No response.

He looked around the cell in defeat, taking in the chair and the boot-prints smeared through the blood on the floor.

Oh.

Oh.

The guards.

"Guards," he said, and they rose to attention. "Please exit the cell and stand outside the door."

They looked only too happy to leave, and Arthur followed them halfway. Standing in the doorway, he could see his friend without being too close.

He looked awfully small in the cell alone.

For a few moments, nothing happened. Merlin remained in his tight ball, shivering. The older guard made a small noise in his throat, and Arthur looked down the hall to see him standing very still a few feet away, watching through the bars.

"He…" the guard began, but then stopped. He shook his head and turned towards the bars again.

Arthur opened his mouth to ask him to continue, when the whispering from within the cell suddenly stopped. Both men whipped their heads towards the silence.

Merlin was uncurling, his breathing slowing as he glanced around the now-empty cell. He placed his hands on the floor and scooted towards the nearest wall, avoiding the chair and the broken ropes in the center. He winced as he lifted his hands from the stone and studied them. A few of his fingernails were missing -more creativity, Arthur thought numbly -and his fingers had started to bleed.

Groaning, Merlin shoved his broken hands into his lap and leaned against the wall. Arthur took his chance, and carefully opened the door to the cell again.

Merlin's eyes slivered open.

Chapter Text

For a moment, nobody spoke. Merlin surveyed Arthur with slate-blue eyes, still slumped against the wall. His breathing was heavy, his chest heaving with the exertion of pulling air into his lungs. His fingers twitched.

He reminded Arthur of a cornered animal, waiting for the predator to deal the killing bite.

"C-come to f-finish m-me off, yeah?" he said, and let out another one of his chilling laughs. "N-Now that y-you know I can't..."

His hands writhed in his lap.

Arthur took a step into the room.

"No," he said, closing the door behind him. He knelt, getting onto Merlin's level and looking him straight in the eye. "...Now that I know you can't what?"

There was more suspicion in his voice than he had wanted, and he mentally cursed himself. He couldn't help it; being distrustful was his default. It had kept him alive on many occasions.

Yes, and look where that got Merlin.

"Fuck, A-Arthur," Merlin said. He shook his head. "Y-you know what."

Arthur stared uncomprehending until Merlin deliberately shifted, his useless legs scraping against the floor. He succeeded in moving a few inches before collapsing against the wall again, exhausted. He cracked his eyes open to give Arthur a weak glare.

"That h-help?"

Silence.

"-I a-suh-sume execution is easier i-if y-your prisoner c-can't fight back."

Arthur recoiled, opening his mouth to correct him when Merlin smiled again. This time it was a real smile, pure Merlin, and Arthur wondered what could have possibly caused it until Merlin opened his mouth.

"D-do you think I'll s-see W-Will again? O-Or Lancelot?"

The smile wavered a little, his eyes glassy. The king's eyes widened.

"Merlin-! No, no, I'm not-I'm not going to execute you."

The smile dropped, and Merlin looked him straight in the eye.

"B-But I a-already a-asked you once."

"What? Asked me what?"

Merlin was starting to cry again.

"Please?"

"Merlin, I don't know what-"

"Please."

"I don't…"

"Please, just m-make it end."

And Merlin's eyes rolled back into his head.

No.

That was the only word that Arthur had time to think before he was scrambling across the dungeon floor, still in a partial crouch.

No. No, No, No…

He reached Merlin's limp form in seconds.

Please, don't do this. Not now.

His hands hovered anxiously over Merlin's body, afraid to touch him, afraid to make things worse.

He can't get worse if he is already dead, a voice in his mind muttered. Arthur growled and shook his head to clear it.

Merlin was not dead. Arthur refused to believe it. He couldn't be. After enduring weeks of interrogation, there was no way Merlin could give up now, after Arthur knew the truth. He couldn't die the day he was given his freedom back. Arthur couldn't live with that.

"C'mon, Merlin."

There was a long moment of silence.

"C'mon…"

And then, Merlin's emaciated chest shuddered and lifted.

For a second, Arthur didn't understand what he was seeing. Then the second passed, and Arthur took note of how shallow the servant's breathing was, and how his fingers were still bleeding sluggishly onto the floor, how Merlin's lips were a faint blue.

"Shit," he said before spinning around in the cell. He needed to get Merlin help -he needed to get Merlin medical attention.

The guilty-looking guard from before was still standing just beyond the cell walls, watching, and Arthur made a split-second decision.

Damn it all to Hell, he thought, and beckoned the guard to enter the cell. Panic attack or no, Arthur needed the guard's help.

The guard shuffled forward, his eyes worried.

"Help me," Arthur pleaded, motioning towards the frail sorcerer. The guard hesitated in the doorway. Whether it was out of fear for himself or fear for Merlin's well being, they didn't have time.

"He's unconscious," Arthur hissed, "Get in here. Now."

The guard glanced at Merlin's bruised face once more, closed his eyes for a moment, and then moved into action. Kneeling beside Arthur, he, too, looked afraid to touch him.

"What should I…?"

"Help me lift him," Arthur grunted, sliding an arm beneath Merlin's legs. The guard nodded and quickly maneuvered Merlin's bony shoulders away from the wall, supporting his head like a child's. Arthur got a hand under Merlin's spine, and carefully, with the help of the guard, stood.

Once up, Arthur was startled by how light Merlin was. The ridges of his spine and ribs were pressing uncomfortably into his forearm, and his bony hips jutted grotesquely beneath his skin. His limbs, now dangling freely, were long and thin, the knots of his bones far too prominent.

Arthur took a moment to breathe as the guard removed his cape and draped it over Merlin's naked body. This aspect, at least, wasn't the guards creativity. It was Arthur's.

"Sire, the sorcerer doesn't seem to respond to pain."

It was the middle of the second week of Merlin's imprisonment, Leon had reported that Morgana had delayed her attack another fortnight, and the guard who reported to Arthur kept coming back looking more and more guilty.

"Of course he does," Arthur said nonchalantly, "Everybody responds to pain. I told you to be creative. "

"No. We've underestimated his tolerance, sire." The guard looked at his hands. They were trembling slightly, and Arthur fought the urge to roll his eyes. If his guards couldn't deal with a little torture of a known sorcerer and ally of Morgana, then what good were they?

"Have you tried cutting back his rations?"

The guard looked startled. "I'm sorry?"

"Rations. Have you cut back his rations?"

The guard's mouth fell open slightly. "His- No! No, he is already on half-rations, sire. That is the standard protocol for a sorcerer during interrogation."

Arthur hummed. "But I think you and I both know this is not standard. Morgana is forming an army as we speak. There is no time for protocol when Camelot's citizens are at stake."

The guard was silent. Arthur leaned forward.

"Do I make myself clear?"

The guard nodded. "Yes, sire," he whispered, and exited the chamber.

"Sire?"

Arthur was startled out of his thoughts by someone worriedly speaking to him. His eyes focused and he found himself still standing in Merlin's cell, cradling the boy to his chest. The guard was standing in front of him with his brow furrowed, speaking.

"Sire, we need to go. Now."

Arthur didn't need to be told twice.

Chapter Text

The hallways had never been so long. As Arthur skidded through the castle with Merlin in his arms, he wondered how he'd never noticed the sheer amount of stairs and hallways there were between the dungeons and the physician's chambers. Shouldn't they be closer together? How often did prisoners need medical attention?

Behind him, the guard's boots slapped the stones rhythmically, his breathing fast. Although the guard hadn't been needed once Arthur had gotten Merlin off of the floor, there was no time for a discussion or a dismissal.

"C'mon, Merlin," Arthur whispered, glancing down at the pale face half-covered by the guard's red cloak. Each step jarred Merlin's spine and ribcage hard enough to bruise Arthur's forearms, but he took comfort in the shuddering breaths he could feel beneath each bone.

"Just a little bit longer…"

"Arthur?"

Someone shouted his name as he passed, a purple blur on the edge of the hallway. Arthur didn't bother to check who it was; he didn't need to. He'd recognize Gwen's voice anywhere, and right now she was one of the last people he wanted to see.

What explanation could he possibly have for what he did, anyway?

"Arthur!"

Gwen sounded angry, confused, and maybe slightly frightened, but she couldn't have possibly known what was in the cloak. As far as anyone was concerned, Merlin had died over a month ago on the pyre, and if Gwen had spoken more than a few words to him since then, he couldn't recall them. He didn't want to know how she was going to react when she found out the truth.

He kept moving.

"What is going on?" She shouted, now far behind him. The guard had stopped and was now trying to speak to her calmly, but her voice still echoed off the stones and followed Arthur down the hallway. He blinked rapidly as the tapestries fluttering around them blurred, her voice ringing in his head the same way it had the day of Merlin's supposed death.

She had known of Merlin's arrest almost immediately. The king's own manservant had been arrested within the castle's walls; the entire kingdom was murmuring their suspicions. It was only a matter of time before somebody would want answers. Arthur had expected Gwaine, but he had been wrong.

"Arthur, what is going on?" Gwen's hands were on Arthur's shoulders, trying to pull him back as he passed their chambers. Despite her size, Gwen was strong, and she had determination on her side. Arthur found his exit slowed. He spun on his heel to face her in the doorway.

She was inches away from his nose, staring him down with a hand still on his shoulder. Her eyes and brow were fierce, her hair unkept. She had been waiting for him to return from the dungeons. He brushed a few stray hairs away from her face, but she leaned away from his touch, still frowning.

"Guinevere…" he whispered, but he didn't know how to say the rest. How was he supposed to explain to her that their best friend had betrayed them all? That he was returning from the dungeons after chaining an unconscious Merlin to a wall to await his fate? How was he suppsed to tell her that there were guards readying for his interrogation, that she was going to need to live the next few weeks, months, maybe years with her ex-best friend locked in a cell somewhere beneath her feet?

Merlin had made too many friends during his time in Camelot. He had tricked too many people into loving him.

The knowledge would break her.

It didn't matter that the crime he committed was the worst act of treason, nor would it matter that he was Morgana's ally. Somebody would try to come to his aid sooner or later, be it a knight or a peasant or Morgana herself, and then Arthur would be forced to punish them, too. How could he live with that? How could Gwen live with all of that?

The knowledge would break everyone.

And so Arthur had decided, as he stared into Gwen's angry eyes, that it would be better for her, for everyone, if Merlin died that day. He would die a traitor, yes, but he would die as yet another person Arthur had allowed to get too close. They could grieve him if he was dead. They could hate him and move on with their lives. They could receive closure, something that wasn't possible if they knew he was living beneath Camelot.

Gwen's scowl had faded into horror as Arthur cautiously told her the tale of Merlin's arrest, carefully leaving out his suspicions of his alliance with Morgana. He choked on his words as he described a fictional sentencing wherein Merlin's death had been decided, and stood very still as she raged at him and beat her fists against his chest. It was a long time before she calmed enough to sob into his shoulder:

"You can't let that happen."

Arthur, who had been hugging her close with his eyes squeezed shut, suddenly released her. The lie might have been pounding in his ears, but it wasn't loud enough to drown out her own words of betrayal.

She wanted to save Merlin. She wanted to save a sorcerer, and she wanted Arthur to help her.

The next words he spoke were clipped as he stood from their position on the floor. Gwen looked up at him with confusion.

"There's nothing to be done," he ground out.

"Arthur, you must try! Merlin is a good man. He does not deserve to die."

"No..." he said, staring out the window behind her, "...I think he does."

Gwen's eyes widened, and she stood slowly, her eyes on Arthur's.

"What?"

Arthur met her gaze.

"I said, I think he deserves it."

Gwen's hand went to her mouth. "Arthur-"

"And if anybody thinks differently, they can join him." There were no lies in his words this time, and Gwen's mouth snapped shut.

This time, when he left the room, Gwen didn't try to stop him.

"Arthur Pendragon!" She shouted before the door shut between them, and Arthur looked back once to see her eyes were cold, her brow furrowed with anger once again. When she spoke, her words were even and true.

"I will never forgive you for this."

Arthur smirked sadly, but said nothing.

He had a fake execution to organize.

Arthur sniffed, trying madly to blink the tears out of his eyes as Merlin grew heavier. He had lied to his wife's face and put his servant through Hell. He didn't want to face the repercussions now.

Glancing down at the bundle in his arms, he was struck with the thought that, maybe, he already was.

Chapter Text

Sunlight flashed rapidly across Merlin's face as they ran by the windows. It cast long shadows from Merlin's dark lashes across his hollow cheekbones, and Arthur needed to look away. He looked too much like death.

The hall that lead to Gaius's chambers was dim as he entered it. The windows had been blacked out on the day of Merlin's supposed death, and anybody who had attempted to remove the fabric had been met with a snarling Gwaine and a sad-eyed Percival.

"You son of a bitch! He was your friend!" Gwaine growled, throwing a handful of black fabric onto Arthur's desk. Arthur calmly brushed it aside.

"It has been two weeks, Sir Gwaine. People are having trouble finding Gaius's chambers." He hoped Percival, standing a few feet behind Gwaine, would see sense. But Percival was standing still, silently watching the two of them. Arthur cleared his throat.

"You must take it down eventually. Which is why I asked a few of the servants to begin the process for you."

"I don't need anybody to help me mourn."

"The man you are mourning never existed. We have been over this before. I allowed you to hang up your silly grief blankets, but enough is enough. It is time to move on. He is gone."

Throughout the speech, Arthur didn't bother to look up from his desk. He continued to sign papers, the wad of cloth teetering near his elbow. Gwaine was trembling with rage, his fists clenched tightly at his sides. Percival put a large hand on Gwaine's shoulder, stopping a physical confrontation before one began.

Gwaine's hands relaxed slightly, and Percival began steering him towards the door. Gwaine hesitated long enough to snatch the fabric off of the table.

"Ten days."

Arthur looked up. "What?"

Gwaine let out a breath. "Ten days. Merlin's been gone for ten days. Not two weeks." He leaned in the doorway. "You can at least remember the date."

The next morning, Arthur found that the fabric had been replaced.

Now, the fabric was ripped in a few places, casting fractured shadows across the walls and floor. Arthur took comfort in the darkness. At least with so little light, he couldn't distinguish between the crimson stains of blood and the red dye of the cloak. At least in the dark he couldn't see his own mistakes.

The door to the physician's chambers arrived far too fast and not fast enough. Arthur turned his body and jammed his shoulder into the old wood, knocking the door open without the use of his occupied hands. He spilled into the room gasping.

"Gaius…" He croaked, his voice getting caught between his labored breaths, "Gaius..."

Arthur hadn't set foot in the room since Merlin's arrest, and the chambers were darker than the hallway. The windows were covered in the same black fabric, but unlike the hallway, nobody had tried to take them down. There were no rips or holes to let the light in here, only a few candles dripping their wax onto the floors and tables.

"Gaius!" Arthur yelled when he finally managed to draw a breath deep enough to get the word out, "Gaius! I need your help! Please!"

Please, don't be gone. Please.

The sound of Arthur's breathing softened, and he was able to hear the crackling whir of Merlin's lungs fighting to open and close. The chambers were empty.

"Please," he whispered.

The door to Merlin's old room creaked softly, and a gravelly voice came from the darkness.

"Sire."

Arthur's head jerked up. A stooped shadow was emerging from the room, leaning on the wall for support.

"...You need something."

It wasn't stated as a question, but Arthur nearly collapsed in the middle of the room, his relief hit him so quickly. As it was, he barely managed to catch himself on his knees.

"Yes," he gasped, "Yes, yes. It's me. It's me, Gaius, I need-"

He stopped himself mid-sentence. He had been so worried about getting Merlin to help that he had entirely forgotten how Gaius might react once he got there.

"Gaius… I…" He looked at the man in his arms, now starting to shiver beneath the cloak. "I've made a horrible mistake."

The elderly physician stopped his shuffle towards the king. His eyes were expressionless, his voice the careful neutrality of concealed hatred.

"What have you done now?"

Arthur closed his eyes and raised his trembling arms. Gaius kept his gaze on Arthur for a moment longer before he looked at the body covered by the red cloak. A pale arm was dangling out of the tangle of fabric, the broken fingers stretched towards the floor. Blood oozed from the mutilated flesh where fingernails should have been.

"Please, Gaius... He needs your help."

Gaius moved closer.

"Who is he?"

Arthur shook his head. "Gaius-"

"Who is he, Arthur? What innocent boy have you harmed now?"

Arthur choked on a sob and shifted the weight in his arms. Gaius raised his hand and grasped a corner of the cloak.

"Please-" Arthur started, but he had no words to finish where he was going. He closed his eyes and Gaius lifted the cloak.

There was a bony shoulder in a discolored socket. A slender collarbone jutting above a gashed, infected chest. There was a long column of bruised throat, weighted down by a horrible, heavy collar, and-

Gaius made an inhuman noise. It came from low in his chest, a keening sob that caught itself in his throat and choked its way past his teeth. He stumbled back, grasping the edge of a table to hold himself up. The cloak fell back into place.

"Gaius, I-"

"Get...Get him to my table," Gaius forced out. Arthur didn't move. The world was crashing around him too quickly. "Now!"

Arthur scrambled up, the cloak falling away as he maneuvered the limp body onto the nearest table. Gaius pressed a hand to his mouth as Merlin's body was revealed, but quickly knocked the contents of the table onto the floor, making room for Merlin's long limbs.

Lying on the table, there seemed to be far too much empty space.

Gaius hesitated as he took in the full extent of the damage done to his ward's naked body. The hesitation only lasted a moment, however, before he pulled the neutral mask back on and reverted to physician mode. He clenched his jaw.

"Get out."

Arthur lifted his chin. "What?"

"I said get out." He was trying to keep his voice even, but it trembled all the same. "Leave me and fetch Gwen."

Arthur gaped. "But- Gaius. I'm- I'm already here, and-"

"And?"

"And… I just thought I could help."

"Oh, did you now? Because you have obviously been doing such a great job so far? Exactly how much more help are you going to inflict upon him before you're finished?"

Arthur shut his mouth. Gaius turned away. "That's what I thought. Go, Arthur."

"But I'm-"

"Go!" Gaius slammed his fist against the table and watched with stony eyes as Arthur jumped and fled.

He looked down at Merlin, and the physician mask slipped.

"Oh, my boy… What has he done to you?"

Chapter Text

"...Gaius?"

It felt like only seconds before there was a tentative knock on the door and a soft voice calling his name through the wood. Gaius stood from the fireplace where he had been boiling water to clean Merlin's wounds. He had a fever, but Gaius couldn't figure out what was causing it until he could see the extent of his injuries.

"Yes, Gwen!" he called, moving towards the door. He shot a glance back towards Merlin. His breathing was still far too rapid and shallow, and Gaius feared it was more than just a damaged rib cage. He wouldn't know until he treated them. And he needed Gwen for that.

Gaius opened the door a crack and eyed Gwen. Her cheeks were flushed, from anger or running, he didn't know, and she seemed to be alone.

"Is Arthur with you?" Gaius asked through the crack. It was a habit that they and many of the knights had fallen into in the last month, as they all feared and loathed the king's paranoia and fury. Avoiding Arthur was safest, when Gwaine could barely go a few minutes without punching something and Gwen still refused to speak openly to him.

Gwen's face darkened at the mention of the King, just as it had every other time Gaius had mentioned him. Gaius liked to speak his anger; Gwen liked to swallow it. They'd learned a lot about each other since the execution.

The fake execution.

"No," she said, and Gaius could see the disgust in her eyes, "He ordered me to your chambers and ran off."

Gaius opened the door a little wider.

"That is probably for the best, Guinevere." Another habitual response, but this time the meaning was different, and Gwen knew it. Her brows knitted at Gaius's tone.

"Gaius?" She didn't need to ask if something was wrong, and Gaius didn't make her. They didn't always need words anymore; they shared their loss.

"I…" he trailed off, and Gwen tried to peek around his shoulder into the room beyond, worry shining in her eyes. Gaius moved to block her view. "I think it would be better if I forewarned you."

Gwen stayed silent, her eyes trying to read his as Gaius searched for the words to prepare Gwen for what she was about to see. When none came, Gwen spoke.

"Just let me in, Gaius. You don't need to say anything, just open the door. I'm ready for it."

"I don't believe you are, Guinevere," he whispered, but he pushed the door open anyway. "Arthur brought him in."

Gwen stepped in bravely. She was prepared to see Elyan lying on the cot, or Gwaine nursing a training wound. She steeled herself for the shock of a loved one lying injured-

And found the cot to be empty.

"I don't understand-?"

She was turning to ask Gaius what she was supposed to be looking for when she saw him.

In the corner, next to the vials of potions and racks of herbs, a child was lying on Gaius's kitchen table. He was dirty and pale and breathing unevenly, with limbs too long and skeleton too prominent. Gwen was immediately reminded of a beggar boy asleep in the streets, but it didn't quite fit. He seemed a little too old, somehow, although no adult would ever be so skinny. And there was something more familiar about him, something Gwen couldn't place.

It wasn't until she noticed the dark glint of a collar around the boy's neck that she registered that the boy was a sorcerer, and there was no doubt in her mind that Gaius had rescued him from the same fate Merlin had met. Her fists clenched.

It was probably even the same collar.

No wonder Gaius was so tense.

The kettle over the fire began to boil, and Gaius jumped up to get it, setting it on a stool next to the prone form of the boy. He made eye contact with Gwen. He seemed to be waiting for something, some sort of reaction from her.

Gwen's fists relaxed. They might have failed to save Merlin, but they could help this boy avoid the same fate. She grabbed a rag off a nearby shelf and gave Gaius a determined look. He seemed surprised for a moment, but then mirrored her, dipping a rag into the water and wiping some of the grime off of the boy's face.

To say Gaius was surprised by Gwen's actions was an understatement. He had expected more- more tears, more yelling, more questions- but instead, he saw grim resolve and determination. Apparently she was even stronger than he thought.

His hands were trembling as he worked, and when he started to lift the rag from Merlin's skin, he fumbled and nearly dropped it onto the floor. Gwen crossed the room and placed a gentle hand on his arm.

"I can do this," she said, accepting his rag as well as her own. She moved her attention towards Merlin's face, pulling the cloth away from a sunken cheekbone and eye socket.

And promptly dropped the rags on the floor.

"G-G-Gaius-" she stuttered, reeling back and falling against his chest.

Oh, Gods, Gaius thought, had she not realized-?

Immediately Gaius moved and wrapped his arms around her, holding her close and stroking her hair.

"It's okay, it's okay," he whispered, though his own voice was shaking.

"But...But that...it's- it's-"

Gaius closed his eyes. Gwen found her voice.

"It's Merlin," she gasped, breaking out of the hold Gaius had on her and flinging herself against the table. Her hands came up to touch his face, gently cupping his hollow cheeks and running her thumbs along his cheekbones.

"Merlin…?" She whispered. He didn't respond. She tilted his head to the side. "Oh my God."

A long gash ran from his temple to his jawbone, barely missing his ear. Both of his eyes were bruised black, his lower lip was split, and bloody grime was still caked to the parts of his face that Gaius hadn't cleaned.

But there was no mistaking him.

It was Merlin.

"What… what happened? How-?" She was looking straight at the warlock, but she didn't believe he was there. "Gaius, but he's- he's dead. He died. He died five weeks ago. I-I saw it. You saw it! He was burned! He was..."

She suddenly seemed to notice the ligature marks around his wrists. She released his face and gingerly lifted one of his hands.

"What... What are these?" She asked.

She knew the marks; Gaius knew she'd seen them before. But they had always been on other people; they seemed entirely different when they were wrapping their way around Merlin's wrists, and she refused to comprehend their meaning.

He was supposed to be dead.

Gaius stooped and lifted the rags off of the floor. Gwen wasn't the only one who was trying to avoid thinking about where Merlin had been and what he had been put through in the last five weeks.

They both knew the signs. They both knew what made marks like that. They both knew why they were there. But they couldn't say it, not yet. Because this was Merlin, the most innocent of them all.

The same Merlin who died a month ago.

The same Merlin who had been accused of powerful sorcery.

The same Merlin who had been imprisoned and burned at the stake before anybody could even get to his cell to comfort him.

The same Merlin who had betrayed Camelot to save the very king who betrayed him back.

And if they gave what happened to Merlin a word, someone would be responsible. And that person would be Arthur.

They didn't want to think about whether or not Arthur and Merlin could survive living with what had been done, and Gaius and Gwen couldn't grieve two more people, let alone the same person twice.

So they carefully avoided the subject for a few long moments as Gwen pretended to not understand the marks on Merlin's wrists and Gaius busied himself with fetching new rags from the cupboard.

And then, as if in answer, Merlin shuddered and whimpered and broke their fragile ignorance.

And they knew.

Torture.

Gwen's eyes filled with tears, but Gaius didn't stop moving. With acceptance came urgency, and Gaius knew he needed to focus now.

Gaius the physician knew how to help.

Gaius the father didn't.

So he let the physician side take over.

"You should sit down, Guinevere," Gaius said gently, pulling a few more rags from the shelf along with a scrap of parchment. He had already waited far too long to begin his examination, and God only knew what had been done to Merlin over such an extended period of imprisonment. Gaius needed to know every detail if he was going to keep Merlin alive, and it needed to be documented. He took a deep breath, dunked another rag into the bucket of water, and began.

As layers of filth peeled away, it revealed things that were even uglier. The dirt had only masked the damage.

Burns. Contusions. Hemorrhage. Atrophy. Infection. Starvation.

New bruises overlapped old ones. Atrophy ate away at his limbs. Vomit stained his chest. Urine and excrement stuck to his legs.

Gaius began to get a fuller sense of what had been done to his ward. Merlin's last five weeks were written into his body for all to see, and Gaius read them all with a heavy heart.

Gwen helped by fetching and boiling water. She stared into the dirty buckets as she walked through the halls in silence, trying to find meaning in the swirling crimson mess. It was only when she returned for the third time that either of them spoke.

She walked in and was surprised to see that Gaius was standing a few feet away from the table, grasping the back of a chair with a white-knuckled grip. Merlin's left arm was dangling over the side, and all but that arm seemed to be clean. Before she could ask why, Gaius realized she was there. He turned his head to stare at her, rage flushing his cheeks as he ground out two words:

"Iron dust."

Chapter Text

The words meant nothing to Gwen. Maybe she had heard him wrong? She set the bucket down on the table near Merlin's legs. Now that he was clean, Gaius had laid a sheet across his lower abdomen to protect at least a small amount of Merlin's privacy against anybody else who came into the room.

"Sorry?" she said.

"They...Arthur…" Gaius's rage seemed to be getting the better of him. "Iron dust. They used bloody iron dust…"

"Iron dust?" Gwen asked, dread pooling in her stomach. "What does it do?"

He attempted to keep a level tone. "Your father was a blacksmith. You can tell me what iron dust is."

Gwen thought back to her father, of his proud smile as he sharpened his swords, of the fine spray of sparks and sediment flying up and bouncing against his thick leather gloves.

"The iron that flecks off of blades? But how does that have anything to do with Merlin or Arthur?"

"Look at his arm, Guinevere," Gaius said, his voice taking on some urgency. He stood and began frantically flipping through books, searching for something. He seemed to find the page he wanted, because he jabbed his finger at it and shouted, "Quickly!"

Gwen rushed to lift Merlin's left arm, palm facing up. She had been wrong -his arm wasn't dirty. It was paper-white and felt just as fragile, and the "dirt" was an ugly, festering wound that started at his inner elbow and stretched halfway down his forearm.

"What do you see?" Gaius called, running his finger down the page, "Describe it to me!"

The skin was ragged around the edges, as if the wound was made with an uneven blade or with multiple sporadic slashes. It wasn't bleeding, but layers of skin were missing, and the exposed flesh underneath was mottled pink and red and black and yellow.

"It looks like a burn..." she said, looking away. Her stomach heaved. She didn't want to be studying Merlin's burn wounds.

Except-

She glanced back. Were burns always those colors? "...Only there's something not quite right about it."

"What? What doesn't look right about it?" He was still running his fingers along one of the pages of his books.

"I don't…" Gwen trailed off, unsure. It did look like a burn, at first glance. But as she looked at it longer, she became aware that the skin surrounding the wound wasn't untouched. Instead, veins were bulging right under the surface, snaking away from the damaged tissue and running up his arm before disappearing. They were a sickening green-grey through his thin skin.

"...it looks like... Blood poisoning?" Gwen bit her lip, "can you get blood poisoning from a burn?"

A few of Merlin's tendons twitched, his fingers curled, and a few more greyish tendrils threaded their way up and across Merlin's wrist.

"Gaius!" She shouted in alarm, not taking her eyes off of the spreading grey.

Gaius stood. "Let me see." Gwen turned the arm, but Gaius simply seized it from her grasp and squinted at it.

"His veins-" Gwen began, but Gaius shushed her, running his fingers along the corrupted vessels. He felt Merlin's forehead, then his arm, then his forehead again.

And then he pressed his finger right into the center of the gash.

Gwen squeaked in surprise and disgust, and Gaius hissed and pulled his hand back as if he, too, had been burned.

"Just as I feared," he said, turning and flipping through another book. "We're going to need more water!" he shouted over his shoulder, "And lots of it!" Rifling through his herb stores, he muttered, "Calendula… Calendula...Ah!" He held a small jar of dull orange blossoms in the air, and saw that Gwen was still standing in the room. "Go!"

Gwen didn't even ask. She just jumped and ran, grabbing a pair of buckets on her way out.

When she returned with her arms filled with the weight of the water, Gaius was frantically grinding the orange blossoms in a bowl.

"This should stop the infection," he muttered, "those bastards…"

"Infection? Is that what that is?"

She placed the buckets with the first one and stole a nervous glance towards Merlin. It didn't look like any infection Gwen had ever seen.

"Yes, and no," Gaius said, still crushing the blossoms.

"Then what is wrong with his arm?"

Instead of responding, Gaius lifted the bowl and began spooning honey and water into it. The blossoms crackled and turned a more vibrant hue of orange. He waited a few seconds as the paste thickened.

"I'm going to need you to hold his arm still. Whatever you do, you keep his arm still. Do you understand? It is important."

Gwen was becoming increasingly confused and frustrated. Gaius moved the buckets of water off of the table and placed them by his feet.

"Fine," she snapped. Merlin hadn't moved save for a few twitches and whimpers since she had come in. Gaius was giving her busywork. She braced her hands against Merlin's forearm.

"Now will you tell me what's happened?"

It seemed as if he hadn't even heard her.

"Are you ready, Guinevere?" Gaius was holding the bowl over Merlin's injured arm.

"Ready for what?" Gwen asked, exasperated.

In response, Gaius tipped a spoonful of the paste onto the burn.

Merlin's eyes shot open.

Gwen suddenly found her job difficult as the young warlock let out a cry and began thrashing violently. Gwen nearly let go, but compensated by leaning most of her weight into the limb, horrified. Gaius spread a little more paste over the wound, covering the gaping hole entirely. Merlin's thrashing intensified. The pale tendons in his neck stood out in sharp relief against the dark collar still cinched around his throat.

"Gaius-" Gwen gasped, but her voice was drowned out by Merlin as he opened his mouth and let out a hoarse yell.

Gaius frowned deeply, studying the wound as the mixture crackled along Merlin's torn skin. After what seemed like an eternity, Gaius thrust his hand into a bucket of water on the floor and lifted out a goblet-full, pouring the contents over his arm and washing away most of the orange substance.

Merlin stopped yelling, his thrashing slowing slightly as he gasped in lungfuls of air. Gwen relaxed.

And then Gaius spooned more of the paste over the wound.

Merlin's back arched off of the table as the mixture popped and hissed. He screamed again, but this time it was sharper, more desperate.

"P-Please!" he shrieked, words twisted into his screaming, "I p-pr-promise, I didn't d-do anything! I d-d-don't know a-anything, I swear!" Gaius poured another cup of water across the burn. Gwen had only a moment to register that it was coming away a duller color before it was replaced by another spoonful.

"Y-You lied!" Merlin sobbed, "You said you w-would stop. Y-You said you would stop! Please, please, I promise...!"

Gwen's grip began to slide as water-honeyed pulp flowed over her fingers. She leaned more weight into the arm.

"Gaius!" She yelled again as another cup of water brought forth a wave of greyish pus, "Gaius, what are you doing?!"

"Just...Just wait a little longer!" Gaius shouted, repeating the rinsing process. Merlin's movements were weakening, but he was still begging and jerking beneath Gwen's touch.

Gwen's eyes creased with worry, but she held on.

She didn't know how long it went on, but by the end, everybody was exhausted. Merlin's movements had slowed until he was just trembling, tremors moving up and down his body in sporadic bursts. The burn had started to bleed and was running in rivulets down both his and Gwen's arms.

Gaius rinsed his arm a final time. Merlin lay on the table with his eyes screwed shut.

"Y-you said it would stop," he whimpered, "A-And y-you said you w-would come b-back. Y-you p-promised. I-I did e-everything you asked, a-and y-you promised… y-you said...y-you s-said…"

Gwen released the arm, backing away. Merlin's fingers twitched, but he didn't seem to have enough strength to move any more. His eyelids fluttered, his gaze sluggishly moving towards hers. There was no recognition in his eyes as a final spasm rocked his body and he passed out.

Gwen immediately whirled on Gaius.

"What was that? What just happened? What did I just help you do?" She'd never heard screams like that, full of so much agony and despair, and she didn't want to think she had been the cause of them.

Gaius hesitated. "It is not important right now." He stooped to place the bowl on the floor next to the now-empty water buckets. He grunted as he straightened again, and Gwen was struck with how old he looked. He'd aged in the last month, as if the weight of the world was slowly pulling him towards the floor. "What are important are the injuries we don't know about yet. Please, help me sit him up."

She didn't move.

"Guinevere?"

She was staring at Merlin.

"Guinevere."

She jumped.

"Please. Help me sit him up."

She moved almost robotically, sliding her hand under his sharp spine and neck. Her fingers made contact with the cold collar as they eased the man into an upright position. Gwen held his shoulders to keep him from falling when he started to slouch forward. They were so narrow.

Like a child.

"Can… can we at least take the collar off?" She whispered, brushing one of her thumbs against it. "Please?"

Gaius looked pained. "I'm not sure we can right now."

Her voice didn't get any louder, but her breathing sped up. "But..."

"Guinevere, it does not matter right now. His physical injuries-"

"But what about later? Can we take it off later? He-"

"Please, you need to focus right now. The collar is the least of our worries. His breathing-"

"But- But it's not like he's stuck with that thing forever, is it? He can't wear a collar for the rest of his life! He-"

"Guinevere!" Gaius raised his voice. "You need to calm down. I have no intention of leaving the collar on."

"But you said-"

"Dammit, Guinevere! If we don't start helping him now, he might not have a 'rest of his life' at all! Now will you please focus and help me?!"

That got Gwen to shut up. Gaius took a breath. He didn't regret what he had just said, but he did regret the need to use such words.

"I'm sorry, but I need your help and I need you to understand the gravity of what is going on."

"Then tell me!" Gwen burst out, and Gaius was startled by the sudden change in tone. "I've been asking you what is going on for the last hour and you keep saying it isn't important, when obviously it is! If you want me to help, then you need to start including me! Where was Merlin? What does iron dust do? Why was he screaming those things? Where did all of this come from?"

She looked pointedly at Merlin's bared torso, lined with trauma. Gaius noticed that her hands, bracing Merlin's shoulders, were still stained with his blood.

"I know you are trying to protect me, but, please, stop! I don't know what they do to sorcerers, I can't even guess, but you obviously do and you can't keep hiding it from me!"

Gaius was stunned. For a moment, neither of them spoke. Gwen stood glaring at Gaius, her chest heaving.

Between them, Merlin remained bonelessly in Gwen's arms.

Gaius took a deep breath.

"His fever should start going down now."

Gwen continued to glare at him. "Gaius-"

He cut her off, his eyes a warning.

"Hush. Can you wrap his ribs? I believe he will have at least a few that are broken. I don't think I am strong enough to do it tightly, and I am afraid that he won't be able to breathe properly if his ribs aren't set soon..."

He lifted a roll of bandages and a small jar of honey from his table and held them out to Gwen. Gwen shifted her grip on Merlin and took them, but didn't move to use them.

"Tell me, Gaius." It was an order. It was obvious Gaius knew at least some of what had happened to Merlin, because he hadn't even checked his ribs yet.

Gaius sighed. He knew he needed to start speaking. Even if the methods for interrogating sorcerers had changed a little since the Purge, the basics were more than likely the same, and Gwen was right. She couldn't help if she didn't understand.

"Iron dust is not just a by-product of bladesmithing," Gaius nodded towards the bandages, urging her to begin with the more minor injuries. "It has many other uses. But most of them are utilized in potion-making."

He took some of Merlin's dead weight and began the slow process of running his fingers over each of his prominent ribs, seeking out breaks and cracks. Gwen straightened, her glare softening as she realized he was finally explaining things to her.

"But there are… other uses."

Gwen glanced at Merlin's bleeding arm. Gaius breathed deeply.

"Are you sure you want to know these things?"

She nodded.

"Very well," Gaius sighed. "During the Purge, it was discovered that iron, along with its many medical and practical properties, also served a very magical purpose as well."

Gwen undid one of the bandages and began wrapping it around his thin wrist. She covered the ligature marks, wishing that not being able to see them meant they weren't there.

"They found that if a sorcerer was bound by iron, he no longer had access to his magic. So Uther, naturally, decreed that all chains in the kingdom should be made of iron, and... he began to experiment." Pause. Breathe. There was a cracked rib on his left side. He brought it to Gwen's attention before continuing.

"There were… a lot of things that Uther did that I would not like to discuss. And things I would not like to think about. But one of the things he found was iron dust was extremely versatile. Better than straight iron. It could be hidden in a great many things, and mixed with things, to render sorcerers weak, sick, powerless, or physically incapable, amongst other things, depending on the dose and how it was administered." Pause. There was a broken rib, just above the cracked one. Gaius grimaced.

"And so he began to use the dust in the standard procedure of interrogating sorcerers...should I stop?"

Gwen looked slightly ill. Interrogation. Merlin had been interrogated. She'd already known, she supposed, but she didn't like to hear the words out loud.

"No," she said, a little too forcefully. She breathed, "No, I'll be fine, keep going."

Gaius gave her a concerned look, but carried on, "The quickest way to administer iron dust is through the digestive tract or through the bloodstream. Digestive tract causes more general weakness and sickness. The bloodstream, however, is far more painful and potent. It essentially contaminates a sorcerer's magic through their blood. If done correctly, iron dust can keep sorcerers subdued for prolonged lengths of time by trapping them in a kind of drugged limbo. In Merlin's case…"

Another broken rib. Gaius swallowed. "...In Merlin's case, I think they used a very crude method to get it into his bloodstream. In its essence, the procedure is supposed to be similar to a bloodletting. A vein is opened up, blood is drained, collected, mixed with iron dust, and poured or pumped back into the wound. The veins can be left open for days, with iron constantly circulating. It is supposed to be a very sterile, clean procedure. There used to be specialists…"

He could still remember the smell of the blood, the cries of sorcerers as their veins were invaded and abused. Gaius shook his head to clear it of the memories. "But the days of the Purge are over, and I suspect that Merlin's treatment was performed by nothing more than a few prison guards operating under vague verbal instructions." He pointed to the jagged edges of the wound. "You see the serration? It took them a few tries to open a vein, and they did not know how to keep it open once they got one. They just opened a different place each time, or reopened the scabs in order to administer additional dust."

Gwen was staring at him with her mouth open slightly. He sighed.

"I really think I should stop."

"No, I'm sorry. I need to know, I do."

He opened his mouth to protest, but Gwen was looking at him with wide, pleading eyes, so he closed it and grit his teeth.

"The effects are stronger the longer the dust is kept in his system. There is no way of knowing how long that has been, before you ask me."

Two more broken ribs.

"But it didn't spread that far," Gwen said. It was as if Gaius had read her mind, "I mean, I could see where the iron was, and it didn't even reach his shoulder, so it couldn't have been that long."

Gaius shook his head. "It doesn't work like that."

"What do you mean, it doesn't work like that?" She asked, "How does it work?"

"Like I said, they reopened the vein multiple times. There's no way of knowing how often the procedure was administered. The grey in his veins was just build-up from different sessions."

Gwen looked horrified.

"Then what did we…?"

"What we just did…" he motioned towards the table, still wet with watered-down pus and grey-orange petals, "was clean the wound, that is all. The calendula draws the built-up iron out of the surrounding tissue, and the honey staves off further infection, but Merlin is going to need to work the rest out of his system on his own."

"And how long will that take?"

"Everything depends on how much he was given." It was vicious loop of I-don't-know's.

"And we don't know that." Gwen said.

"No."

"And there's no way to figure that out."

"Exactly."

Gwen huffed. Gaius moved to check Merlin's other side.

"You wanted me to be honest?"

Gwen nodded. "Yes."

Gaius took another breath. He might as well put everything out on the table.

"His fever…" he started, "is abnormal for the procedure, and that is not the only thing I am worried about."

Gwen mentally prepared herself as Gaius began to explain.

Chapter Text

"His fever is abnormal for the procedure. It is the reason I can't estimate the amount of time. The amount of paste we needed before the wound began to bleed normally suggests a startlingly large amount of dust in his system, as does the fact that he was in so much obvious pain. But the shouting? That isn't consistent with iron dust at all."

"Then what was the shouting?"

Gaius's brows crinkled. "I believe it was a result of the fever." He shifted uncomfortably. "This is the part where I am honest."

Gwen waited patiently.

"The bruising... wherever he was being held, he was beaten," Gaius said quietly, "Probably from the day he was imprisoned until very recently."

Gwen nodded, urging him on. Gaius motioned towards the scarring around his wrists. "He was strapped down," Gaius continued, "If he was released, it was not often, and probably only for a few minutes at a time in order to change his position or to move him to a room with different instruments. That explains the atrophy, and-" He moved his hand in the direction of Merlin's groin, "I think you can guess."

Gwen nodded. He had been left strapped down for hours, forced to wet himself time and time again, unable to escape his own filth as his body betrayed him. She had figured out that much on her own, judging by the smell.

"The fever is probably caused by the shoddy job the guards did with the dust, which lead to an infection in his blood. That is what I am the most worried about, which is why we cleaned the wound before anything else."

Gwen nearly dropped the bandages she was holding. She was just completing the wrapping of the very wound, and she looked at it in an even more sinister light than before.

"His fever is very high, and although it should start going down, I think it was the combination of the pain from his wound and the fever that caused the shouting. It is very likely the things he said were things he has shouted before, and were triggered when his delirium met an action that reminded him of those times. In this case, his imprisonment."

She had already assumed as much, but had hoped for something else.

"I'm afraid that is all I can really tell you. I don't know what the words mean, nor who Merlin thought he was talking to, but you were not at fault for any of them, Guinevere."

Gwen didn't respond. She knew that. Didn't he know she knew that? It didn't make a difference whether she was the one Merlin thought he was talking to. The point was that he had been pushed to say such things in the first place.

Her mind was busy running through scenarios that would explain what Merlin had meant when he had yelled.

The phrases "I don't know anything," and "I didn't do anything," were easy. Everybody knew that Arthur had imprisoned (and killed, but evidently not) Merlin because he was suspected of knowing and carrying out Morgana and Morgause's plans. He was shouting his innocence at the people who were hurting him in an attempt to get them to stop, and in this case, it had been Gwen and Gaius.

"You said you stop," and "You said you would come back," on the other hand, weren't so easy, and Gwen didn't like where her mind was going.

"I think..I think all we can do now is let him rest." Gaius said, pulling Gwen from her thoughts, and she abruptly realized she had gotten to the end of the bandages, that Merlin's limbs and torso were now wrapped and covered securely, his broken fingers set.

"Oh…" she breathed.

"We must get him into an actual bed. This table can't be doing much good for his ribs or breathing."

Gwen glanced at the cot on the far side of the room, then at Merlin, unconscious, and spoke the very words Gaius had been wondering as well:

"How are we going to get him there?"

In the end, they decided the only safe way to move Merlin was to get outside help. The only problem was finding that help. Gaius didn't think he had the energy to deal with the heartbreak of Percival and Gwaine just yet, and Elyan was gone on a patrol for the next week, which left Leon.

"He's the head of defense," Gaius protested. "He probably already knows about Merlin."

Gwen wouldn't hear any of it. "Leon is Merlin's friend. He wouldn't have stood by and allowed these things to happen if he knew about them."

"In that case, he would be just as heartbroken as Sir Percival and Sir Gwaine, and we might as well call them all in."

Which was how it was decided that they would call all three, and give them the news all at once.

Neither of them brought up the fact that Arthur had been Merlin's friend, too. Before all of this.

Gwen left the physician chambers soon after to fetch the men. As she turned back one last time in the doorway, she caught a glimpse of Gaius dragging a stool over to Merlin's side and sitting down, grasping one of his hands.

She nearly ran into another guard as she left the room.

"Oh!" she stopped in the dark hall, the guard looking just as startled.

"Sorry," he said quietly, not meeting her eye. It was the same guard that had stopped her in the halls hours ago, when Arthur had run by with a strange bundle in his arms. A bundle Gwen now knew had been Merlin.

His eyes flitted towards the door.

"Can I help you with anything?" Gwen asked. The guard shook his head.

"No, no. I just...Is Merlin in there?"

A flag went up in Gwen's mind. "Why do you want to know? Merlin is dead." The words felt bitter on her own tongue, but she couldn't have a guard coming and dragging Merlin back to wherever it was he had come from.

The guard smiled, but it didn't reach his eyes. "I know he isn't. I just needed to see him."

Gwen wasn't convinced. "He is not in there."

"Look, I'm not going to do anything. I just came to see if he was alright." The guard shifted. "...Is he? Is he alright?"

Gwen didn't answer the question. "Who are you?"

He shifted again. "Owain." He said, and then, "Can… can you do me a favor? Can you not tell him I came? I don't think he would appreciate my visit..."

Gwen gave him a long look, and for once he caught her eyes.

"...He's not okay, is he?"

Gwen didn't respond. It was enough.

"Oh… Oh God," he hissed, and he whirled to punch the wall behind him. "Dammit!" He clutched his bruised knuckles.

"I'm sorry. I'm...I'm so sorry. I need- I need to go," he stuttered. He twisted and sprinted down the hallway, his shoulders hunched.

"Wait-!" Gwen shouted, but he was already gone.

She debated going back inside to telling Gaius what had just happened. But then she remembered Merlin still lying on the table, and Gaius taking his hand, and she couldn't return without help.

Chapter Text

It took her a matter of minutes to find Gwaine, and by extension, Percival. They were sitting in the corridor outside of the hall that lead to Gaius's chamber. They were still dressed in maille, so Gwen would have thought they had just gotten back from some kind of outing...but she knew better. Arthur had banned the pair from patrol work until they agreed to take down the mourning cloth in and around Gaius's chambers.

They had so much free time now, and Gwen wasn't entirely sure how Percival was filling it. She knew how Gwaine was filling it, however.

Gwaine was drinking. Drinking away his loss, his pain, his anger. If he had been bordering on self-destructive before, he had passed that boundary the moment he had lost Merlin and his right to go on patrol. Gwen didn't know how many nights she had helped Percival drag an unconscious Gwaine to Gaius, or how many times another pair of knights would drag him in for Gwen and Gaius to treat.

"Sir Percival?"

Percival sat on one of the window frames, looking helplessly from side to side as Gwaine lay on the floor below him. His armor was dented. As Gwen neared them, she could smell the alcohol on Gwaine's skin.

The knight looked up, his eyebrows raised in answer and maybe a little embarrassment. Gwen knelt in front of them.

"How much?" she asked, glancing at Gwaine. He was hiccuping and his head was lolling back.

"Does it matter?" Percival asked from his window perch. Gwen sighed and knelt.

"Of all times..." she muttered, "Gwaine! Snap out of it!"

Percival knelt before her. "Is there something wrong?"

"I'll tell you once we find Sir Leon," she said, slapping Gwaine's cheeks lightly. The knight blinked his eyes open slowly, giving Gwen a lazy smile.

"Hiya, Guinevere."

Gwen rolled her eyes. "C'mon, get up. It's important."

Percival helped Gwaine up, who was swaying on his feet.

"Why d-we gotta find 'im?" Gwaine slurred, revealing he had heard at least a part of the earlier conversation, "Sir Le'n."

"I don't want to explain now, just help me."

They found Leon in the armory, practicing footwork. When he saw the three of them enter, he stopped and sheathed his sword.

"What can I help you with?"

"We don't know," Gwaine said a bit more clearly. Apparently the walk had helped sober him a little, "Ms. Guinevere here won't tell us."

"Fine," she snapped, for a moment forgetting the fading sorcerer in Gaius's chambers in lieu of being annoyed with Gwaine, "You are all needed in Gaius's chambers."

Leon's face paled. "What for?"

"It's...hard to explain. One of his patients…" she trailed off, remembering why she was there, and her eyes started watering, "He just...needs your help. Please."

Gwaine and Percival looked slightly concerned, but Leon remained stone-faced as he stepped forward.

"Then we shall go."

It seemed Gwen couldn't lead the men fast enough to Gaius's chambers. She padded down the hallway with her dress billowing about her legs, her dark hair snapping behind her shoulders.

"Couldya' please speed it up a little, missy? We can't keep up!" Shouted Gwaine in his usual sarcasm as they panted down the hall. Gwen didn't respond. Her mind was focused on one thing: Getting Merlin the help he so desperately needed.

She could tell the knights were more than a little confused by Gwen's reaction in the armory and her urgency to get to the physician, but she found she didn't care at the moment.

As the dark hall came into view, Gwen put on an extra burst of speed, the knights following her. Moving so fast, they were, that when she stopped right in front of the door, they ran into one another.

"Sorry!" She said, "I just... I just think it would be a good idea to be warned first."

Again, Percival and Gwaine looked rather concerned and worried, and Leon looked straight ahead.

"...Warned first?" Gwaine stole a glance at the door, his face growing serious. "Guinevere, what's really goin' on?"

Gwen's shoulders shook. She clasped her hands in front of her. "It's... well, it's… he isn't- I mean, he was brought up a few hours ago, but we need- or he needs, I suppose- to be moved. And...I'm not...I thought I was crazy, but I swear, I'm n-"

"Guinevere?" Gwaine cut her rambling off, "Who is it?"

Tears once again welled up in her eyes and she opened her mouth a few times in order to say something, but no sound came out. Finally, she managed to get out just one word:

"It's…"

"...Merlin?"

Gwen's eyes widened as she heard another voice finish her sentence. She looked to see that Percival and Gwaine were giving Leon an odd look as he stood off to the side, a hand pressed to the bridge of his nose. He glanced at the floor.

"Is it Merlin, Guinevere?"

"Merlin?" Gwaine seemed to think Leon had gone off the deep end, but Leon just lifted his eyes to Gwen and said softly,

"Is it?"

Gwen once again found it hard to find words. Was Gaius right? He was the head knight...had he stood idly by as his friend was hurt- beaten in the dungeons by the very men he lead?

"Guinevere, please. Tell me! Is. It. Merlin."

"Come now, Leon-" Gwaine started, but Gwen cut him off.

"How do you know that," her voice was dangerously low.

Leon didn't make eye contact. "I-" he didn't know where to go, how to explain himself.

"How do you know that?" Gwen shrieked, taking a step towards him with her fists clenched, "tell me!"

"I was under orders! I never-"

"You were under orders?"

"I never touched him! I-I was just the messenger-"

"But you knew? You knew and you just let it happen?!"

At this point, Gwaine and Percival had heard enough. "What is going on?!" Gwaine demanded at the same time as Percival's shout of "Can someone explain?"

Leon and Gwen stopped shouting, although she was still uncomfortably close to him. Her glare never left his face as she spoke.

"...Do you even know what they've done? Do you know what you have done?"

Leon hung his head.

"Guinevere, what are you speaking of?" Gwaine asked, shifting his eyes between the two of them.

"Leon knew, but he didn't touch him!" She exclaimed, throwing her hands up in the air, "because that makes everything okay! He was only the messenger! He wasn't responsible!" She dropped her hands and her voice lowered. "Do you want to see what you weren't a part of, Leon?"

She took a step backwards and pressed Gaius's door open, revealing the occupant.

"See for yourself."

Gwen watched the knights' faces as realization came to them.

He was on the table, his skin pale against the dark wood. His eyes were closed above his hollow cheeks. Sweat beaded across his brow as his chest moved up and down in feverish heaves beneath the blood-stained bandages wrapped tightly around his chest.

Leon's eyes widened and his mouth fell open.

Gwaine and Percival looked confused -Merlin was dead, Merlin was dead- before Gwen's angry words slid into place, and they understood.

"...Merlin?" Percival whispered. Merlin didn't wake, only shifted slightly before letting out a pained cry and falling still again. The sheet slid down to his waist, revealing more infection-stained bandages and his taut, hollowed stomach.

Leon blanched, his lips moving silently.

Gwaine whirled to look at him, fury in his eyes. The body on the table resembled more of a beaten child than the servant, but the dark hair and prominent (too prominent- emaciated) cheekbones were unmistakable.

"You did this?"

Leon shook his head, his hands going up. "I-I didn't-"

"You knew about this?"

Leon backed up. "I swear, I didn't know that it had gone this far-" but he stopped. Because he had heard the screams and the pleas. He had seen fleeting glimpses of that bloody face as the guards dragged him down the hall, unconscious or broken. He had known, distantly, what was being done, but he hadn't let himself think about it.

And now he was staring at the fruition of his ignorance.

Merlin was thinner now than when Leon had seen him last, but when had that been? The second week? The third? He knew Arthur had ordered to cut back his rations, but he had just assumed Merlin would be able to deal with it. The boy was already so skinny, he had reasoned that he probably didn't need much to eat in the first place.

But his bones were sticking out from his skin, even through the layers of bandages. And the bandages covered everything - his arms, his chest -they spread below the sheet and he knew they went down his legs and feet.

"But you knew it was happening?" Gwaine repeated.

"I didn't know this was happening!" Leon exclaimed, fumbling an excuse.

"I thought he was dead!"

"Nobody could know-"

"Godammit, I mourned him!"

"It needed to be done, it needed to-"

"In what world," Gwaine motioned towards Merlin's destroyed body, "Did this ever need to be done?"

Leon once again fell silent.

"I asked you a question." Gwaine took a step forward and Leon's back hit a bookcase, his hands falling to his sides.

"I was under orders…" Leon said quietly, but even he knew it was a flimsy excuse -he just wasn't prepared for the blow that snapped his head to the side.

"Since when are orders more important than honour!" Gwaine exclaimed, dealing another blow. Leon didn't move to protect himself. He fell to the ground and covered his head with his arms to shield himself from the blows.

Gwaine delivered a kick to his ribs. "He was your friend! He trusted you!" Another blow, "You bastard!" but the next blow didn't come. Leon opened his eyes.

Percival was holding Gwaine back as he attempted to throw himself at Leon. Spittle flew from his lips.

"Let go of me!" Gwaine shouted, jerking, "He hurt Merlin-"

"This is not going to fix anything, Gwaine!" Percival shouted over the din, "You'll kill him!"

"He fucking deserves it!"

"Gwaine, stop!" Gwen skidded into the melee, putting herself between Leon and Gwaine. "This won't solve anything!"

Gwaine glared at Leon, but his movements slowed until he hung dejectedly in Percival's grip.

"Are you done?" Percival asked, and Gwaine nodded. Percival released him, and he moved to Merlin's side, taking a bandaged hand.

"What...what happened to him?"

"He was tortured."

Everyone looked up as the door to Merlin's room creaked and Gaius emerged holding a worn blanket.

"I was going to break the news gently, but it seems we're passed that now." He glanced at Leon. "I had hoped for more from you."

The knight hung his head and looked away. Gaius smoothed the blanket over the cot on the far side of the room.

"Sir Percival? Gwaine? Would you mind..?" He motioned vaguely towards Merlin, but the knights understood. Gwaine pulled the sheet up so that it once again covered Merlin's torso. Merlin flinched, still unconscious. Percival slid his hands under Merlin's shoulders and knees, and with Gwaine helping to support his head, they carried Merlin's weightless body to the cot that Gaius had prepared.

"Lords, Gaius, has he eaten anything?" Gwaine asked as they settled his feverish head against a pillow. Gaius pressed a hand to his flushed forehead and frowned.

"I bet you could ask Leon," Gwen muttered, "I bet he knows."

All eyes turned to the blond knight still kneeling on the floor.

"Has he eaten?" Gwaine asked, his voice carefully even.

"Well-" Leon didn't want to explain, not now, surrounded by the people he had betrayed, "Well... Arthur cut back his rations."

Gaius responded, "It is common practice to decrease a sorcerer's rations during imprisonment, but Merlin's body has lost weight far faster than it should have if he was on prisoner rations. There is something you are hiding."

Leon shifted. "I swear I didn't think it was going to go this far."

Gwaine's fists were clenched again.

"You didn't think what was going to go this far?"

"He just wasn't responding to anything else, and Owaine kept coming in to report that the methods were still not working- and oh God..."

"What. Did. You. Do."

"I didn't do anything. I never touched him. I just delivered the orders sometimes- oh my God, I delivered the orders..." The depths to which Leon had played his role was finally dawning on him, but it was too little, too late. The damage had already been done. "The...the first week. Morgana. Morgana was coming and we needed information fast. We thought Merlin had it... Arthur told me to report to the guards, tell them that they should accelerate the usual interrogation timeline-"

"Please tell the guards to move on to the next step of the interrogation. I want something out of the sorcerer before she arrives."

"Yes, sire." Leon said, shuffling away.

"-and then... The second week, the head of the guards- Owaine- came to say that the methods were not working." Once he started, everything came spilling out. "Arthur accused him… he accused him of sympathizing with a sorcerer, but Owain just thought that maybe we were wrong, that maybe he didn't know anything, but Arthur would not have that. I did not even try to convince him otherwise... Oh, but what if I had? What if I had helped Owain? Then maybe…" he paused, remembered his place, backtracked. "...But Arthur would not have that. He said… He said to get creative, and...."

Leon shuddered, took a glance at Merlin's shallow breathing and the bandages that covered his torn, bruised flesh.

"...And then that was not working," Tears pricked at the back of his eyes, but he fought them. He had not cried in years, he was not going to cry now, over a single manservant. Even if that manservant had been tortured for information he never knew, "So his rations were cut. And Owain tried to protest again, but it did not work…"

Over the course of the speech, Leon's voice became less and less of the head knight they knew, and more and more the rambling tone of guilt. It seemed that everybody in the room noticed but Leon himself, who was starting to relive all of the conversations he had heard and had in the last five weeks.

"Is he secure? Sir Leon," Arthur asked as they both watched "Merlin" burn. Leon turned to look at the king.

"You were down with him only hours ago, sire. You fastened the cuffs yourself."

Arthur turned his gaze back to the flames. "I just need to be certain. You are to tell no one of this, do you understand? Morgana and Morgause cannot see through our charade before we learn what he knows."

"Yes, sire."

He had been so mindless. He had been Arthur's little pet.

"I just...I've been down there so much," Owain said one night after emerging from the dungeons, blood still staining his gloves. He picked at a fleck of it as he spoke, "And I don't know, maybe he's casting a spell on me, or something of the sort, but I don't think so. I just don't think he knows what I'm asking him. I don't think he's done the things we think he has."

"He is a sorcerer, Sir Owain. There is no room for goodness or sympathy."

"I know, I know," He looked at his hands again. "But… he's so small, Sir Leon. And he's not even trying to stay silent anymore. He talks all the time. He's not being stubborn, he just isn't giving us the information we want."

"It's a good tactic."

"I don't think it is. A tactic, I mean."

Leon looked at Owain seriously. "What you speak is treason."

Owain looked down. "I'm sorry. I just don't want to do this anymore. I'm not sure I can."

"You can, and you will."

"He talks so much, though."

"Hasn't he always?"

Owain looked at him. "Exactly."

Leon realized he was still rambling. "I think I knew. I knew something was not right, but I did not know what. I just followed what I had always been taught."

It was easier that way. To not think, to just follow.

"And then Morgana delayed her attack, and we had more time, and Sir Owain began to voice his doubts, and I just spit Arthur's words at him, and-" An odd look crossed his face. "and...Gaius? How did Merlin get up here?"

He suddenly realized that he had stood to move right next to Merlin's bed, and everybody was watching him. Gwaine's fists were no longer clenched at his sides. Gwen had her hands over her mouth. Percival and Gaius shared nearly identical concerned faces.

"I am sorry. I know it is not enough, but… I am." He directed his apology at Merlin's pale face.

There was a moment of silence. Nobody wanted to break the moment, to interrupt Leon as he came to full realization and faced his regret. But then Gwaine spoke.

"How did Merlin get up here, Gaius?"

"Arthur carried him in this morning," Gaius said, then glanced at the darkened window, "Or perhaps it was yesterday morning, by now."

""But...why? What changed his mind?"

"I was hoping Leon could tell us that," Gaius said, and all heads once again swiveled to look at Leon. Leon just looked lost.

"I assure you, I do not know. I'm sorry, but he didn't tell me. I can't tell you."

"No, but I can." A low voice said, and everyone turned, startled to see the king himself standing in the doorway before all Hell broke loose.

Chapter Text

"Arthur-!" Leon began, but was cut off by Gwaine as he shoved Leon to the side, drawing his sword from its sheathe. Arthur backtracked, pulling his own blade in a panic. The ringing sound of the blades was loud enough to shatter the tension of the room, and Percival, Leon, and Gwen were suddenly in motion.

And then there was noise and color- the tangible thrum of righteous anger- as five people meshed into a single, roaring shape of vengeful guilt.

"You foul, heartless-!"

"Get off me!"

"How could you-?"

"I don't want to hear-!"

"Please!"

And if they looked back, nobody would know what had happened first. They wouldn't know which hand bruised or which blade cut. They wouldn't recall which words they shouted or whose blood stained. Because in the end they would stand in a panting circle, eyeing one another with animal eyes.

There was blood trickling from Gwaine's split lip, but Arthur had a series of shallow slashes rapidly growing across his forehead and cheek. Percival had drawn his blade, but it was not being used. Instead, the abrasions on his knuckles mirrored the abrasions on Arthur's arms and jawbone. Gwen's dress was ripped and revealed a long scrape up her leg. Her corset was as loose as her now-unplaited hair, but she had skin under her fingernails and bruises that matched Percival's. Leon stood slightly ahead of Arthur, as if he was caught between protecting him and attacking him, his sword held in neither an offensive or defensive position.

Their voices died away to grunts and hisses.

A sword clattered to the floor.

Arthur fell to his knees in the middle of the circle, his arms coming up to ward off the blows.

And then they heard it.

"-top! Stop! Can you not see that you are upsetting him?! Please, for the love of God, stop this-!"

Gaius was shouting, and he must have been for a long while. His voice was the high strain of desperation as he stood beside Merlin's cot, his hands busy even while he was shouting red-faced at the others.

Merlin was seizing.

Gaius was holding Merlin's head steady, but his body continued to buck against an unseen force, his eyeballs rolling in their sockets. Only the whites were visible between his half-lids. His blue lips were parted slightly and hiccuping, animal-like mewls were escaping through them as his throat worked beneath the now brightly-glowing collar.

The collar.

Everyone was frozen. Arthur was supporting himself with his arms as he heaved into the floor, his mouth open as he took in the looming figures of the people who used to be his friends. His eyes slid towards Merlin, and his racing heart was suddenly cracking against his ribcage as he watched him writhe in pain.

The collar blocked magic, and unconscious though he was, Merlin was trying to cast.

And it was hurting him.

"What do we do?" Arthur gasped.

And Gwaine nearly sliced his neck, had Percival not caught his arm. As it was, Arthur was given another shallow slash to add to his collection.

"You don't do anything," he spit. Arthur's eyes widened only a fraction of an inch before acceptance filled his eyes, and he sunk back as the rest of the group moved to gather around Merlin.

"We need to get this collar off of him," Gwen's voice was thick with years, "Please- tell me you know how to, Gaius? You said you had no intention of-"

Merlin convulsed again, and his hands weakly moved towards the collar. His fingers brushed Gwen's and she pulled back, gasping as they bumped against the collar as well. The metal was jolting-cold to her skin, and Gwen was not magic at all.

"Gaius-" Gwen begged, "What is happening?"

Gaius opened his mouth, but Gwaine had already jumped to his own conclusions.

"Wait-!" Gaius exclaimed as the furious knight whirled on Arthur.

"This is your doing!" He shouted, pulling his sword, "You put that thing on him!"

Merlin's seizing increased, his mewls turning into hoarse, unintelligible phrases.

Gwaine raised his sword higher. Arthur couldn't move.

Merlin gasped out loud as his eyes opened. The entire room could see the molten gold shimmering around his pupils as his magic fought the collar.

"Stop!" Gaius released Merlin as Gwaine turned to look at him with his sword still poised.

"What?" He spit, "If the collar's hurting him, then it's his fault." He leveled his sword at Arthur.

"And he might be the only one who can take it off! Please, Sir Gwaine, put the sword down!"

Gwaine remained where he was. "You didn't bother to stop it earlier," he growled, jerking his head towards Arthur's wounds, "You didn't mind us doing it earlier."

Gaius frowned. "If you think I did not attempt to stop you, then you are greatly mistaken," his voice dropped dangerously low, " and I will not ask again. Put. Your. Sword. Down."

Gwaine stayed where he was and adjusted his grip. Merlin's wines were abruptly cut off as he seemed to choke on the very air he breathed, his eyes squeezing shut again. A few tears tracked their way down his face.

"Gaius!" Leon shouted, joining Gwen and Percival as they attempted to keep Merlin still, "Gaius, he isn't breathing!"

"Do you want to kill Merlin or not? Drop the sword, Gwaine!"

"How will dropping my sword help him n-?"

"Because you're killing him! Drop your sword!"

"Gaius-?!" Gwen's voice was terrified, and Gwaine looked at her, scared of what he might see.

Time seemed to slow down as he suddenly became impossibly aware of what was going on around him.

He saw Merlin, whose face was bright red as his body fought for oxygen, lying on the cot as his friends tried to help him. He saw Gaius, with anger and determination in his eyes, still telling him to drop his sword . And finally he saw Arthur, who was still kneeling before him, helpless.

"Gwaine, do as he says," the king whispered, and for some reason it was the loudest thing in the room, "Please."

It was the please that did it. Gwaine's eyes widened as he realized that Arthur was crying, truly crying, his hands held trembling up in surrender. "He can't die like this."

He can't die like this.

Gwaine dropped his sword.

Merlin's body instantly relaxed. His eyes closed. A few tears rolled down the side of his face.

The muttering stopped.

"Merlin?" Gwen whispered, panicked. "Merlin-"

Gaius shoved her out of the way and pressed his fingers to the sorcerer's neck. He closed his eyes. "He's breathing."

Everyone released the air they had been holding. He was breathing. He was alive.

Gaius removed his hand to inspect the place where the collar touched. He shook his head when he saw the puckered blistering, but there was nothing he could do. Not while the collar was still on. He glanced at Gwaine's sword, still lying on the ground, and scowled.

"You are not allowed to touch that, do you understand?" he asked, and Gwaine's face bloomed red with shame.

"I understand. But," Gwaine looked from his sword to Merlin, confusion in his eyes, "he doesn't like my sword?"

Gaius opened his mouth, but Arthur beat him to it. "He... He doesn't like your sword when it's pointed at me."

Everyone turned towards Arthur, their faces showing their disgust. Everyone, that is, except Gaius, who just raised his eyebrows.

"What kind of a selfish man do you think you are," Gwen said, shaking her head, wrinkling her nose, "that you believe you have anything to do with that reaction? Besides putting him in that collar."

The king didn't respond. He knew how it sounded. Gaius, on the other hand, was slowly putting pieces together.

"Arthur, what makes you think that?" The physician's voice was cautious.

Arthur looked nervously at Gwen and Gwaine, but kept his mouth shut.

"I'll ask you again, Arthur. What makes you think that?" This time he was less calm.

"I- you know why, Gaius."

"I am not so sure I do, sire."

"Of course you do. How could you not?"

Gaius's face didn't change. Arthur scrabbled for words. "His… well, his magic."

"And what of his magic?" The physician narrowed his eyes, "You know more than that, don't you?"

There was a long pause. Arthur looked nervously at the occupants of the room before answering.

"... Yes."

Gaius crossed his arms. "And what is it that you know?"

Arthur clenched his jaw. "Please don't make me say it."

"I need to hear you say it. In front of all of these people, tell me. Why do you believe Merlin doesn't like the sword pointed at you?"

The king winced. Gaius was unimpressed.

"Because of his.. " Arthur trailed off.

"I am waiting."

"...but I don't understand. Why would he do that?"

"Why would he do what?" Gwaine asked, but they both ignored him.

"If you want to know, he is completely unaware of what he is doing right now, sire. Heaven knows this is not a conscious choice, after what you've done to him. So I'll ask you again, why do you think his reaction was towards you? You are not wrong in that assumption."

"What do you mean, he isn't wrong in that assumption?!" Gwaine exclaimed, but Percival shushed him. Arthur's heart skipped a beat. Was that how it worked? Had he just witnessed it? He blinked. There was something else bothering him. Arthur glanced at his friends, then at Gaius.

"They don't know?" he asked.

Gaius nodded stiffly. "And neither should you."

But Arthur was still looking away, staring blankly as he tried to understand what was going on.

"Please," Gaius said, "Do not get off course."

"But they don't know? They never knew about any of it?"

"Any of what?" Gwaine piped in. Gaius gave him a warning look. He quieted.

"Please, Arthur, continue."

"No... No! Wait a moment!" Arthur cried, focusing on the group standing around Merlin's cot, "You don't know about any of what he's done, and you're still standing there, protecting him? Why? Why would you do that?"

"What are you talking about? What don't we know?" This time it was Gwen who spoke out, coming to stand beside Gwaine.

"They did not need to know," Gaius grit out, giving Arthur a long, angry look. "They did not care about his magic. They never needed to know what he had used it for, or why, or to what end. They cared for him, for Merlin."

"But…" Arthur looked at them, "but…"

"For God's sake, someone spit it out! What don't we know?" Gwaine finally burst, and Arthur whipped to face them.

"Destiny! You didn't know about the destiny! His- Our- destiny! You don't know about what he's done for me, for all of us! You don't know that he's still trying to protect me, even when he's unconscious-" He broke off and looked at Gaius, at Merlin, at Merlin's friends, standing protectively by his side, vengeance and grief written into their bodies. "Why don't you know? Why didn't you need to know?"

"Destiny?" Gwen asked, confused.

"He's protecting you?" Gwaine asked.

Merlin is a good man. He does not deserve to die.

You son of a bitch! He was your friend!

You can at least remember the date.

Arthur winced as his memory came to mock him. "Yes, his destiny. And yes, he is, but I don't think… I don't think it's his decision-"

"Damn right, it's not his decision," Gwaine muttered.

"Destiny." Percival scoffed, adjusting the sheet that had fallen. He waited until Merlin shuddered and then relaxed before he looked at Arthur. "What does it matter, mate?"

Arthur stared. "What does it matter?" -Did they not understand?- "How could it not matter?"

Percival shrugged. "What did it do?"

Arthur spluttered. "It- It made sure we were safe! It protected us - saved our lives! It kept us out of harm's way-"

"You make it sound like destiny is its own being," Percival said, "but that just sounds like Merlin to me."

"You didn't know he'd done any of those things."

"I knew him well enough."

"But he had magic."

"Yes."

That was it. Arthur found himself staring once again. Was it that simple? They didn't know because they didn't care? Because it didn't matter?

A good man.

A friend.

I knew him well enough.

Guilt clawed its way up Arthur's limbs. After he had learned about the sacrifices Merlin had made, he had handled the guilt by telling himself his actions had been reasonable for the time. He hadn't known, therefore interrogation had been a rational next step. Magic was supposed to be evil. If he had known, then he wouldn't have done the things he did. He convinced himself that everybody would have certainly reacted the same way he had, had they been as uninformed as he was. He thought they knew.

But they hadn't.

Destiny. It seemed so trivial, now that he had said it out loud and had heard everybody repeat it back to him. It shouldn't have mattered, ever, whether Merlin had a destiny or not; whether he had been secretly rescuing Arthur or simply living his life quietly. Merlin being Merlin, magic or no magic, should have mattered. Yet Arthur had violated his friend because he didn't have enough proof not to. And he'd only stopped when he'd gathered enough evidence to do so. Wasn't that why he had released him? Because he had had enough evidence to not hold him anymore? What kind of twisted reciprocal of justice had he been holding?

"You never needed proof..." he whispered, seemingly forgetting there were others in the room.

"How do you know about his destiny?" Gaius asked, his eyes narrowed, "Why did you release him now?"

"You never...God, I'm a fool," he still seemed unaware of the people around him.

"Arthur," Gwaine's tone was threatening.

Arthur blinked, apparently noticing them for the first time. "Why did I need proof?" he asked, tears blurring his vision. He was still kneeling on the floor, blood dripping from his wounds, "Why didn't I listen?"

Nobody in the room answered. He was pitiful, like this, but Merlin's labored breathing was still filling the room with a grotesque soundtrack, still fueling their silence. Arthur deserved to suffer this time.

Arthur found no warmth in the eyes of the people before him, only cold hatred. He looked back to the floor. Was this how Merlin had felt, kneeling before the guards he used to call friends as they hurt him? Was this how he had felt for the last five weeks? It must have been worse. Merlin had done no wrong and even the guards had known it. Was it better to be regarded with guilt or hatred while you were beaten?

Someone cleared their throat. Percival took a step forward.

"We're waiting," he said.

Arthur swallowed.

"I'm sorry," he whispered. No response. He cleared his throat. If he was going to get through this, he needed to stay calm. "I was... Well, I don't exactly want to explain-"

"Tell us."

Arthur grimaced and rubbed the back of his neck.

"The... Uh, well- well nothing was... I was trying to- to find some other way to..." He made a vague motion towards Merlin.

"No, tell us what you were going to do." Gwaine's muscles were coiled; he was looking for a reason to strike, but holding back. "Tell us what you, protector of our kingdom, wanted to do to an innocent man."

"He wasn't innocent," Arthur protested, and then his eyes widened, "I didn't mean it like that! I meant- I meant he- he had magic. He did." He bit his cheek. "I should have never-"

"Shut up." Gwaine was seething, but by some divine power, nobody had attacked Arthur yet. They all stood with straining fury in every line of their bodies, but Merlin's whimpering tremors kept them from moving forward, "We don't want to hear your excuses."

"Sorry," Arthur said again, more out of reflex. He was met with silence again. "I don't know where to start."

"How about from the beginning?"

Arthur paled. He was ashamed of the beginning. "I- I don't think I want to."

Merlin tensed and whimpered as Gwaine took a threatening step forward, "Don't you?"

Arthur swallowed. "Bloodletting," he confessed.

"Bloodletting?" Gwaine growled. Another whimper from Merlin. Gaius intervened.

"That is enough. Arthur, continue."

Arthur looked pale. "It was late, and I was trying to… you know… when it happened."

"We don't know."

He winced. "Things weren't...working. And Morgana was getting closer, and I was desperate, so I thought-"

"You used bloodletting?" Gwen demanded.

"No! No, I just thought of it when… when it happened."

"When what happened?"

Arthur's lips parted, and it was like he was reliving the experience again as he spoke.

Chapter Text

Arthur sat at his desk, attempting to stomach his way through reading the latest weekly report of the sorcerer's interrogation. At the beginning, the reports had been filled with one or two interrogation techniques and then long, hefty chunks of dialogue. The sorcerer had mouthed off and fought like a wild animal, and Arthur had been fascinated to see the true nature of his ex-manservant.

But now, the reports were shorter, the lists of methods grew longer and more complex as the dialogue grew shorter and less coherent, and Arthur's logical mind was struggling with the tiny part of him that stubbornly refused to be apathetic. It was the same childish part that cringed when he went hunting, or mourned when he went to war. Arthur had long ago learned it was irrational, had learned how to ignore it, but reading the reports somehow caused it to come clawing to the surface once again.

"Heat applied to sensory point - Spoken: Please don't."

"Additional heated instruments applied to critical points - Spoken: Please, I c-can't-"

"Process repeated - No verbal response."

The report began, and then continued, with lists of actions and reactions. Arthur felt like he was going cross-eyed.

"No verbal response."

"No verbal response."

"No verbal response."

"Whimpered, No verbal response."

Occasionally he would perk up when the pattern changed, but it was always useless dialogue.

"Spoken: Please stop."

"Spoken: It-It h-hurts."

"Spoken: L-Let me go."

"Spoken: I don't understand."

The dialogue was always unnervingly detailed, and sometimes the useless scribe would even include the dialogue that didn't make sense, as if the meaningless syllables somehow mattered to him.

"Spoken: I'm not- I-I-I-"

"Spoken: Puh-ah! Ah! Stuh-op?"

"Additional round of iron dust started - tremors have increased ten-fold, consciousness erratic, No verbal response."

Arthur felt like he was on the verge of something, as if he was standing in the calm before the first fat drops of rain fell from the sky and soaked him through, but he needed to figure out how to get there. It was obvious from the reports that Merlin was waning, he just needed a final push to make him spill what he knew. Merlin would be telling Arthur all of his plans with Morgana soon, and just in time. Her attack could not be delayed for much longer.

But what could he do?

Looking out the window, Arthur could see the moon spilling its way across the treetops. He sighed. Previously, he hadn't taken a night stroll alone for years, but he had picked up the practice since Merlin's imprisonment. He now needed to be alone to think. The walls of his chambers always seemed to press in on him as he thought up ways to push Merlin over the edge, and that small piece of him wouldn't shut up. He pushed out his chair and stood, sheathing his sword at his hip before venturing into the castle's darkened halls.

His boots tap-tapped against the cobbled streets as he slowly made his way to the gates. He could only really go into the woods unaccompanied at night, when nobody could stop him and insist that he take a guard or two.

He sighed as the trees came into view and he entered the near-total darkness of the forest. Here, he could arrange his thoughts logically:

If he wanted to be a formidable force against Morgana, he needed all of the information he could get. What was her battle strategy? How large was her army? Exactly how much intel had the sorcerer syphoned off? Merlin knew, Arthur was sure of it. But even weeks into the interrogation, the sorcerer stubbornly refused to give up anything. The only reasonable conclusion, then, was that the approach they were currently using was flawed, and Arthur knew why.

The problem with the methods so far was that they relied too heavily on pain as an incentive, and Merlin was stronger than anybody had anticipated. Although publically Arthur was blaming the guards for their ineffectiveness, he knew it was actually a matter of pain tolerance... And the sorcerer's was unnaturally high. So he needed to try something else, use a different approach.

Gaius was no longer speaking to Arthur, so Arthur was forced to try to remember everything he had ever heard Gaius say about magic and magic-users when it came to developing new ways to convince Merlin to speak. He couldn't recall anything about a difference in pain management or resisting torture, but there had always been an awful lot of talk about blood. Magic in the blood; the blood tie between a dragon and its kin; the effect iron had on a sorcerer's magic, and therefore blood flow; it all seemed to be tied together, and Arthur wondered if he could use that information to his advantage.

He glanced up at the moon and the light shifting through the trees. It was funny how peaceful everything could seem whilst someone's head was in chaos. He stopped walking and leaned against the nearest tree, sinking down to rest his elbows on his knees.

If a sorcerer's essence seemed to be in their blood, could Merlin be drawing his strength from it? The collar had been partially designed to slow the blood, and it had been extremely effective in subduing him. But the collar only slowed the movement, the circulation. Was there a different approach? One that could help Arthur diminish Merlin's strong will?

He stared at the moon for a little longer. The leaves kept brushing through its milky depths, and despite the fact that Arthur couldn't feel the wind where he sat, he knew that the kingdom probably could.

If he couldn't slow the blood, could he reduce it?

The idea struck him very suddenly, and he felt like an idiot for not coming to the conclusion earlier. Gaius didn't support the practice, but bloodletting had been a medical ritual for years. Sure, it was a little messy. If there was less blood in Merlin's system, the effects would be devastating enough to make him speak, either because he would give up or because he would be too dazed and exhausted to be aware of what he was doing. Surely Arthur could find someone willing to perform it on Merlin. Without the vitality, the sorcerer would surely break.

Arthur smiled. This walk had been most productive.

He stood slowly, turning the idea around in his mind. He would need to find someone who wouldn't betray his secret. Someone he could trust to see Merlin alive and not tell a soul. Someone who-

A twig snapped somewhere to his left. Arthur froze, placing his hand warningly on his hilt.

"Hello?" He called. He could see movement somewhere further back in the trees.

"Come out," he said loudly. He didn't expect whatever it was to actually listen to him, but it felt good to at least pretend he had some kind of control. However, another twig snapped, and then another, and Arthur was surprised when a hand reached through the thicket a few feet from him.

Instinct kicked in, and Arthur was on the other side of the clearing he had found himself in with his sword in his hands before he realized he had moved. He watched as the hand became an arm, and then a shadowed face, and finally a full-sized figure, robed in a long, obscuring cloak.

Arthur lifted his sword threateningly. "Who are you? Speak!"

The figure tilted its head, then raised its hands in a peaceful gesture. Arthur kept his sword in place. Unperturbed, the figure lifted its hood away from its face, revealing the lined face of a man with a shock of grey-blond hair.

"Arthur Pendragon," the man said. His voice was full of authority, and despite Arthur's royal status and weapon, the king felt that the man had the upper hand in this situation. He breathed.

"I said, who are you?"

The man looked at him with neutral eyes. "We have met before. Do you not remember?"

Arthur didn't respond. Indeed, the man seemed a little familiar, but Arthur had been in contact with many strange, cloak-wearing men, and they'd started to blur together.

"I am Iseldir, Chieftain of the Druids," his face grew solemn, "And I need to speak with you."

Immediately, Arthur's sword raised. "I do not consort with Druids," he hissed, "and certainly not a Druidian leader."

"No?" Iseldir took a step closer. The leaves rustled as the wind finally reached the clearing, "In that case, let me rephrase: I am going to speak with you, whether you consort with Druids or not."

"You will do no such thing."

The wind grew louder. Iseldir's hands twitched. "And you believe you have that choice, sire?"

There was something in the way that Iseldir said "sire" that made his skin crawl. Arthur shivered.

"...because you don't. You will come with me."

Arthur took a step back. "No," he said, his sword still raised. The Druid matched his steps, remaining just a little too close. Arthur kept speaking, "no, there is nothing to speak about."

The wind was more forceful now, whipping leaves around the clearing. The pair needed to raise their voices to be heard over the roar.

"Not even your manservant?"

Arthur scowled. "I already know of my manservant. He is a sorcerer, a traitor like you and your kind!"

The man laughed, "and you know what he has done?"

That surprised Arthur. He'd never heard of a Druid betraying a fellow magic user. What did Iseldir gain by telling Arthur of Merlin's crimes? Nothing good, certainly.

"I already know enough."

"And Morgana? Do you know of her?"

That got Arthur's attention. His sword dipped slightly. Iseldir smirked.

The wind abruptly ceased.

"I guess that answers that question."

And then Arthur knew no more.

Chapter Text

When he came to, it was still dark.

He brought a hand to his head before he remembered what had happened.

He snapped up, suddenly fully awake, and glanced about the clearing he was lying in. It was different than when he had blacked out; smaller. Stunted, gnarled trees had pushed themselves out of the dirt around him.

He was alone.

Reaching for his sword, he spun in a slow circle as he tried to find something he recognized, then cursed when his hand met empty air. He was lost and weaponless.

"Iseldir..?" Arthur half-whispered. He did not trust the chieftain, not one bit, but it was either find him or be lost in an unfamiliar forest.

Nothing. There was absolutely no noise. The silence was unnatural.

"Iseldir!" Arthur called, a little louder. What was the point of this? How was this even close to having a conversation about Morgana? It was a trap; it had to be.

"Sire," the voice was softer than a whisper, and Arthur jumped as Iseldir peered out from between two sickly trees. "Come, there is something you must see."

Arthur glared. "Take me back."

"Not until the conversation is over."

Arthur motioned towards the clearing. "This," he said, more loudly than he had meant, "is not a conversation."

In a flash, Iseldir had grabbed Arthur's wrist and pulled him down, into the treeline. "Hush! Do you want to be caught?" He hissed, kneeling beside Arthur.

"What are you talking about?" Arthur was beyond fed up.

"These woods are not natural," Iseldir's eyes flicked around them, searching for a threat. "Morgana's spies are everywhere."

Arthur laughed. "Like you? Like Merlin?! Do you honestly expect me to believe that you are on my side?" He laughed again, even more loudly. "I am not a fool, Druid!"

The Druid's hand was over Arthur's mouth in a moment, cutting him off. Arthur's eyes widened as Iseldir's voice dropped, face inches from his own. His eyes filled with fury. "I am not, and never will be, an ally of Morgana's," he hissed, his fingernails making marks in Arthur's cheeks. "But we are not on the same side, Arthur Pendragon." His voice was trembling. "And don't you ever pretend we are. I am not here to help you, do you understand?"

Arthur nodded.

"Good," Iseldir pulled his hand away. "If you ever want to make it home, you will follow me now. In silence," he said, and turned to leave. Arthur scrambled up, pressing a hand to his now-bruised cheek.

"Good king," the Druid said, glancing over his shoulder as they began to walk.

Just ten minutes later, Iseldir stopped. "We are close."

The woods still looked the same to Arthur. "To what?"

Iseldir glared at him. "I told you to be silent."

Arthur closed his mouth.

"Stay down, and stay close. No noise, do you understand? And do not leave my side. You are not a hero."

Arthur didn't like the way he had said that. Not "don't be a hero," but rather "you are not a hero." Like it had permanence.

He would have continued mulling it over, but just then a noise burst from a tree a few feet away. Arthur jumped. Someone was talking. Or laughing. In the silence, it was deafening.

Iseldir frowned, but moved towards the sound, Arthur right behind him. As they crested a slight incline, Arthur understood. The sound was not coming from the trees.

Before them, the woods dropped off into rocky cliffs and then a clearing, fifty or so feet below them.

Arthur's mouth fell open.

The clearing was alive with motion. Men and some women moved about, between cooking fires and makeshift tents. A few were carrying baskets and weapons and having conversations with one another. Others stood closer to the outskirts, silently watching. There must have been a few hundred people; their camps extended into the woods beyond.

And at the front, almost directly below Arthur and Iseldir, was Morgana.

Arthur clenched his fists, but Iseldir placed a hand on his shoulder. "No rash decisions, Pendragon. She can kill you with a word."

Arthur glared at him, but forced himself to relax. He was speaking the truth.

He turned to watch Morgana again. She was standing before a makeshift podium. By the bustle of people, Arthur could only assume she had just completed a speech of some sort, but now she was focused on someone out of Arthur's sight. He leaned a little and caught a glimpse of blonde hair. The anger came right back. Morgause.

He surged up, forgetting that his sword had been taken. "I'll kill her now," he hissed. He took a few shaky steps down the cliff, then thought better of it, and began to pick his way sloppily along the edge, trying to find a safer way down.

He was so caught up in his rage, he didn't notice when Iseldir's frantic whispers faded and were replaced by the low voices of angry men. He didn't notice the dark shapes behind him until the sharp end of a sword was pressed into his back.

"Don't move." Came a low voice, and the blade was pressed harder. Arthur froze, realizing his idiocy only when it was too late, "Who are you?"

Arthur didn't reply. It was still too dark to see things entirely properly, and he hoped they wouldn't notice who he was until after he'd figured out how to get away. The blade pressed harder. Arthur winced.

"I asked you a question."

"I-" The blade abruptly fell away from his back, followed by two nearly simultaneous thuds. Arthur turned around immediately to see Iseldir standing a few feet from him, the dead bodies of two of Morgana's men lying at his feet. His eyes were just changing back from gold. Iseldir frowned. "Your anger makes you weak."

Arthur was speechless. Had Iseldir just used magic to kill two people? Right in front of Arthur? ...in order to protect him?

He took a step away, his eyes suspicious. Iseldir had enough power to kill two men without breaking a sweat. If that wasn't danger, then nothing was.

The Druid watched him.

"For Gods' sake, if I had wanted to kill you I would have already."

Arthur still kept his distance.

Just then, Morgana began speaking. Iseldir and Arthur exchanged a hurried glance and moved a few feet down the cliff, conflict forgotten.

It seemed they had missed part of the conversation.

"Is there any other news?" Morgana was stepping off of the podium, turning her pale eyes to Morgause.

"We have one hundred from Cenred's kingdom on their way. They will arrive within the week." Morgause replied, smiling, "We could move out within a fortnight."

Morgana shook her head. "We need more time, sister. We do not yet have the force needed to take Camelot," she looked at the camp. "If we move now, we have already lost."

Morgause smiled. "That is what you said when Claudus's men came."

"We need to be prepared."

Morgause shook her head. "We are nearly eight-hundred strong."

"And Camelot is bigger!" Morgana shrieked. Arthur jumped. There was no reason for the outburst, no warning. This was not the levelheaded Morgana he had once known.

Silence settled between the sisters. Morgana bit her lip. "I am sorry, sister. I just- I do not want to lose my throne again."

Morgause placed her hands on Morgana's shoulders. "And we won't. We need less than you believe, child. You forget that Arthur's ignorance came with a lovely reward."

"Yes, but how much less? Camelot's army was one of the strongest in the lands even before Emrys. Stronger than eight-hundred."

Morgause nodded. "But that was under the direction of Uther. This is Arthur's army - Arthur's army without its magic little protector. He has the hatred, but neither the experience nor the ruthlessness of his father."

Morgana shifted. "But- He did kill Emrys."

Morgause laughed. "A rare display of brutality. Like I said, he has the hatred-"

"And the ruthlessness!" Morgana exclaimed, "He killed his own manservant without a second thought! Doesn't that show his hatred and his ruthlessness?"

"A single moment of abject stupidity does not make a man ruthless. It only proves him to be a hateful tyrant."

"But-"

"There is no argument, my sister. He murdered his greatest ally. If my source is correct, then his people serve him in name only; his friends are the same. He is the weakest he has ever been, and we are eight-hundred strong with magic on our side. It is time."

"Yes, but…" Morgana whispered, uncertain. Morgause squeezed her shoulders.

"It is, Morgana. There has never been a better time to take what is rightfully yours. Are you ready?"

Morgana thought for a moment, then lifted her chin. "Yes."

"Good. Then we will leave within a fortnight." She gave Morgana one last squeeze, and then turned, moving out of Arthur's sight once again. A moment later, Morgana followed suit.

Arthur stared at the empty podium for a long moment, trying to understand what he had seen. A hand on his shoulder snapped him out of his thoughts, and he turned suddenly towards Iseldir, who was rising to stand, a finger to his lips.

Arthur understood the gesture. As they picked their way down the slope and back towards the clearing Arthur had first woken in, he struggled to understand the conversation.

Morgana and Morgause had an army, and a large one. That was certain. And they were planning on attacking Camelot in the next two weeks, after reinforcements came in. The army wasn't nearly as expansive as Camelot's, and Morgana knew it. But Morgause wasn't worried about that... because Merlin had died? Merlin and Emrys? That didn't make sense. Why would the death of her informant be helpful? Who was Emrys? Some kind of "magical protector," but why would anyone use magic to protect Camelot?

By the time they were back in the clearing, Arthur was more confused than when he started, and it was still dark. He sat down in the dry earth.

"What did I just see?" He muttered, pinching the bridge of his nose.

He wasn't sure when he had begun to trust Iseldir enough to ask questions, but he assumed it was somewhere between the druid's angry speech and saving his life. It was far too detailed to be an act. Even Morgana wouldn't kill two of her own guards to get into his head.

Iseldir remained standing, but looked at Arthur as he spoke. "You have made a grave mistake."

"Obviously." Arthur snorted. The chieftain shot him a venomous look.

"Do you feel no remorse for what you have done?"

Arthur looked bewildered. "About what- about Emrys? I don't even know who that is."

The man laughed. It was a bitter, clipped sound. "Are you still playing dumb, your highness?"

The king sobered himself. "What are you talking about?"

Iseldir's face went from frustration to confusion in a fraction of a second. "Wait, do you truly not know?"

"Know what?"

"Nobody has told you?"

"Told me what?"

Iseldir looked like he wanted to be anywhere but here, explaining this. "Emrys, Pendragon. You don't know about Emrys."

"Emrys?"

"Your destiny."

Arthur laughed. "I don't have a destiny."

"Oh, but everyone has a destiny ," Iseldir said, smiling sadly, "And Emrys is yours, as it has been since it was written in the stars at the beginning of time."

Arthur shook his head. He didn't have a destiny at all, let alone an important one. Nobody told him what to do. "I don't believe you."

Iseldir continued, however.

"Arthur Pendragon, the once and future king, bringing a new age of peace to Albion, with Emrys, the most powerful man to ever walk the earth, by his side."

"You're wrong. I'd never associate myself with such a man." A dreadful feeling was beating against Arthur's chest. "Your destinies are wrong."

Iseldir shook his head. "You already have."

The blood drained from his face. "What?" The feeling was getting stronger. "When? When have I-?"

"He's saved your life, and you his, more times than I care to count."

"That's ridiculous!"

"Can you think of no time when magic could have been the source of your victories?"

"All of my victories have been my own," Arthur growled.

But the more he thought about it...

"I would never give my life for another's, let alone a sorcerer," he reasoned out loud.

Gods, Arthur was missing something. It was nagging at the back of his mind, just out of his reach.

"You gave your life for your manservant," Iseldir said, obviously sick of the game.

Arthur scowled. "That was different. I didn't know he was a sorcerer at the time."

"But he was, whether you knew it or not, and he still stayed by your side."

"No, he betrayed me! He worked with Morgana!"

Iseldir shook his head. "You are still not understanding. Merlin was never working with Morgana."

"Yes. He was," Arthur said slowly, but his words were softer, "there's no other reason-"

"He wasn't."

"But he must have been!" Arthur exclaimed. That had to be the only truth. "Or else-"

Or else, why would he be in the castle, serving Arthur?

"Morgana herself just rejoiced your manservant's death. Why would she do that?"

Arthur swallowed. No, it couldn't be-

"She is obviously not in her right mind!"

"Arthur-"

Arthur shook his head. "But my manservant's name was Merlin. They were talking about Emrys!"

"Oh, was it Merlin?" Iseldir's face grew angrier. "Or is it? I know what you've done to him, king. There is no hiding your filth from me."

"What?" He squeaked.

"Are you aware that he is a warlock? Not a sorcerer, a warlock."

"No-"

"And do you know that he has sworn himself to protect you?"

"He what?"

"You heard me."

"Why?"

"Because he is your destiny, Arthur," he said, "And you have betrayed him."

"And then he told me about everything Merlin had done," Arthur finished. He hadn't taken his gaze off of the floor. "Which is so much… But I didn't believe him. I didn't want to believe him. I called him a liar. But he kept talking, and I was still lost in that bloody forest, and everything he said, it made sense. It fit. And..."

He trailed off and looked at Merlin.

"And you started to believe him?" Percival asked. He was still by the cot, but he had dragged a stool over to sit on as Arthur had spoken. "You started to believe him, so you came back and brought him to Gaius?"

Arthur shook his head.

"What? Then why is Merlin here?"

Arthur pressed the heels of his palms against his eyes. "He couldn't convince me. Not with his words. I didn't want to admit- I refused to believe anything he said." He kept his hands over his eyes. "The problem was that I already knew it was all true, I could feel it. It was like... I'd known all along about our destiny. But I didn't let myself think about it."

"Then what did happen?" Gwaine, who had sat down on a bench next to Gwen, demanded.

Arthur ran a hand through his hair. "We were still in the forest, and I still wasn't listening, and then suddenly we weren't in the forest anymore. And I knew it was magic again."

"Where were you?" Percival asked.

Arthur shivered.

The damp stones underfoot, the low sound of water dripping somewhere beyond his sight. It was too dark to see much, but Arthur was preoccupied by the smell. Rot and waste and blood and dirt.

He gagged as the stunted forest became the cloying stone of Camelot's dungeons.

"The dungeons. We were in the dungeons. But we weren't really there. We were, I don't know, somewhere in-between."

"It's awful, isn't it?" Iseldir's voice rang from somewhere behind Arthur, and he whipped around, only to face more darkness. "The deepest part of the dungeons. You must know all about it, though. It's where the accused sorcerers are held."

Arthur's eyes watered as he adjusted to the low light, and he noticed that the wall he was staring at was a little blurry, as if he was looking at everything through a piece of fabric. "Where are you?!" He shouted, "Why bring me here?"

This time, the voice was closer to his left. "We're not really here, Pendragon. We're just visiting your prisoners." His surroundings shimmered a little, and he caught sight of a short, gnarled tree before the walls solidified again, "Your father was very good at making these cells escape-proof, even for a sorcerer. But we can watch."

"Why were you in the dungeons?" Gwen asked, cutting in, "Was that when you rescued Merlin?"

"No," Arthur's voice was wavering. "He said- he just said we were there to watch."

"Watch what?"

Arthur pressed his hands over his ears. "My sins," he whispered.

"If my words will not sway you, perhaps Merlin's will." Iseldir spit.

Arthur's heart sped up."What are you talking abou-"

A scream ripped its way down the halls.

Arthur's eyes widened.

"Yes, that would be your manservant. Would you like to say hello?"

Arthur stumbled as his surroundings shifted, and he found himself standing in a large, round chamber. Cells lined three of the walls, while the hallway he had presumably just come through filled the fourth.

The smell was almost unbearable.

Before he could react to the change, another scream sounded uncomfortably close by. Arthur jumped and turned towards the cell in the far corner just as the screams died off, replaced with quiet murmuring.

"Go on." Iseldir said, and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as he felt the room shift around him. He didn't need to see to know what he was now facing.

Merlin's little corner of Hell.

"Open your eyes, Pendragon. Nobody here can see you. And you have nothing to be ashamed of. He is a traitor, after all. He has earned it."

Arthur kept his eyes closed.

"I couldn't bring myself to open my eyes. I just... I couldn't see what I'd done. But it wasn't just in my eyes. It was everywhere."

Nobody in the room spoke.

"It was in my nose and I could smell it. It was in my mouth and the back of my throat. I could taste the stones. And it was in my ears. Gods, they were so loud..."

Standing so close, Arthur could make out the muttering coming from the cell.

What he heard made his blood run cold.

"I'm sorry, I'm sorry," a guard was whispering, and Arthur could hear the tears filling the man's throat, "God, I'm so sorry-"

He almost didn't recognize Merlin's voice as he responded. It was hoarse and fragile, his speech almost childlike.

"P-Please. C-Can we s-stop? It h-hurts."

"I can't," the guard breathed, and he sounded genuinely sorry, "you know I can't. They'll be back with the reports any second and if I'm not..." He trailed off. "They'll do it worse. They always do."

Arthur heard the clink of chains and knew Merlin was nodding. "I know," he whispered.

The guard choked on a sob. "Ready?"

Merlin whimpered in answer. The chains clinked again, once, quickly.

"Okay," the guard said, taking a deep breath, "on three, okay? One, two-"

There was a sharp snap, and Merlin let out another scream.

"Fuck, I'm so sorry."

"I-It's 'k-kay..." Came Merlin's weak reply.

Arthur couldn't stand the noise- not when he knew the sound. He lowered his hands from his face and his eyes immediately fell on the two people in the cell.

Merlin was tied to a chair in the middle of the cell by his arms and legs, completely naked save for the collar that tethered his neck to the chair's spine. It was difficult to make out the state of his body through the darkness and haze, but he was rigid in the chair, his eyes screwed tightly shut. Tears were forcing themselves down his cheeks and dripping from his chin, but he was biting down on his lip as if he was trying to keep his emotions in check.

Next to him, a guard was kneeling so that they were at almost eye-level, his hands on Merlin's left wrist. The bindings had been removed from the limb, so Merlin and the guard were able to move it freely, but it was obvious Merlin wasn't utilizing the freedom. Instead, the guard was cradling Merlin's limp hand gently in his thick gloves as if it was something precious. The guard appeared to be making a valiant effort to not cry, but unshed tears still glistened in his eyes.

"But then you rescued him," Gwen whispered, although she knew it wasn't the truth, "and you brought him to Gaius, and-"

Arthur's gut twisted. "I wasn't there, Remember? Not physically. I couldn't do anything. Even when-"

Footsteps echoed down the hall behind Arthur, and suddenly the guard straightened up, dropping Merlin's hand onto the armrest. Merlin let out a pained cry and jerked weakly in his chair as it hit, and for the first time, Arthur had a clear view of Merlin's fingers.

His pinkie was bent at an odd angle, obviously the source of the snapping sound earlier. A quick glance revealed that Merlin's right hand was in even worse shape, with each of his fingers minus his thumb already broken. The guard hadn't even bothered to tie it to the chair again.

As the footsteps got louder, Arthur panicked, forgetting he wasn't visible until the men who owned the footsteps rounded the corner and seemed to look straight through him. One of them carried a quill and some parchment while the other followed behind. They both wore identical annoyed expressions.

As they made their way down the hallway, Arthur became aware of the commotion that had started in Merlin's cell. The guard was trying to school his expression into one of indifference as he hurriedly tied Merlin's damaged right hand to the chair. Merlin was doing his best to stay quiet as his broken fingers were jostled, but a few small cries were escaping anyway.

"They're coming - shit. They're coming. I'm sorry-" the guard was whispering, although Arthur wasn't sure Merlin even had the capacity to hear him in that moment. The guard lifted Merlin's left hand again, took a firm grip of the index finger with both hands, and glanced at the pair of men.

"Okay, on three again, alright?" He whispered so quietly, Arthur wasn't sure he heard it at all until Merlin gave an almost imperceptible nod. The guard swallowed, "Okay. One, two-"

With a single, quick motion, the guard broke the index finger just as the men came into full view. Merlin bit down on his lip so hard, it drew blood, but he didn't scream. The guard gagged and nearly dropped Merlin's hand.

"Tell me Morgana's plans!" He yelled instead, his voice only wavering a little as he played his part for the scribe, who had finally come to stand in front of the cell with his bodyguard. Merlin trembled at the sudden change in tone, and it was clear that the pain of the most recent finger had finally become too much for the poor boy to handle. When he opened his mouth, blood from his lips dribbled onto his chest.

"N- Nuh- r-ree-" Merlin cut himself off with a gurgling noise as some of the blood drained down his throat.

The guard turned his head away from the scribe as he forced his face into neutrality again, swallowing his guilt. Merlin was too far gone to know the difference between him pretending to ask questions and really asking questions. From the resigned look on the guard's face, Arthur wondered if this had happened before.

The scribe walked up to the bars and peered in. "Sounds like you're making progress down here," he said, making a few notes on his piece of parchment, "Gotten anything from him yet?"

The guard shook his head. "No, sir."

The scribe clicked his tongue. "How difficult is it to get a serving boy to speak?" He jerked his head towards his bodyguard. "Let Sir Parse try his hand on the boy."

The guard took a half-step in front of Merlin, as if to protect him from the scribe's bodyguard. "That won't be necessary," he said, a bit too quickly, "there are only two fingers left, and I am sure I can manage-"

"Two fingers left?!" The scribe exclaimed, "why, last I checked, you'd already broken three! What have you been doing? You've had more than enough time to finish-"

"Yes, yes, but I was worried that he might pass out-"

"Then dump some water on him and continue!" The scribe snapped. "Sir Parse, please finish the job for sir...?" He looked at him expectantly.

The guard whispered a name, but the scribe waived him off.

"Hurry up with it! If you want this report ready for you to deliver to the king by tonight, I need to get going!"

The smaller guard bowed his head as he unlocked the cell door and allowed Sir Parse into the space. He held his fists stiffly at his sides as the large man approached Merlin's chair and lifted his hand.

"Well, go on," the scribe said, addressing the guilty guard, "ask him a question."

"Me? But I'm not sure he's capable of-"

"Ask him a question!"

The guard jumped, then opened his mouth. "S-Sorcerer," he stammered, "where is Morgana and her army hiding?"

Merlin moaned and slumped forward, drooling blood. He didn't seem to realize anybody was speaking at all.

Sir Parse lifted Merlin's final two fingers as a warning. Still no response. The scribe shrugged, and with another quick motion and an even louder snap, the bodyguard broke Merlin's remaining fingers at the same time.

At once, Merlin's body went rigid. The bodyguard released his ruined hand just as Merlin caught his breath enough to shriek in agony, writhing against the ropes that still held him down. His voice gave out and he immediately burst into hoarse sobs, curling his hand into his lap in an attempt to protect it.

The scribe wrinkled his nose as he watched Merlin's reaction. He wrote a few more notes down. "This creature is utterly useless," he announced, and beckoned to his bodyguard, "truly. A pitiful waste of space."

And with that, he was gone.

Arthur watched, open-mouthed. Did the scribe not see that Merlin was obviously in so much pain, he wasn't even capable of normal human speech, yet alone answering questions? How could he stand there and accuse a defenseless-

Oh.

That was exactly what he wanted... Wasn't it? He wanted his subjects to be like Sir Parse and the scribe, not like the guard and Merlin.

Somehow, that didn't sit well in his stomach.

Arthur looked back at Merlin. The guard was crying openly now as he loosened the ropes on Merlin's right wrist enough to slide his hand out.

"They're gone now," the guard said, "it's okay. It's over. You're-"

But Merlin flinched away from his voice and began to tremble. He didn't understand what was going on, but he recognized the guard's voice and the pain that so often followed, even if the pain was reluctant. Blood started seeping from his lip more quickly as he bit it again.

"Hey, hey-" the guard whispered, kneeling in front of Merlin, "don't do that."

Merlin whimpered and swallowed, bowing his head in shame as he tried to hide the sobs that rocked his body. The guard placed a hand on Merlin's pale shoulder, and Merlin froze.

"Nobody is going to hurt you for crying now," he whispered. "You're allowed to cry."

Merlin remained tensed for another second. The guard moved so that his hand was cradling Merlin's chin - the boy was too exhausted and weak to hold it up any longer - and was surprised when Merlin leaned into it. The guard smiled sadly. Any other time, he would have felt ridiculous, but he had watched as this defiant, strong man had been beaten into nothing more than a scared, hurt child, and he'd be damned if he was going to deny the boy the first loving touch he'd felt in over a month. If anyone needed to know someone cared for them, it was Merlin. He was dead to his family and friends and hated by most of the men who came in to hurt him day in and day out. Hell, even his own king had ordered him tortured for information that the guard was now entirely sure he had never known in the first place. He deserved to have at least one person care for him like a son, or a brother, or a friend, or even just a human being, before he forgot what that was like entirely.

When the guard didn't pull his hand away, Merlin waited for it to move, to hurt him. When it didn't, he opened his mouth and began to cry freely, tears spilling over his cheeks. He cradled his broken hands in his lap and shivered in the dungeon air, and it was as if all of Merlin's strength left with the tears. He slumped forward and the guard held Merlin's head to his own chest, running his fingers through his dirty hair as they both mourned what they had lost in that cell.

And then Arthur was moving again.

"Iseldir pulled me out of the dungeons then," Arthur said, and he was crying now, "but he got what he wanted. I saw what I needed to see. I woke up in the castle courtyard. And..." He motioned towards all of them, "and you know the rest."

Everybody was silent.

"Well?" Arthur said, looking at them. He wanted them to be angry. He wanted them to rage and yell, to tear into him with their words and fists like they'd done before. He deserved it. He deserved all of it and more, after they knew the entire story.

Instead, they remained still.

Arthur shifted uncomfortably on the ground under the weight of their stares.

The silence was suffocating. Then-

"Owain," Gwen said, more to herself than anybody else, and the mood was broken.

"What?" Arthur asked. He sounded far too surprised by a simple name, a fact that didn't go unnoticed.

Gwen looked up. "Sir Owain. Was that the guard in the dungeons, the one that was hurting Merlin?"

Arthur paled, "How... How could you possibly know that?" He asked, then panicked. "You have to understand, he was under orders. He never wanted to hurt-"

"I know," Gwen said, and now everyone was listening. Gwen blushed at the sudden attention, "he came to see Merlin earlier," she explained, "but I turned him away. He seemed very upset when he learned Merlin wasn't alright."

Arthur sighed, "He was always so ashamed of what he was doing."

"And he never wanted to hurt him, either," Leon piped up. "He kept talking about innocence, and I just kept sending him back down..."

Gwen was chewing on her thumbnail. "He looked so guilty."

Arthur shook his head. He had made happy, strong men beg for death, kindhearted knights become torturers, and his friends enemies. He had destroyed everything. What had he hoped to gain?

He stood and took a step towards Merlin.

Everybody in the room immediately moved to put themselves in front of Merlin, creating a physical barrier between him and Arthur. Arthur stopped.

"I just need to see." He said, holding his hands up. They exchanged glances, obviously surprised by their own reactions, but moved away from the cot.

Arthur walked slowly, his feet heavier than he could ever remember them being, until he was directly next to the warlock on the cot. There was a clean sheet covering most of him now, and his wounds were bandaged, but in his mind's eye Arthur could still see the vivid red cloak as it fell away to reveal Merlin's thin chest, stained red and brown with blood and pus...

He shook his head to clear it.

Merlin's eyes were closed as his chest rose and fell, but even in unconsciousness, his face was pinched with pain.

"Is there nothing to help him with the pain, Gaius?" Arthur wasn't sure who that request was going to help more- him or Merlin- he just couldn't bare to see the pain he had caused.

Gaius shook his head. "I gave him a draught while Gwen was gathering the knights, but I cannot give him anymore. Perhaps a sleeping draught..."

He uncorked a vial from his pocket and poured a little bit between Merlin's lips. Merlin's breath hitched. His brow creased.

"It doesn't seem to be working," Arthur said, hoping Gaius would tell him he was wrong, that the draught was working perfectly, that Merlin wasn't still suffering.

It was wishful thinking.

"It is," Gaius growled, "but I cannot soften his pain if it is not physical."

"Isn't all pain physical?"

Gaius glared. "Maybe for you. But Merlin is not like you, sire. You should have known that before you had him tortured."

Arthur hung his head. He might have admitted he was wrong, but that didn't mean anybody was forgiving him. He was still responsible for Merlin's agony.

"I'm sorry, Gaius, but I don't know."

"Really, sire?" Gaius didn't believe him.

"I'm serious, Gaius. I don't understand."

If anything, that made the physician angrier.

"His magic, Arthur. You mutilated his body, and if that was not bad enough you had to go and mutilate his magic, too."

"What? I never even touched his magic! I don't even know how you would start."

"Well, you could cut it out of him," Gaius said, "I'm sure that would be a good place to start. And then poison what's left of it."

Arthur still wasn't following. "I never did those things..."

Gaius crossed his arms. "Really," he asked, and pulled the bandages back from one of Merlin's arms, revealing the long, bloody marks the iron dust had caused. "So Merlin did this to himself?"

Arthur stared. "That just weakened him," he said, but now he was unsure. "It just kept him from acting out too much."

"Because it poisoned his magic through his blood, Arthur."

"What?" Arthur looked at the marks, "but it's just iron! It doesn't- it isn't poisonous! I mean, even his collar-"

Arthur froze.

"His collar..?" Gaius prompted.

"His collar's made of iron, but- but it only numbed the magic, so he couldn't feel it. The jewelsmith said-"

"He cannot feel it because he does not have it. Or at least not most of it. Obviously, the collar left him a little, enough to survive off of, but most of it you have forcibly removed."

"But he tried to cast just a few minutes ago."

"And did you see the reaction? What happens when you try to take the only thing keeping someone alive away from them?"

Arthur closed his mouth.

"Exactly. My draught is working perfectly fine, but the wounds in his magic are hurting him."

"I didn't realize..."

"Of course not. You didn't realize a good deal of things."

"Excuse me," Gwaine said, having watched the conversation unfold, "forgive me, but can't we just take the bloody collar off?"

Arthur and Gaius exchanged glances. They obviously knew something the others didn't.

"No," Gaius said slowly, "at least not with what we have now."

Gwaine leaned down to inspect the collar. "Why not?" He asked, looking for some kind of latch, "It seems simple enough. Where's the key?"

That was when Arthur spoke. "We can't take it off because- well, because there's no latch. And there is no key."

Gwen dropped the bowl of water she was using to re-apply the bandage Gaius had loosened. "That's-That's impossible. It had to have gotten around his neck somehow! It didn't just appear there."

"There was a latch," Arthur explained, "but it was on the inside. Once the collar was locked in place, it became inaccessible. The jewel smith didn't even bother to make a key."

"Why? Why make a collar that cannot be removed?"

Again, Gaius and Arthur shared a look. "Because they were made during the Purge," Gaius said. "And fitted to anyone accused of sorcery. And back then, sorcery was always a death sentence. They never needed to be removed."

All eyes turned to Arthur as they realized the implications of that fact. The moment Arthur had locked the collar around his neck, he had already made up his mind that Merlin was guilty. He'd already decided Merlin was going to die.

But there was no time for that now. They needed to focus on the present.

"Could we cut it off?" Gwaine asked.

"We could break the lock," Leon said, "there must be a weak point there."

"What about applying heat? It could damage the mechanisms," Gwen added.

Gaius shook his head.

"It's solid iron. And it's far too close to Merlin's neck. If something goes wrong..."

"We could at least remove some of the jewels," Arthur said quietly.

Breaking the collar was momentarily put on hold.

"Jewels?"

"Between the collar and his neck," Arthur's face reddened in shame again. He looked at his hands. "Iron numbs the magic, but nickel weakens the muscles, rubies slow the blood, amethyst slows the mind, and emeralds slow the lungs." He repeated what the jewelsmith had told him. As he neared the end, he mumbled, afraid to say it too loudly. "Did nobody notice them?"

Gaius's mouth fell open. "And all of those things are in the collar right now?"

Arthur nodded.

"Oh..." Gaius made a startled noise of realization and instantly grabbed a different vial from the shelf. He didn't bother to measure anything, just poured a generous amount down Merlin's throat and seized his shoulders, turning him onto his side. "The sleeping draught works by slowing the pulse down slightly," he said, "But if the rubies are already doing that-"

Gwen jumped up.

"We need to get him to purge the draught before it takes effect," he finished as Gwen took her place to help hold Merlin on his side.

Gaius grabbed the bucket she had dropped before and placed it in front of Merlin's face.

"What I just gave him should induce vomiting," he said, moments before Merlin's body tensed and he began to gag.

At first, nothing came up. There wasn't enough in him. But then some bile forced its way up his throat, and in seconds Merlin had vomited up everything that he had had in his stomach -some blood, two draughts, and a little water.

He didn't regain consciousness once during the entire procedure.

"That should be fine for now," Gaius was saying, laying Merlin down again, "I think the best we can do is let him rest until we can figure out..."

But Arthur was lost in his own thoughts.

Some blood and water. That was what Merlin had been living off of since his last meal.

Nothing else. No solid food. He hadn't had anything to eat in days. Just a few mouthfuls of water and his own blood.

Suddenly, the walls of Gaius's chambers were too close, the dim light of the candles too bright, Merlin's breathing too loud. Arthur couldn't catch his breath as the sickly scent of Merlin's scant stomach contents filled the room.

"I need to go," he said quickly, and without another word, he sprinted from the room.

Chapter Text

Gods, he had messed up.

As Arthur moved down the hallway, that was all he could think.

He had messed up.

He had messed up.

Tattered cloth still hung from the windows, blending in with the stark black of the sky. Arthur could hear it whispering against the stones of the walls as he rounded the corner and entered the main hallway. Distantly, he wondered where the time had gone. Had he been in Gaius's chambers the entire day? Had it really been yesterday morning that he had dragged Merlin out of the dungeons? Torches flickered shadows against the floor and for a moment he was back in the dungeons, listening to Merlin's screams echoing down the corridor.

He winced and pressed two fingers to the bridge of his nose, moving quickly into the courtyard. Merlin wasn't in the dungeons anymore. He was with Gaius. He was safe.

Safe and starving. Safe and gagging up his own blood.

Arthur's legs gave out at the same time as his stomach, and he was on his hands and knees, retching like Merlin had done just moments before. Unlike Merlin, however, Arthur had enough in his stomach to vomit properly.

As Merlin had slowly starved to death below him, Arthur had been eating-feasting- like the king he was.

How much had Merlin been allowed to eat in the last month? Three meals a week? Two? How long ago must it have been since Merlin had eaten, that there was nothing in him even to vomit?

Arthur felt like he was thinking in circles.

Shuddering, he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand and stood. The moon had risen sometime before, and was now throwing silvery light over the walls and across the desolate scape of the courtyard. Targets lay basking in the shadows, bits of broken weaponry from the training of the day sticking into the grass. Arthur lifted a piece of spear and crushed it in his fist. The wood crumbled, rotten through.

"What have I done," he whispered.

"I don't know."

Arthur jumped, dropping the handful of wood dust. A shadow made itself known atop one of the walls, silhouetted against the moon.

"What?" Arthur squinted, trying to see who it was. The shape didn't move from the wall, but Arthur could make out the line of a head and shoulders, bowed against a set of knees. The head turned towards Arthur, its features black against the stars. It spoke again.

"What have we done?"

Arthur moved towards the silhouette. "Owain..?"

The figure tensed, but then released its hold on its legs. The face turned to look over its other shoulder, at the town and forest and the night beyond. Arthur leaned against the wall and looked up.

"I thought that the air would help," the figure said, and Arthur hoisted himself up onto the wall, taking a seat next to the figure and swinging his legs over the edge to look at the darkened kingdom.

"So did I," Arthur whispered, and yes, it was Owain. Arthur could see his features as the knight turned to face the same direction as Arthur. The moon glinted off of his pale eyes and Arthur saw the tear tracks already coursing down his cheeks.

"And is it working?" he asked, not looking at Arthur. Arthur sighed and rested his chin in his hand.

"No," Arthur said. Owain laughed, but there was no mirth in it.

"Same."

They remained silent. Owain fiddled with one of his gloves, and out of the corner of his eye, Arthur noticed that the other one was missing. He abruptly felt like there was something he should say to Owain, something building in his gut, but he wasn't sure what.

"It won't get out of my head."

Arthur's brow crinkled. What wouldn't get out of his head?

Owain creased one of the fingers of the glove, scratching at the dirt still caked to the leather after a day of work. The quiet stretched on again, squeezed between them and seeping into the rock wall.

"I don't know if I should be angry."

Arthur looked at Owain. "About what?"

"It's not a what," he said, his eyes still cast down, "It's a who."

Oh. Arthur leaned back. "Me."

Owain shrugged. "And me."

This time, Arthur turned to face him fully. "You?"

Owain crumpled the glove in his fist as an answer.

"But you didn't do anything."

Owain laughed. "Didn't I?" He lifted the glove, letting the moonlight touch it. For the first time, Arthur could see the glove fully.

Blood.

Spattered across the fingers and palm, smeared into the lacing, blood stained the glove instead of dirt. Arthur felt sick all over again. He didn't need to be told whose blood it was. "If I didn't do anything, then who did?"

Arthur swallowed. "I gave the orders, Owain. You were just following orders."

"And I could have stopped following orders at any time, couldn't I? But I didn't. I hurt him more than anybody. It was my choice, and I chose."

"Nobody blames you."

"Yeah? And what about me? Who do I blame?"

Arthur didn't know how to respond.

"Exactly." Owain whispered, leaping from the wall and landing on his feet in the courtyard below. Arthur watched him, speechless, as he disappeared through the nearest archway. Arthur was left on the wall alone, looking over the kingdom far below.

For a moment after Arthur fled the room, everybody stared at the empty place Arthur had been occupying with confusion.

Then Merlin coughed weakly, and the moment was gone.

Gwen went to work wiping the bloody vomit off of Merlin's lips and chin. Gaius pressed two fingers to his wrist, terrified that he would hear Merlin's heart slow and stop altogether; that the vomiting had not been as effective as it had needed to be.

Gwaine and Percival stood with their hands hovering uselessly, wanting to help but unsure how.

Leon remained further back, watching the commotion.

"He's stable for now," Gaius said, releasing the warlock's wrist.

The entire room seemed to let out a breath they didn't know they were holding.

"But we still need to be cautious. If the collar truly has the properties that Arthur described…" he trailed off.

"Yes?" Gwaine prompted. Gaius shook his head.

"It doesn't matter. We will be cautious." Nobody knew how to respond to that, so Gaius continued, "In the meantime, you should get some rest. There is nothing you can do for him now."

Nobody moved.

"I will be here the entire night, and you have duties to fulfill and people to protect."

Still, no movement. Gaius furrowed his brow and set his jaw.

"Morgana will be here in a fortnight. Stop being pigheaded while the kingdom needs you. You will be no help to Merlin if you cannot protect Camelot from an attack."

That seemed to work as everyone turned reluctantly towards the door.

"Wait," Gaius said, "Gwen. Can you stay for a little longer?"

Gwen nodded.

"Good, then the rest of you- go home, get some rest, and come back later. I will let you know if there is any change."

The group nodded solemnly and filed out, stealing glances at Merlin as they did so. Gaius watched them leave. The moment the door shut, his face collapsed into a frown.

Gwen looked at him intently. "Gaius, what's wrong?"

There was no reason for him to keep her back; Merlin was resting.

Gaius sighed. "Again, honesty."

Gwen nodded, waiting for him to continue.

"I wanted to avoid saying it while the knights were in the room, but you must know. I've known these collars to be the death of many sorcerers."

Silence. Gwen slid her hand into Merlin's.

"Now, I would say it is a miracle he is in the state he is in now, having had that collar on him all this time. But Merlin is a very powerful warlock, the likes of which I have never seen, and I suspect that is playing a role in keeping him stable."

"Why are you telling me this, Gaius?"

"Because I need someone to understand the gravity of the situation. From now on, getting that collar off of him becomes priority."

Gwen ran her fingers over Merlin's bruised, bandaged knuckles. "I will help, Gaius, but you should tell the knights. They have a right to know just as much as I do."

She didn't mention Arthur. She wasn't going to mention Arthur. As far as she was concerned, he no longer had any right to Merlin at all.

Gaius bowed his head. "I will consider it. Now you may go, Guinevere. I can watch Merlin for the remainder of tonight. As long as his fever stays down and infection stays at bay, he should be alright for a few hours."

Gwen hesitated.

"Don't make me give you a speech."

She blushed, but finally left.

The room groaned under the pressure of the sudden emptiness.

Gaius dragged a stool beside Merlin and took the hand Gwen had been holding. Merlin shifted a little and fell still again, and Gaius felt tears press against the backs of his eyes. Even with Merlin in his care, alive and safe from further torture, Gaius wasn't sure he could fix everything. Some of the damage done to Merlin's body would no doubt scar, even if Gaius did his best to keep it from doing so. The bones could heal, but Gaius could only pray they hadn't already begun to heal twisted and useless. And God only knew what had been done to Merlin's mind during a month of imprisonment and pain.

If they could get the collar off, Gaius knew it would be long road to recovery, if it was possible at all.

The night dragged on.

The morning broke with an orange-brown haze through the black cloth over Gaius's windows, and with it came Gwen, a bucket of water in hand, clattering through the door loudly enough to wake the whole kingdom.

Merlin didn't stir.

"How is he?" She asked, placing the water on the table. Gaius was kneeling in front of the fire, stirring the morning embers into flames again. He got up slowly.

"The same as last night."

"No fever?"

Gaius shook his head. "Not any worse than before."

Gwen put a hand on his forehead. Heat still burned his bruised brow, but Gaius was right- the fever hadn't changed.

"Is that normal? No change?"

Gaius took his place by Gwen. "The iron dust isn't out of his system yet. He is probably still fighting it."

"And the collar?"

"Certainly not helping matters."

"Have you found a way to remove it?"

Gaius motioned to the work table, where books lay scattered, opened and dog-eared. Evidence of what he had spent the night doing.

"Nothing so far. Arthur was right about what each jewel is supposed to do, though. That is not good news, but at least there are no surprises. The collar cuts his magic away from him while the jewels slow and weaken his bodily systems."

"Then that could also be causing the fever."

"Yes," he sighed, "That could be causing the fever as well."

A beat. There were two many uncertainties and not enough words to express them.

"The water is for soup," Gwen said suddenly, trying to change the subject, "I thought maybe Merlin's stomach would be settled now."

"Thank you, Guinevere." Gaius said, regaining his focus, "The effects of the potion I used last night should be mostly gone now."

Instead of answering, Gwen simply lifted the water from the table and began to look through cabinets, trying to find ingredients to make some kind of broth to feed Merlin. Gaius stopped her for long enough to fill a goblet of water for himself and another for Merlin, hoping to coax the liquid between Merlin's chapped lips.

But the unspoken tension remained.

And so began their day.

Gaius only succeeded in getting a few sips of water into Merlin before he coughed and retched it back up again.

"I suppose the potion isn't out of his system yet," he said as he cleaned the vomit from the floor. Gwen offered a weak smile. Neither one of them wanted to believe that maybe Merlin's body simply didn't know how to process the water in the state he had been kept in for the last month.

They waited an hour before trying the water again. Gwen put together a thin soup in that time, but Gaius insisted they try water first. Gwen didn't argue.

As the water trickled between his lips, he coughed, and Gaius, panicked, thought that maybe the draught had been too strong before Merlin swallowed and relaxed. He took a breath along with Gwen as the water stayed down.

Some of the tension eased.

"I can take over, Gaius, if you'd like to continue researching the collar," Gwen said, seizing an opportunity. Gaius hesitated- The fatherly part of him wanted to stay with Merlin forever- before relinquishing the cup. Gwen smiled as she took it, understanding his hesitation.

"If he continues to respond to the water well, you can try the soup."

And with that, he went to his table and began to flip through yet more books.

As the day dragged on, Gwen did her best to keep him hydrated, to feed him as he slept. Gaius watched with quick, worried glances as she tried water and then the broth, tipping it down his throat and making him swallow. In the end Merlin could only manage a few mouthfuls of each before he began to gag again.

"It's okay, Guinevere, give him time." Gaius said after Merlin gagged for the third time. He had managed to keep everything down, and Gaius knew Gwen would have kept trying, but it was obvious the dry heaving was using up energy he didn't have. "He might not be used to large quantities of food. We'll have to introduce it slowly."

Gwen set the soup down. She knew how starvation worked, and she knew they needed to reintroduce food slowly, but she also knew that he should have been able to handle more than what she had given him. Gaius could see it in her frown and in her worried eyes.

The day dragged on. From his desk in the corner Gaius could watch everybody coming and going.

Gwen spent her time with Merlin holding his bandaged hand and begging him to wake, to eat, to heal. She fell asleep by his side and Gaius could see the hope in her eyes when she woke, only for it to fade when she found him the same: pale and thin and feverish. Nothing she did seemed to get him to keep more than incrementally smaller amounts of fluids down.

Gaius went back to his books.

Gwaine and Percival stopped by in the sliver of time before patrol and after training. Gaius looked up long enough to watch Gwen get called away to do chores, and Gwaine take her place. The physician smiled when the knight began to tell stories. They rose loudly and always fell flat, but they were more noise than the scraping sinew of Merlin's breathing. He had traded his time drinking in the tavern for sitting on a stool, coaxing fluids into Merlin's body. To Gaius's surprise, he was rivaled only by Percival at getting the boy to eat, but it still wasn't enough.

Percival came with Gwaine after training, but when Gwaine left for patrol, Percival stayed. He cradled Merlin in his arms and dribbled soup down his throat with an expertise that would have made Gwen jealous, had they cared about those things. The large knight was more gentle than Gaius would have thought possible, and when he left in the late afternoon, the physician couldn't help but feel a little saddened by his absence.

As the day turned to night, Gwen returned, and do did Leon. He stood in the corner with his arms folded across his chest, watching, regret in his eyes. He never sat down. He never touched him. He just watched and begged silently, mouthing apologies and prayers. He left before Gwen did. He seemed to fear being in the room alone.

As Leon left with the evening sun, Gaius finally decided it was a good time to speak. With a heavy heart, he looked at Guinevere.

"There is nothing here, Guinevere," he said, lighting another candle and shutting a book. The day was over and he had gotten nowhere. It had simply slithered by.

"How can that be?" She was always so hopeful, but even she looked tired, and it had only been a little over two days. How were they going to continue like this? How was Merlin going to continue like this?

"The collars were invented during the Purge, but these books were written before that," Gaius explained, "I had thought that maybe something similar had been used prior to Uther's reign, but it seems they are unique to the last twenty years- nothing has been written about them."

Gwen took up her seat beside Merlin while Gaius continued,

"I don't even know how to ease the symptoms. There are entire texts devoted to the effects of certain minerals on a sorcerer's mind, magic, and body, but the first step is always to remove the stones from the sorcerer's contact..."

He trailed off, his eyes locked on Merlin. He didn't need a physician's eye to see Merlin was declining.

"And he isn't eating," he said quietly, "and I know that you are aware he should be, even with the rations he was on. And I can't explain that, either. It might be the collar. But it might be the iron dust, or an infection, or some other injury I have missed. I don't know. I have not been able to treat him the way I should be..."

"You've been treating him the best you know how, Gaius."

"But I fear it is not enough."

"It will be. We'll get the collar off."

"Guinevere-"

Gwen cut him off. "You forget you're not alone. You have me and the knights. Have you told them about the danger of the collar yet? They have been in and out of this room all day. They could go to the jewelsmith, or find Iseldir. They are valuable and they care about Merlin just as much as we do."

Gaius bowed his head. Truth be told, he'd been so focused on helping Merlin, he'd forgotten about everybody else's abilities to help outside of sitting with and feeding him. "I have to admit, I have not. And I didn't even consider the Druids."

"Nor the jewelsmith?"

He hesitated. That he had thought about, at least a little. "...I am afraid he will do more harm than good if put in the presence of a known magic-user. Anybody who makes collars like this will certainly not free a sorcerer willingly."

Gwen huffed. "You're making assumptions. And Merlin can't afford assumptions."

"He also cannot afford any more injuries, especially not from vengeful, magic-hating men who have the means to kill him at their disposal." He snapped.

There was a long pause. Gaius thought about apologizing, but Gwen beat him to it.

"I will call on one of the knights to find Iseldir. If he helped once, then maybe he will help again. And the jewelsmith..." She didn't like what she was about to say, "maybe Arthur could convince him otherwise."

The physician cringed. He knew Arthur regretted what he had done, but it didn't change the fact that he had done it. And it didn't mean Gaius was any more comfortable with letting him near Merlin. He supposed it was some kind of fatherly instinct, or maybe it was just because Merlin was so vulnerable.

"If we must," he said, and he knew Gwen felt the same way he did about the situation.

"Then it is settled," she said, nodding once, "I will leave as soon as our conversation is over."

"Will you alert the knights to the gravity of the situation?" Gaius said, then, as an afterthought, "They each came by today to try to help him eat. Percival and Gwaine had a knack for it."

Gwen raised her eyebrows. "So he's eating now?"

Gaius winced, "Not… well, yes, but not as much as he should be. He keeps gagging it up. I think Percival was the most successful, but even he only got a few spoonfuls into him before Merlin refused any more."

"Oh." Her hopes deflated. They both stood in silence.

"I will continue the research," Gaius said quietly.

"And I will go."

From his dimly lit desk, Gaius watched her leave.

Chapter Text

Gwen padded down the hallway with her hands clasped tightly to her chest in an attempt to slow her fluttering heartbeat. Of course she knew she was going to have to talk to Arthur eventually, but she hadn't thought about it until now, and she hadn't thought it would be this soon. Merlin hadn't even woken up yet- although that was why they had to talk, wasn't it?

Too soon, she was standing in front of Arthur's door. Would Arthur even be in his chambers? It had been more than twenty-four hours since he'd run out of Gaius's chambers without explanation, and perhaps he was off doing kingly things.

But no, it was night. He'd be in bed.

She knocked on the door.

"Leave me alone," came Arthur's gruff reply. Gwen hesitated, but swallowed her anger down. This was for Merlin.

"It's- it's me, Arthur. It's Gwen."

There was no noise.

"Arthur, please, I need to speak to you."

Heaven knew she wouldn't be speaking to him otherwise.

Still no reply. She tried once more, a different approach.

"It's about Merlin."

There was some movement behind the door, and then it swung open.

To say Gwen was surprised by Arthur's appearance was an understatement. There were dark circles under his eyes. His shoulders were hunched. His hair stuck up like he had been running his fingers through it compulsively. As he leaned in the doorway, the king of Camelot looked every bit the sad, tired man he must have been for the last few days.

Gwen might have even felt a little bad for him.

"What do you want?" He asked quietly, not making eye contact.

It took Gwen a moment to find her voice again. When she did, all she could get out was a confused, "Arthur?" As she took an involuntary step toward him.

Arthur shifted away. Still, his voice remained subdued, "Why are you here?"

Gwen studied him for another moment before speaking.

"Are you okay?"

Arthur looked as surprised as Gwen felt about her concern. She was still angry- more than angry. Furious. But her mouth seemed to have a mind of its own.

"I'm fine," he said, running a hand through his hair, "what's wrong with Merlin?"

A lot of things, Gwen thought, and suddenly the anger was back. Maybe it was the exhaustion- it wasn't as all-consuming as before- but it was there. A lot of things that Arthur had done were wrong. She couldn't shake them off. She couldn't just forget them and move on.

She shook her head. She couldn't be thinking about her feelings surrounding Arthur now. This encounter needed to be quick and to the point.

"The collar," she said, "you need to persuade the jewelsmith to take it off of him."

The king didn't look at all surprised by the request, but he did look apologetic.

"I have already spoken to the jewelsmith," he said.

That got Gwen's attention.

"What?" She asked.

"I've already spoken to the jewelsmith. I went down and spoke to him yesterday."

Gwen stared. "By yourself?"

He shrugged. "Yes," he made eye contact with Gwen for the first time. "I'm not heartless."

Gwen wanted to beg to differ, but decided it wasn't the time. "And what did he say?"

Arthur's face grew pained. "He said he couldn't help. He recommended removing the jewels, if possible, but he admitted he wasn't sure how to do that."

Gwen had to admit that this "quick encounter" was already longer than any conversations they'd had one-on-one in months. She squashed the thought away.

"Then do you have any ideas as to how to get the collar off? Or remove the jewels."

Arthur shook his head. "No."

"Then what use are you?" She snapped. Arthur flinched.

Gwen took a moment to compose herself. Stay focused. "Do you know how to contact Iseldir again?"

His eyes widened. "I hadn't thought of that."

She ignored his words. "Well, do you?"

"No. He came to me in the woods and disappeared afterwards." He slumped further down, "I wouldn't even know where to start."

"That's it, then." She whispered, more to herself than to Arthur. "That's all I have."

They both stood silently, motionless in the doorway.

"Guinevere?" Arthur, who was once again staring at the ground, asked.

"What?"

"I'm sorry."

Gwen sighed. "You should be." She hugged her arms around herself. "But that's not enough."

"What will be?"

Gwen looked away, staring at the point where the hallway split and continued out of her sight. "I don't know."

Silence fell again.

"You could-" Arthur cut himself off. "Nevermind."

"I could what?"

He scratched the back of his neck.

"You could look for him. It has only been a few days, he might still be in Camelot. I can send a knight to search the woods-"

"Who is going to look for a man who might have already disappeared?" But even as she said it, she knew the answer.

So did Arthur.

"You can ask Gwaine."

When the physician's door creaked open hours later, Gaius woke with a start. He had fallen asleep over his books; the candle had gone out. A quick glance at the window showed that it was still dark- The cloth was that special shade of purple-black reserved for the very middle of the night.

Gaius looked at the source of the noise just as a giant, looming figure entered the room.

"Hello?" Gaius whispered, but the figure didn't seem to hear him. Instead, it crept across the floor with silent, booted feet towards Merlin.

An uneasy feeling filled Gaius's throat.

The figure knelt and reached out.

"Stay away from him!" Gaius shouted, and the figure jumped and cursed, spinning to look at him with wide eyes.

Gaius raised an eyebrow. "Sir Percival?" He leaned down to relight the candle, "What do you think you are doing?"

Percival, who looked slightly embarrassed, took a step away from the bed. "I just- Gwen took Gwaine," he muttered, as if that answered anything.

"For what purpose?"

Percival took a seat on the stool beside the cot. "She sent him off to find Iseldir."

"Oh... And you? What are you doing here?"

"I thought…" he looked at the floor, avoiding eye contact, "If Gwen was off helping Gwaine pack, and Gwaine was gone, and you were asleep, then Merlin would be-"

"Vulnerable?" Gaius blurted without thinking.

Percival looked startled. "Alone."

"Ah," It was Gaius's turn to feel embarrassed. Of course Percival would visit late at night and early in the morning, when nobody else was around. He didn't need the noise of others, or the bustle of the day. And if Merlin woke up, he would be there.

"I'm sorry, I can go if you'd like me to," the knight said, standing and moving towards the door.

"No, no. Please stay. It would be a relief to go to bed knowing someone is watching over him. Stay as long you would like."

Percival nodded his response, then sat down.

Gaius watched them for a moment, then retreated to Merlin's room to get a few hours of rest.

Percival sat and watched Merlin breathe.

"Gaius," Gwen called, "this burn doesn't seem to be healing."

Percival, who had fallen asleep at Merlin's side at some point during the night, blearily lifted his head from his folded arms.

Gwen was standing on the other side of the cot, in the process of re-wrapping the bandages on Merlin's legs. Gaius shuffled into view and looked at the burn Gwen was pointing to. The physician sighed. "He isn't eating," he said. "It takes energy to heal, and he just... doesn't have that energy."

Gwen swallowed and continued to wrap the bandages around Merlin's leg. Gaius's voice had a note of finality to it. It was one thing for Merlin to die, and another to watch their friend slowly waste away into nothing as they stood by helplessly.

Percival stood and went to the fire, where there was a pot of broth already warming. There was always a pot of broth warming, it seemed. His face was carefully neutral as he poured some into a bowl and sat beside Merlin.

"He isn't going to die like this." He said, lifting Merlin's limp form into his lap. Keeping Merlin's head upright with the crook of his elbow, he slowly lifted a spoonful of soup to Merlin's lips and tipped it in. He cringed when Merlin coughed and soup spilled down his cheeks.

Gwen watched for a moment as Percival carefully fed Merlin another spoonful. This time, he swallowed.

"The collar only weakened him before, but in his current state I doubt he will be strong enough to wake up while it is on, even with the food," Gaius said. Percival didn't spare him a glance.

"Then what do you suggest? I stop trying?"

"I am only saying to not get your hopes up, if his collar remains then there is truly nothing we can do."

Percival scowled and coaxed more soup down the unconscious warlock's throat. "I'm not giving up on him," he muttered, and there was no way to miss the accusation in his tone.

"I did not mean it like that," Gaius said, "I will do whatever it takes to keep him alive."

Percival nodded. "I know."

Gwen was partially listening to the conversation, but most of her attention was on Merlin eating. Watching his throat as he swallowed, she winced. The skin around the edge of the collar was blistered and agitated, and she didn't know if it was from the constant irritation of something being around his neck, or because the collar itself had burning properties. Either way, it looked entirely uncomfortable.

"Gaius?" Gwen asked, interrupting the tense conversation already going on above her head, "What are these burns from?" She motioned towards the blistering. "Are they from the collar moving, or the iron itself?"

Gaius looked at the marks. "A little of both, I'm afraid," he said.

"Why have I only just noticed them? Have they been there all along?"

Gaius leaned closer. "They seem to be relatively fresh," he said, sighing, "I guess it was going to happen eventually. I'm surprised the collar did not cause irritation sooner."

Gwen hummed and watched Merlin swallow again. Now that she was watching for it, she noticed that each time his throat moved, the collar shifted a little, causing the inflammation. Of course she hadn't noticed it before- the collar hadn't been moving before.

An idea struck her.

"The collar doesn't adapt to the wearer at all, does it?" She asked.

Gaius look puzzled, but shook his head. "No, it is a fixed size. Why?"

Instead of answering, Gwen stood up and moved towards Gaius's table. Rummaging through a drawer for a moment, she retrieved a set of pliers, the kind Gaius used in tooth extraction, and settled herself in front of Merlin.

"Can I see him?" She asked. Percival set down the soup and shifted the sorcerer's weight so that he was facing Gwen. "No, no. His neck."

The knight paused for a moment, but then complied, laying Merlin's head in Gwen's lap while the rest of his body stayed in his.

Gwen tilted Merlin's head to the side, ignoring the gash on his face that had only barely scabbed over in favor of focusing on the collar.

"What are you doing?" The knight asked, watching her. Gaius moved to get a better look.

Gwen winced as she gently pressed her fingers against the skin next to the collar. The muscles in Merlin's neck twitched at the contact, but she continued, working one of her fingers around the edge before pressing down. Merlin made a breathy noise in his throat.

"I'm sorry," she whispered, then slipped a finger underneath the collar. Everyone in the room made a few surprised noises. The collar had been assumed skintight and impenetrable until that moment.

Merlin made another noise and Gwen paused. She could feel the roughness of the stones beneath her fingertip, and felt a rush of sympathy. The collar must have been extremely uncomfortable to wear. She took a deep breath.

Percival and Gaius watched as, to their surprise, Gwen removed her fingers and slid the pliers into the same spot. Fiddling around with them for a moment, she closed her eyes. She was trying to visualize what the pliers were touching, and after a few tense moments she opened her eyes and pulled the pliers back out. She dropped the object she was holding into her hand, smiling.

There, in her palm, was a tiny shard of ruby.

"The collar was moving," she said, "so I thought that there must be some space that wasn't there before."

There was a beat where nobody was sure how to react, and then,

"Guinevere! You are a genius!" Gaius exclaimed, snatching the ruby from her palm. Gwen didn't even blush at the compliment. She was too focused on Merlin. "Do you think you could get any more?" Gaius asked, laying the jewel in a shallow tin on his table.

Gwen looked at Merlin. The ruby had scratched the blistered skin as she had pulled it out, and it was now bleeding sluggishly, dripping onto the collar. "I think so," she said, and began to work.

Three hours later, Gwen's fingers were slicked with blood- both hers and Merlin's- but she had managed to remove a small pile of various stones and jewels. They lay in a tin by her side, sparkling beneath a layer of crusted blood and pus. She shuddered.

"That's all I can get," she said, dropping an emerald into the pile, "The rest won't budge."

Gaius looked at the fruition of her efforts. "There must be at least twenty stones here," he said, sorting them absently, "It's no wonder he is so weak."

Gwen laid the pliers down and gently shifted Merlin back onto Percival's lap.

"But is it enough?" Gwen asked, "there are still some that I couldn't move."

Gaius sifted through the jewels. "I think you have gotten plenty, Guinevere."

She shook her head. "I don't know."

They all took a moment to look at the collar that still rested against Merlin's neck. The removal of the jewels had loosened it significantly enough that it was now resting over the hollow of his throat, just above his prominent clavicles. There was a ring of red, raw skin where the collar had been cinched so tightly before. If they looked closely enough, they could even see the imprints of a few of the stones.

"Could we get at the lock now?" Gwen asked.

Gaius lifted the collar to see how much space he had. "Perhaps..."

He went to a drawer and pulled out a long pin. "I am no locksmith," he said, looking at the collar again in order to locate the lock, "but I have picked a few locks in my time."

He moved to fit the tool into the lock, but almost immediately discovered there wasn't enough room for even the finest picks. A pair of pliers was about all that could fit. He shook his head. "Damn it all to Hell," he muttered.

"But we're so close!" Gwen shouted, "it's right there!"

"We're going to have to wait and hope we have done enough." Gaius said, but his fingers were trembling.

"This is ridiculous. Surely we can get smaller tools-"

"I am sorry, Guinevere, but there is no other option," Gaius ground out, obviously just as frustrated as Gwen.

"We can hope Gwaine returns with Iseldir." Percival whispered.

"Yes," Gaius said, "and that he will help once he comes."

But until then, they would have to wait.

For the next few hours, Gwen and Percival took turns watching Merlin while Gaius dealt with the other patients he had been putting off.

The door slammed open and closed over and over as men and women shuffled in and out, sneezing and coughing and asking for help. It was dizzying at first, but soon they grew used to the noise and movement. They didn't even notice when the door opened to reveal not a patient, but a guard.

Owain looked worse than Arthur had as he shuffled into the physician's quarters with his head bowed and hands trembling. Gwen wondered if he had even gone home or slept in a bed since they had last crossed paths. He refused to make eye contact with anybody.

"Kid?" he whispered when he saw Merlin in his cocoon of blankets and bandages, "it's me."

Merlin flinched at the sound of his voice and whined before lying still again. And although Percival and Gwen were ecstatic at the first sign of life they'd seen from Merlin all day, Owain simply hunched down further and left.

With the small burst of life came other improvements. Merlin's breathing began to ease; the removal of most of the jewels allowed his lungs to move normally again. The broken and bruised ribs meant they still stuttered, but each breath was deeper than the last. His pulse quickened as well, growing stronger as they watched. For the first time in a very long time, there seemed to be some hope on the horizon.

At noon, Gaius looked Merlin over and announced that his fever had broken.

"So the iron dust gone is from his system?" Gwen asked. Gaius nodded.

"Yes."

It was a small victory, but a victory nonetheless.

Chapter Text

By late that evening, Percival had left to go on patrol and Gaius had left to attend a birth in the lower town, leaving Gwen in charge of the unconscious Merlin. She spent the hours of waning light alternating between holding his bony hand and flipping through Gaius's dog-eared volumes in hopes of finding a way to remove the collar. As night approached without any improvement, Gwen stared at the ever-darkened windows and fought back tears.

On the other side of the castle, Arthur, not for the first time, lay in his bed unable to sleep. He had grown familiar with the patterns of his canopy in the moonlight, though he'd never truly appreciated them. He'd always been searching for a solution to a problem, or playing events out over and over again. He'd always had an answer, until now.

He rolled onto his side, tearing his eyes away from the canopy in favor of looking out the window. It seemed wrong, somehow, that the view from his window hadn't changed since the night that Iseldir had appeared; so many other things had.

Merlin was no longer an enemy of the crown, nor was he a prisoner, yet he might not live to know it. Gwaine was riding out to look for a Druidian leader per orders from Arthur himself, and that was just a start. Even the very essence of magic had been called into question.

And yet, the moonlight-speckled trees remained the same.

Arthur closed his eyes and let a breath out from his nose. He needed to sleep. He needed Merlin to be alright. He needed to stop Morgana. He needed to fix the mess he had made. He needed to make a plan to do all of those things-

But he knew nothing.

He twisted in his sheets, burying his face in his pillow. He stared at the blank darkness in front of his eyes and thought of Merlin, languishing in that cell for weeks, starving, cold, in pain. How much could a single man take? How could Arthur possibly fix anything that he'd done? He closed his eyes, and Merlin's voice filled his head.

It was the second day. Merlin was officially dead, had been dead for nearly twenty-four hours now. Initially, Arthur had been worried when Merlin didn't wake up immediately after the collar was put on him, but the guards had just reported that Merlin was beginning to regain consciousness in the cell, and Arthur knew he needed to be there.

As he discreetly made his way to the dungeons, Arthur felt his nerves tingling with anticipation. Never before had he felt fearful of his manservant. He needed to mentally prepare himself for the following encounter; it would be so easy to slip back into normalcy, for the sorcerer to deceive him as he had for so many years before.

He arrived at the dungeons more quickly than he had wanted, still partially unprepared. There were two guards waiting for his arrival.

"Sire."

The head guard, the one that had been appointed as incharge of the sorcerer's interrogation, took a step forward. He was standing at the entrance to the lower dungeons, a ring of keys held loosely in his gloved fist.

Arthur took a moment to regain his composure, then inclined his head in response. The guard continued,

"The sorcerer began to stir only a few minutes ago, sire. He should awaken very soon, if he has not already."

Arthur once again nodded and tried to ignore the whirl of anxiety in his chest.

"Please, follow me."

Arthur followed.

He had never liked the dungeons as a child, and he could honestly say that that had yet to change. The smell, the cold stones, the deep shadows; none of it made Arthur the least bit comfortable. Sure, he supposed that was basically the point of a dungeon, but it still didn't make him feel any better. The lower dungeons were always the worst, too. Arthur didn't want to think about how uncomfortable it would be to live in them. Then again, he felt a strange pang of satisfaction thinking about Merlin living in them, so perhaps they weren't so bad after all.

Arthur was so preoccupied with his thoughts, he didn't realize the guard had stopped until he nearly walked into him. He let out a grunt of surprise and came to a halt.

"Just in here, sire," the guard said softly, and Arthur realized they were standing before a cell. Merlin's cell. The very cell Arthur had ordered him into the day before.

He peered inside.

There was the sorcerer, curled into a tight ball in the back corner, against the wall. His pale skin seemed to glow in the darkness, and it made Arthur's head spin, how something so small could hold so much evil inside of it. Arthur shuddered. And to think he would have trusted the creature with his life only days ago...

The sorcerer moved, curling further into itself in an attempt to banish the cold of the cell. Arthur couldn't stop the look of disgust that flitted across his features. He wished the dungeons were colder.

A groan came through the bars, and with a start Arthur realized he didn't have a plan, didn't know how to begin an interrogation on a person whom he had trusted so thoroughly. What was he supposed to say? He turned towards the guards.

"You are dismissed," he said, and then, "leave the keys."

The guards looked like they wanted to protest, but a single look from Arthur had them fleeing without comment. He watched them leave before turning his attention back onto the cell and the prisoner within.

Perhaps he could use this... anxiety to his advantage. Even if Merlin was an evil sorcerer, he could surely experience some kind of fear, especially in the face of such a situation, bound as he was. If Arthur felt anxious, then it must be the same the other way around. And where there was fear, there was also hope. Arthur could utilize the trust they used to share, bend it to his advantage. What was a better way to break a man than to give him hope and take it away? If nothing else, it was a start, at least.

He breathed. He had a plan, even if it was a flimsy one, and just in time, too. Merlin was waking up, moving in his cell, turning his face towards the door. His voice was hoarse when he spoke.

"Wh-what-?" He twisted to look at the ceiling, the stone walls, and then back at the bars. His eyes fell on Arthur, wide and impossibly blue. "Arthur?"

Arthur looked down the bridge of his nose, turning his head up at the eye contact. Merlin's confusion deepened, and he went to sit up, his arms shaking to support his weight. Of course he would be confused. He'd been unconscious the moment the collar had closed.

He managed to prop himself up against the far wall, and his hands instantly went up to his neck, a hiss of pain escaping through his clenched teeth.

"Arthur, what's going on? Why am I here? Why-"

His fingers met the collar, and realization dawned on his face. Realization and fear. He looked at Arthur again.

"I-I can explain," he started, but Arthur held up a hand to silence him.

"I do not wish to hear an explanation," he said, and then he began to carry out his plan. Swallowing down his disgust, he lifted the keys and unlocked the cell door, stepping in quickly before shutting it behind him, unlocked. God, his lip nearly curled at the show of hope and relief that filled the creature's face.

"You don't?" Merlin went to stand up and look Arthur in the eye, but only managed to get into a squatting position before giving up and leaning against the wall again. He tried to muster up a smile, the deceitful little runt. "Think you could take this off, then?" He asked, motioning towards the collar. "I can't look you in the eye from down here."

Arthur wanted to shout "never" and flee the room, to leave the sorcerer to rot. But instead he took a deep breath. He needed to give the creature hope. If he ruined it now the sorcerer would shut down. "I don't think that is an option right now, mate." The last word tasted foul on his tongue.

"Why not?"

"Because things are complicated. You're a known sorcerer."

Merlin twisted suddenly to look at the part of the wall where the upper dungeons had a window, but was met with dark brick instead. "What time is it?" he asked frantically, "How long have I been out?"

"Twenty-four hours. It's morning."

Merlin paled. "Can I leave? Are you going to kill me?"

His voice sounded so small, a tiny bit of Arthur nearly pitied him. Everything was afraid to die.

"No."

"No, what?"

"You can't leave," Arthur said, and the servant looked sick, "But I am not going to kill you." The amount of relief that radiated from the man was palpable.

"Then what… why am I stuck here?"

"I'll come back," Arthur said, trying to dodge the questions, and a part of him even believed it. Merlin's eyes widened.

"Arthur, you can't just leave me down here."

Arthur's composure slipped a bit. "You are a known sorcerer. I cannot allow you to leave."

Merlin's brow crumpled in confusion at the sudden coldness in tone. The king scrambled to recover the facade.

"You know that the people fear you. If I release you now, there will be chaos in Camelot."

"But-" Merlin's eyes traveled around the cell, taking in the stone and dirt. He wrapped his arms around himself, and Arthur had a brief moment to realize his jacket had been confiscated at some point between now and when the collar had been placed on him.

"I'll be back. I promise. Just hold on."

Arthur stood to leave and found an odd sort of satisfaction when Merlin tried and failed to follow. The collar had worked faster than he had hoped for.

"Please," he said from the back of the cell where he had yet to move from, "Don't do this, Arthur."

Arthur closed and locked the door behind him.

"Just wait," he said, retreating down the hallway, "I'll be back."

And then he was gone, handing the keys to the guard.

"Prepare him for interrogation," he muttered. And if he had felt any remorse before, it all disappeared as he made his way back up the stairs, the sounds of chains rattling behind him.

Chapter Text

Arthur woke suddenly to find that it was morning. He was breathing hard, cold sweat beading across his brow and running down his back as if he had just come out of a nightmare. And it had been a nightmare; it was just a nightmare that had actually happened. He shuddered and pulled the blankets from his body. They were twisted around his torso tightly, the sheets bunched against his lower back; small discomforts that seemed smaller after dreaming of Merlin. He pushed his legs over the side of the bed and stared at his feet, resting his head in his hands and his elbows on his knees.

He needed to get up.

He needed to prepare for Morgana.

He needed Merlin to be okay.

He needed more time.

A loud knock made Arthur jump. He looked at the heavy wooden door and then around his room, his eyes landing on a shirt and trousers. "Just a moment," he mumbled, loud enough for the visitor to hear. The knock came again.

Arthur took a deep breath and opened the door, wiping a hand across his sweaty cheeks, tucking his tunic into a belt. Leon stood in the doorway, his helmet under his elbow, still in full armor.

"We have bad news, sire," he said without pretext. Arthur's blood ran cold. Merlin was dead. He knew it.

"There has been movement in the east. It is believed to be an army."

Arthur didn't comprehend. Merlin had nothing to do with an army, did he?

"Sire?"

Arthur looked up, realizing Leon had continued to speak.

"Hm?"

"The army is thought to belong to Morgana. The plans you overheard seem to be true."

Arthur groaned, things snapping into place. Morgana was on the move.

"It is believed that we have ten days, give or take, before she reaches Camelot." Leon hesitated then, his face looking worried, "Sire, if she strikes, it will be war. There is no stopping that."

Arthur nodded. "I will prepare the knights." He turned to close the door, but Leon stopped him.

"Sire, there is more."

Arthur's heart dropped. "What?"

"The army is believed to be made up of not only armed men, but also sorcerers. Prepare your knights for that."

"...so we have no chance."

Leon's neutral face slipped. "Prepare them."

Arthur nodded, his eyes focused on something far away. "I understand."

Leon gave him a half smile. "Good day, sire."

The door closed, and Arthur sunk onto the edge of his bed, returning his head to his hands.

So this was it.

He pulled his boots on slowly, taking his time with the laces. He kept glancing at the window, at the swaying trees and wispy white clouds running across the blue sky, as if Morgana's army would come crashing over the hillside any moment and rain hellfire over the kingdom. But no, he knew he had time-not much, but some- and he was going to use it.

He stood up to open the door, taking deep breaths as he lay his hand on the handle. Gods, he was so tired. He wanted to crawl back into his bed and curl under the covers and wake up when everything was alright again. Not that anything could ever be right again, at least not really, not with Merlin unconscious in Gaius's chambers and blood on Owain's gloves. Things couldn't be right when Gwaine was off on his own in a desperate search to find a druidian leader and Gwen was no longer speaking to her own husband. Nothing could really be alright when everything was so utterly wrong, when everything had been destroyed by a singular king bent by anger and fear.

But he couldn't think like that. He had a war to prepare for.

With that in mind, Arthur summoned the strength to pull the door open and step out into the hall.

He was immediately overcome with vertigo, as the sunlight of the morning streamed in and illuminated the bustle of servants, moving with laundry and dirty dishes and cleaning rags. The light in the stone hall was impossible compared to the darkness of his room and dreams. Nobody suspected anything was amiss, just as they had for last month.

Steeling himself, he took a few more steps into the hallway and entered the fray.

He arrived at Gaius's chambers more than a little nervous, and stood outside the door, breathing slowly. He could hear Gwen and Gaius inside, and there was no doubt Percival was there as well. It seemed that the most popular spot to be when people were not busy was with Merlin. Even unconscious, people wanted to be in his company.

With not a small amount of effort, Arthur reached out and knocked on the door. Silence immediately fell within.

"May I come in?"

More silence. Then Gaius.

"Enter."

Arthur pushed open the door and took a step inside. Percival sat beside Merlin's cot. Gwen was standing near the fire, a ladle in hand. And Gaius was standing before his table, grinding herbs in a shallow basin.

As Arthur stood in the center of the room, they each surveyed him through cold eyes. Merlin lay very still and very pale in the bed, but he wasn't dirty anymore, or vomiting. At least there was that.

"I came to discuss a matter of high importance," the king said, and he pretended that his voice didn't shake.

Everybody continued to look at him emotionlessly, and Arthur vaguely thought that he was sick of being in this situation before continuing.

"Morgana is on the move," he said, "she will be here within ten days, and I need your help to prepare for the attack."

Gaius set aside his mortar and pestle and wiped his hands with a rag before throwing it down on the table.

Arthur hesitated. "The army is made of sorcerers and men."

"If it truly is Morgana, then we are already doomed," Gaius said, crossing his arms, "without Merlin there is no one who can defeat her."

"Surely, you don't believe that."

"No, I know that."

Silence stretched. Arthur glanced at the warlock lying beside Percival.

"Then what would you suggest we do?" Arthur said, and his voice grew louder. He was suddenly fed up, "Are we to give up before we've even started? Is that what you want? Morgana is coming, whether Merlin is awake or not, and we can either stand here-"

"Do not raise your voice at me!" Gaius exclaimed, effectively cutting Arthur off mid-sentence. "This is a problem that you created. If you hadn't spent so much time on tormenting Merlin, then maybe you would have noticed the real informant, or, better yet, perhaps you would have an effective army for fighting off a militia of sorcery! Now what would you have us do, sire? Face the army with our swords? With our fists? What solution are you looking for, coming into my quarters? Should you not be preparing your knights? I cannot help you. "

Arthur deflated. Wherever that burst of anger had come from, it was gone. Gaius was right, of course. He had no business being in Gaius's quarters when he had an army to prepare. He was king. He needed to pull himself together and start acting like one. Battles had been fought and won for years before Merlin's existence. He was not Camelot's last hope. Although…

Why did it feel like he was?

Gwaine's horse was agitated.

Tugging on the beast's reins, Gwaine paused in a clearing to gain his bearings. The wind had picked up suddenly in the night, and with it the horse seemed to grow less and less comfortable, slowing their progress. As it was, he was only a few miles into the forest, and he was already at a loss as to where to go next. He'd gone in the vague direction that Arthur had gone the night Merlin had been freed, but there was no trail nor sign that anybody had been there at all, and finding Iseldir seemed to be an impossible task.

His horse huffed and shook its head, stamping the ground in agitation, and Gwaine ran his hand against her neck. If it had been for anybody besides Merlin, he would have given up finding Iseldir hours ago. Or, better yet, not have even gone in the first place. How was he supposed to find a druid who could magic himself to any part of the world with just a thought? It didn't seem plausible. But then, Gwaine had done a lot of impossible things. He was a knight, for goodness sake, and was friends with a warlock and a king, amongst other beasts he'd met in taverns and trails. Those had all been by accident, of course, but the impossibility was the same.

The wind blew harder, and Gwaine kicked his horse into motion once again.

He would not give up.

Owain once again stood on the wall overlooking the town, his mind elsewhere. He kept fingering the gloves in his pocket. The weather was not as mild as it had been in the last few weeks, but he could not bring himself to put them on. A part of him wanted to buy new ones, but another part told him they were a reminder of what he had done. So they stayed in his pocket.

Arthur had called a meeting that afternoon. Morgana was moving in with an army of sorcerers, and they were to prepare, whatever that meant. They all knew the odds were against them.

Owain thought back to Merlin, shivering and flinching on the cot at the sound of the guard's voice. Percival and Gwen had seemed so excited, as if Owain had done something to help the kid. He didn't understand, though. They should be angry at him. Heaven knows he was the one who had put Merlin in such a state, where even flinching was something to be celebrated. He had resolved to help when he helped Arthur bring him out of the dungeons, but the reaction in the physician's quarters the day before proved that maybe he should just stay away. He didn't blame Merlin for being afraid of his voice. He had hoped otherwise, of course, but had never entertained the thought that what he had hoped would truly happen. And it hadn't.

And now things were just worse. Even though the knights and most of Camelot didn't know it, the one person who would have saved them had been languishing in the dungeons for weeks. And Owain truly believed that Merlin could have saved them, if he were conscious. The way he had spoken of his powers in his rare moments of lucidity, during the earlier parts of interrogation, backed that up strongly. Merlin would have helped.

But not now.

Owain sat heavily on the wall and tugged the glove out of his pocket, worrying it between his fingers. It really was getting colder.

Gasping as cold water suddenly hit his cheek, Gwaine looked up at the sky. Grey clouds dimmed the forest until it was nearly as dark as night, and he could sense that it was just the beginning of a full-on downpour. Shivering, he settled more deeply into the saddle, but it did little as the clouds opened up above him.

Shaking his wet hair out of his eyes, he tried to gauge how far he'd traveled, but when he thought about how fruitless all of those miles had been, he stopped trying to count. It only discouraged him.

Glancing at the sky again, he realized that it would soon be impossible to see anything. Halting his horse, he spied a large boulder with a shallow alcove. Not the best camp, he thought, but he'd certainly slept in worse. Dismounting his horse, and tying her to a nearby tree, he settled in for the night, laying his bedroll on the damp earth beneath the alcove and shimmying under it. The rock face was a few inches from his nose, but it was dry enough, and Gwaine found his thoughts wandering to Merlin again.

He wondered if he was alright. He thought that maybe he would feel if he wasn't, but then the only thing worse for Merlin right now would be if he stopped breathing, and Gwaine refused to think about that.

With his mind still turning, Gwaine fell asleep listening to the rain pounding on the rock above him.

Chapter Text

The next time Gwaine opened his eyes, it was to the sound of his horse snorting outside his stone shelter. The initial confusion of waking up somewhere unfamiliar was more of a comfort than a fear; he was used to it. What he did not like, however, was the trapped feeling that came with being disadvantaged. And here, lying under a rock with his horse excited outside, he was just about as disadvantaged as he could be.

Turning his head slowly, the knight could see his horse's hooves as they stamped at the muddy ground. It was still raining, and Gwaine grimly noted that some of it was starting to breach his small shelter, running in rivulets only to be absorbed by his bedroll. Perhaps it was the storm that had caused his horse to react in such a way- wasn't that thunder rumbling in the distance? Nevertheless, he pressed his hands against the rock, twisted his body out of the alcove, and knelt in the mud, his hand hovering over his blade.

The morning was as gray as twilight, the sky glowing faintly as dark clouds shifted overhead and poured their contents into the forest. His horse was still tied to the same tree as she had been the night before.

It was, surprisingly, empty. There was nothing that could have spooked the horse so thoroughly, yet she was still snorting and stamping, tossing her wet mane and flicking her tail. Gwaine approached her slowly and gave a short whistle to get her attention, and her eyes rolled to look at him through the rain. Her movements slowed, but she still stamped her front hoof against the ground and stared into the forest, nickering softly. Gwaine stroked her nose and glanced in the direction she was looking, but still saw nothing.

"What's gotten into you?" He asked, gazing into the darkened forest, "you seein' something?"

The horse just snorted and nudged more forcefully into his hand. Gwaine sighed and stroked her nose again. Weather and agitated horse aside, Merlin was still in Camelot, and Gwaine still needed to find a Druidian leader in this blasted forest before it was too late. He wondered if there was a time limit, or just a vague deadline- had Gaius told anybody how long Merlin could last with that collar? Gwaine didn't want to entertain the thought, but what if he couldn't find Iseldir? Would Merlin survive? Would the collar be locked around his neck forever? Surely, they'd find a solution, with or without Iseldir- Gwaine just couldn't think of one at the moment.

But he was wasting his time. The longer he stood in this clearing, the further Iseldir could have gone-if he hadn't already magicked himself across the kingdom, which, Gwaine knew, was an entirely plausible scenario.

Shaking his bedroll out in a fruitless attempt to rid it of the mud, he packed and mounted his horse, heading further into the forest with Camelot at his back.

He'd barely made it to the other end of the clearing before the rain grew harder, pounding almost painfully against his shoulders. It bounced from the leaves of the trees into his eyes and beat against the flanks of his horse, which was still throwing its head in occasional agitation. Gwaine shook the water out of his eyes, but the trees blurred through the curtain of rain. He slid off his horse and lead it back to the boulder, where the rain was at least cut down by its bulk, and resolved to wait until the rain had slowed to continue his search.

Arthur was becoming desperate. He had given the knights their speeches, told them of the oncoming attack. He had told them about the sorcerers and although he hadn't given them their odds of winning a war like this, he could tell they knew they weren't good. He hoped they would train hard and fight hard, but a small part of him hoped they would spend time with their loved ones, if only a little, before the attack came.

In the meantime, he was somewhat at a loss of what he should do. He had visited Geoffrey in the library and pored over records detailing battles between sorcerers and men, and had even found an odd volume filled with the teachings of the high priestesses, but everything was coming to the same conclusion: without a sorcerer on their side, Camelot was doomed. And without a warlock's magic, Morgana would not be defeated.

He seemed to be stuck. His thoughts kept travelling back to Gaius's quarters, to Merlin on the bed, to that night Arthur's stupidity and fear had ruined everything. He wished he had never made that damn collar. He wished he had never seen Merlin call that dragon. He wished he had thought things through. Why hadn't he even given Merlin a chance before assigning him something that could really only be considered a death sentence?

He wanted to go back in time and plead with himself. He wanted to seize the collar from his own hands and shatter it against the floors of his chambers.

Most of all, he wanted Merlin to be alright.

"Gwen, could I use you over here for a moment?" Gaius's voice was tired. Gwen, who had been stoking the fire, looked up from her kneel and surveyed the physician. His hair was messy and his hands were slightly shaky with fatigue as he poured a few crushed herbs into a vial of water, corked it, and shook it violently. "There is a leak by the window. Is it possible you could place a bucket beneath it? We don't want people to be slipping." He motioned towards the window, where water was steadily seeping from the ceiling and dripping onto the floor. Gwen abandoned the fire and retrieved a bucket from the other side of the room, maneuvering it beneath the stream of water.

"Have you ever seen rain quite like this, Gaius?" she asked, listening to it howling outside and pounding against the walls. Gaius listened for a moment, cocking his head to the side.

"Indeed," he said after a moment, "I have. But it has not been for a long time."

"How long?" She was just talking now; anything to fill the oppressive silence that seemed to constantly hang over the room. She didn't think she could stand Merlin's wheezing anymore. To make matters worse, since Owain had come in and left, Merlin had started occasionally making pained noises in his sleep, and nobody knew if it was a good sign or a bad one.

"Decades," Gaius stated simply, "Since before the Purge."

"What does it mean?"

"Nothing. It's just the rain. We were due for another storm. Though I hope this doesn't put a damper on Gwaine's mission." He glanced at Merlin, who had made another whimpering gasp. "He needs to hurry."

Gwen shuffled over to Merlin and knelt beside him. The fever caused by the iron dust had broken long ago, but with the removal of some of the jewels, his body had begun to try to heal itself, leaving Merlin with another fever as his body finally began to recognize infection again. His hair was matted to his brow with sweat and his cheeks were flushed, though Gaius said that the fever posed no danger to him at the moment. It was a natural reaction while his body tried to sort itself out.

At least, that's what they hoped. Gwen placed her hand on his forehead. The fever wasn't particularly high, and it hadn't changed in hours, so she simply lay a damp cloth on the section of his chest that was not bandaged and another on his forehead before standing again and checking on the bucket below the leak. It was already a quarter of the way full, and Gwen resolved to continue to check it every few minutes as long as the rain continued.

Merlin whimpered again, and this time it happened to line up with the sound of thunder in the distance. It made him seem like a child frightened in his sleep, and Gwen knew if she had any more energy, she would have teared up at the sight. As it was, she just shook her head and went back to the fire.

Nearly three hours later, and Gwaine was once again leading his horse back to the boulder with a scowl. He had lost count of the amount of times the rain had slowed enough for him to remount and head off, only for it to suddenly pick up at an alarming rate when he was nearly out of the clearing. He was never going to make it anywhere with all of this stopping and starting, and he had long ago grown sick of the patch of muddy ground mother nature had seemingly chosen to banish him to. What kind of ridiculousness had lead him to standing in the same damn clearing for three hours, sopping wet and with a disobedient horse tethered to his wrist? He was simply not having it. Iseldir was probably hundreds of miles away, in another damn kingdom with his blasted magic and dry shoes (did Druids wear shoes? He didn't know.), living his life happily, totally unaware of the bloody rainstorm that was trapping a single knight in a clearing in a forest in the middle of Camelot.

Sighing, he sat down in the mud, too wet to care. The horse snorted and moved closer to the boulder, nuzzling Gwaine's hair. Gwaine pushed it away gently, his thoughts drifting to Merlin again. The horse nickered and nudged him in the shoulder. Gwaine ignored it, crossing his arms in front of his chest and drawing his knees up closer to his chin. The horse then gave another, much louder, snort and moved a little away from the boulder. Lightning flashed faintly, and the horse whinnied and stamped backwards, tossing its head upwards into the rain. Gwaine rolled his eyes. It had been thundering and lightning for the better part of the day, and he had thought the horse was used to it by now.

A clap of thunder, louder than any other, suddenly shook the clearing, and Gwaine gasped and placed his hands against the ground to study himself just as the horse reared,the whites of its eyes visible as another blinding bolt of lightning lit the forest. Gwaine jumped up to grab its reins, but only managed to slip in the mud as the horse let out an animalistic shriek and bolted into the forest.

"No!" Gwaine shouted, standing and sliding, chasing the horse in the dim grey. Another clap of thunder rolled through the rain and was almost immediately followed by a flash that lit up every blade of grass between the horse and the knight. Gwaine had only a moment to glimpse the muddy tail of his steed before it faded into the darkness again, disappearing into the gloom of the trees.

For a moment, he just stood there in shock. Then the reality hit him and he fell to the ground again, grasping fistfuls of mud from below him in anguish. He looked at the sky and shouted, cursing the rain and his horse and God, cursing Arthur and sorcery and Camelot. He cursed Iseldir and he cursed Merlin and he cursed himself, and then he slumped down, his energy spent. He stared into the storm and distantly wondered if he'd truly expected anything different.

There was another clap of thunder, quieter now, so Gwaine dejectedly scooted back to his rock and rested his shoulders against it. All of his supplies were on that horse. All of his food and equipment and clothes were bundled up and strapped to a beast that was now bolting through the forest, yet he was still in the same clearing, dripping with rain and mud. And he was no closer to finding Iseldir.

It felt like hours before the rain finally slowed enough for Gwaine to even consider getting up and looking for his horse. He was hoping that the rain had softened the ground enough by now to make tracking it easy. It was going to get dark very soon and he did not want to spend a night in his current state.

The rain was still falling softly as he reached the edge of the clearing. In spite of himself, he slowed as he got to it, expecting the rain to miraculously begin again, but it stayed steady. Laughing half-heartedly at his own paranoia, he looked down to see the prominent imprints of hooves sunk deep into the mud. No sooner had he started to follow them, however, when he heard a familiar whinny come from behind. Rolling his eyes, he spun towards the clearing-

Only to come face-to-face with a band of hooded strangers.

Chapter Text

Gwaine stood, frozen, the rain coming down in sheets. Somehow, the strangers seemed untouched by the rain; the droplets falling around them but not touching them, their dark cloaks not even dampened by the storm. Gwaine immediately sensed magic, and he forced himself to stay calm. Wasn't this what he had been looking for?

"Sir Gwaine," the tallest of the hooded figures stepped forward, the rest remaining behind.

Gwaine's mouth fell open. The hooded figure chuckled and brought his hands up to remove his hood, revealing a lined face and a shock of curly gray hair. In response, the rest of the group did the same, and Gwaine was shocked to see that half of the group, maybe five or six people in total, possessed the glowing eyes of a sorcerer. Gwaine took a moment to wonder at what kind of spell they were casting, but quickly moved his attention back to the leader. Without any introduction, Gwaine knew precisely who it was he was addressing.

"Iseldir."

The Druid smiled and inclined his head. Gwaine, not knowing what, exactly, he should do in the presence of such a powerful leader, bowed slightly. The leader shook his head.

"Do not bow to me, Sir Gwaine, for we have more pressing matters at hand."

Gwaine straightened. Obviously, this was going better than he had hoped. Better get right to it, then. "Merlin-"

"-is in trouble," Iseldir finished, and the group of druids shifted uncomfortably, "We know. We can sense it."

"Then you will help?" Gwaine's voice cracked; this was appearing to be infinitely easier than he had hoped.

Iseldir put his hands up, his smile disappearing. "We cannot deny Emrys in his time of need," he said, "but I must ensure my people's safety first."

"Yes, yes!" Gwaine burst, "of course! You are all welcome to Camelot. The king himself sent me-"

Iseldir cut him off. "It is not the king I am worried about. As I understand, there are greater threats to Camelot than a single king's stupidity."

Gwaine shook his head. "I don't understand."

Iseldir turned to look at the band of druids behind him. With urgency, one took a step forward, a young woman with pale green eyes. Her brown hair tumbled down her back, bone dry. Gwaine surveyed her warily.

"Morgana-" she said quietly. Her wide eyes flashed gold and she seemed to stare straight through Gwaine as she spoke, "Her troops grow tired."

Iseldir nodded and placed his hands on the young woman's shoulders. "This is Linona. She is our most powerful Seer."

Gwaine looked at her, enchanted by her beauty and wide, staring eyes. "What does she see?"

Iseldir tightened his grip on her shoulders before releasing them suddenly.

"I see Morgana," she said, blinking the dazed look away from her pupils, "And I see Emrys." She leaned in close, her eyes inches from his face, "And I see you."

Iseldir took over. "Thank you, Linona," he said, ushering her to the back of the group, where her eyes began to glow again. He then turned towards Gwaine:

"Linona can do the magic of a scryer without an object. She has been watching Camelot for weeks now. She is how I knew where to find Arthur, and how I knew to look for you. And she is how I know that Morgana is on her way to Camelot, intent on stealing the crown."

Gwaine paled.

"Do not worry, Sir Gwaine. We have stalled her for now. Long enough to see Emrys, at the very least. But I need your solemn oath that no harm will befall my people if we are to enter Camelot, and that any magic we practice will go unpunished."

Gwaine nodded. "Of course, sir. There will be no retributions for the magic you practice within Camelot's walls. I swear to it."

"Then we shall come."

Gwaine couldn't hide his relieved smile. There was, however, something that was still bugging him. "May I ask you a question, then, sir? Before we begin our trip back?" At Iseldir's nod, Gwaine continued, "How did such a small group of you manage to stall an entire army?"

The group of Druids whose eyes were still glowing each cracked a smile. Iseldir gave them a knowing glance and laid his hands, palm-up, to catch some of the rain that was still steadily falling around them. Not a single drop touched his skin.

"Never underestimate the power of bad weather," he said, as Gwaine's horse trotted into the clearing.

The moment Gwaine had joined the Druids, the rain stopped. Or, at least it stopped falling on him, which was a blessing in and of itself. His clothes were still a little damp, but even most of that problem had been solved by the druids. Plodding along with his horse in tow, Gwaine wondered what it must be like to have so much power. He started to think about the amount of convenience it must have been for Merlin, but stopped himself when he realized what it had ultimately lead to. Instead, he marvelled at how much prettier the rain was when it wasn't in his eyes and dripping down his face.

They walked in silence for the better part of half an hour before Iseldir finally broke it.

"Sir Gwaine," he said, walking slightly ahead of the group. Gwaine hummed in response, still in awe of the situation he had found himself in.

Iseldir continued, "We are aware that Emrys is in trouble, but given the nature of his magic and his no doubt declining health, we have been unable to contact him further. What are the extent of his injuries? Are you aware of his current condition?"

Gwaine looked sharply at Iseldir, his wonderment gone. This was the part he had dreaded.

"He's, uh…" he took a moment to run his hand through his wet hair, trying to find the words, "He ain't doing too great."

He looked Iseldir in the eye. The Druid looked worried and a little sad at the revelation, but not surprised.

"That was to be expected. From Linona's descriptions and what I could gather, we weren't expecting him to be in good condition."

"Then why didn't you come sooner?"

"We did not want to approach the castle. We feared in doing so, we may worsen the situation even further."

Gwaine nodded, staring straight ahead. They were closer to Camelot now.

"It's the collar."

Iseldir raised his eyebrows. "The collar?"

Gwaine winced and nodded. "We've tried everything, but we can't get it off. Not even the jewelsmith knew how."

Iseldir's mouth was a grim line. "I see. And this is a magic suppressing collar, I imagine?"

Gwaine nodded silently. Iseldir looked at the sky for a moment, as if searching for something. "Then we must get there quickly. A creature of magic cannot survive with a collar like that on it for very long, and I fear we may already be too late to remove it."

Gwaine didn't respond. He was too busy picturing Merlin, living the rest of his life with a piece of iron around his neck. What would that do to his mental state, being forced to show the mark of a prisoner for the rest of his days? How would he cope, if he survived at all? He didn't want to think about it.

The group continued their slow walk, the rain falling around them.

Their pace was so slow, in fact, that Gwaine worried it would take them days to reach the castle. How long could a little rain hold off Morgana? And how long could a collar stay around a warlock's neck before it was too late to take it off? Shouldn't they be moving faster? He was about to voice his opinion when a shout from the back of the druid group caught his attention. Pulling himself out of his thoughts, he followed their line of sight until his eyes came to rest on the tower of Camelot's castle rising from the tree line.

"How-?" He began, but stopped when he saw Iseldir's amusement. It was magic, of course. The same magic that was keeping them dry and making their eyes burn gold had must have moved their pace to an impossible speed. Shaking his head, Gwaine lead the small group towards Camelot's gates.

As they arrived, the guards stopped them, glancing suspiciously at the Druid's glowing eyes.

"They are not allowed within the castle," one spoke. The other nodded behind him. Gwaine's brow furrowed.

"Now listen here," he said, leaning in close to the guards, "I am to escort these people into the castle by orders of the king himself, and to defy me is to defy king Arthur."

The guards didn't seem convinced.

"And how do we know you are following the king's orders?"

Gwaine rolled his eyes. "Ask him!"

"We cannot leave our post."

Gwaine threw his hands up into the air. The druids looked at him apologetically.

"Gwaine?!"

The knight turned at the sound of his name to see Owain approaching, lapong from the wall he had apparently been sitting on. He let out a breath of relief.

"Sir Owain," he said, nodding. The head guard nodded back.

"What is the problem?"

Gwaine nodded towards the guards, then to the druids at his back. "I need to have passage into the castle."

Owain looked at the druids. Then, in a whisper:

"Does this have anything to do with the kid?"

Gwaine nodded gravely. Owain took a step back. "Let them through!" He announced, ushering the guards back. They let out a few muted protests, but didn't stop them as Gwaine and the group walked into the castle.

They arrived at Gaius's quarters to a scene of chaos.

"Gaius?!" Gwen's voice rang out, echoing off of the vials of potions and books on the shelves around her. Before her, Merlin was on the cot, thrashing against his blankets, tearing the bandages around his arms and torso in a feverish fit. "Gaius, come quickly!"

The old physician shuffled down the stairs, took one look at Merlin, and immediately grabbed the boy's shoulders, forcing them back onto the bed with surprising strength. "Get his legs," he said, "so that he doesn't injure himself further. We'll just wait this one out."

Gwen did as she was told, and within moments he had calmed again, his breathing slightly fast but not erratic. They released him and sat back down.

"I don't know how much more of this I can take," Gwen said. Gaius shook his head.

"Me neither."

It was at that moment that Gwaine decided to make their presence in the doorway known.

Both Gwen and Gaius's heads snapped up as the entire group entered the room, filling the space silently.

"You found him," Gaius breathed. Gwaine nodded.

"We have come to aid with the collar," Iseldir said, taking a step into the center of the room.

"Yes," Gaius said, "Yes, thank you. Thank you."

Iseldir held up his hand. "May I see Emrys?"

Gaius stood up immediately, as did Gwen. "Yes, of course," the physician said, moving away from the cot.

Iseldir approached the cot and looked at the warlock for a moment.

"How long has he been awake?" The druidian leader asked.

Gwen shook her head. "He hasn't."

Iseldir looked at her and smiled a little.

"Well, he is now."

Chapter Text

"He's what?" Gaius squawked, rushing towards Merlin's side. Iseldir had already knelt by the boy's head, and was now whispering something, blocking the rest of the room's view.

"Merlin?" Gaius's voice was cautious. Iseldir stopped murmuring and leaned back to allow a clear view of the warlock's face. Sure enough, Merlin's eyes were slivered open, his jaw slack and his brow furrowed. At the sound of his name, he turned his head painfully to the side, his half-lidded eyes landing on Gaius. His throat worked beneath the collar.

"Guh..." He slurred.

Gaius knelt down and took his hand, squeezing it gently. Merlin blinked, his eyes rolling back into his head for a moment, the whites painfully visible. Then he shuddered and winced and opened them again, dull blue in sunken sockets.

"Guh...iss…?" he forced out, his brow creasing with confusion.

Gaius felt his eyes fill with tears. "Yes, my boy. It's me."

Merlin blinked slowly, his eyes unfocused. "M'...neck...hu-h'rs." His brow suddenly crumpled, and a few tears ran down his cheeks. He took a deep, painful breath between each word. "'M...s'ry." His bony fingers moved to touch the collar around his neck, and his eyes filled with tears. "'M suh-sorry."

"There's no need to be sorry." Gaius said, placing a hand on Merlin's forehead. At the contact, Merlin swallowed painfully.

"'I-I- 'm dead?" He whispered, his eyes turning to look at Iseldir sadly. "Let y-yuh-duh-down. 'M s'ry."

Iseldir shook his head. "You're not dead, Emrys."

Merlin nodded. "'M duh-dead. 'M dead."

"No, Emrys. You are safe now. You are with Gaius." Iseldir tried catching the warlock's eye as he spoke, but his eyes kept wandering around the room, stopping on different faces without focusing.

"I don' hafff plans. Promise."

"We know you don't, mate," Gwaine said, emerging from the back of the room. Merlin's eyes widened. "'G'aine?"

The knight smiled. "It's me."

Merlin smiled back. "Hm. G-Good."

His eyes slipped closed, but opened again not a moment later.

"Please," Merlin gasped, his fingers gripping the collar once again, "Oh g'd, please. Suh-stop."

Iseldir stood very quietly, his eyes full of sympathy and maybe a little regret. Gwaine's stomach dropped as he remembered the conversation in the woods, but willed it away. Merlin couldn't live with a collar around his neck for the rest of his life. He wouldn't survive it.

Iseldir knelt so that he was eye-to-eye with Merlin.

"Emrys," he said. His voice was full and loud over Merlin's frail one. Merlin's eyes traveled to look at his, fingers still clenched against the collar.

"Please," Merlin whispered, "it huh-hurrs." His voice was only marginally stronger than before. He winced as a tremor moved down his spine.

"I know, Emrys." Iseldir stole a glance at Gaius, and when he spoke, he spoke to the entire room. "If I could take the pain away right now, I would. But magic does not work on iron, and the collar is designed to react to any spell being cast inside of it." He looked at Merlin thinking out loud, "and yet... the pain isn't from casting, is it?"

Merlin stared blankly. Iseldir sighed before repeating the question, slowly, and Merlin finally shook his head.

Iseldir nodded. "I thought so. You gain magic from the earth and the air around you. It sustains you, both your soul and your body." He looked back at Gaius, "The pain isn't directly from the collar."

"What are you playing at? He-" Gwaine was cut off by Iseldir before he could finish.

"I said not directly. Collars like these- they need to be activated by spells. By casting. Otherwise, they are just preventing the sorcerer from accessing his magic. But Merlin is a warlock, so instead of having magic, he is magic. He is feeling pain because his body is unable to properly sustain itself without the aid of its magic."

"So it's killing him," Gaius said quietly.

"It should be," Iseldir furrowed his brow as he searched Merlin's face, "but you're still here." He reached his hand out, "May I?"

Merlin gasped, but jerked his head slightly in a nod.

Iseldir ran his fingers along the runes of the collar, then the inner jewels, cringing a little as they made contact with his own skin. Merlin made a few pained noises, but didn't move away from the touch. The Druid's frown deepened.

"There isn't…" He ran his fingers along one of the runes again. "Who etched these?"

"The court scribe," Gaius said. "Is there something wrong with the runes?"

Iseldir shook his head, but his brow was still furrowed. He stood up. "No, but I thought there would be. These collars can kill a warlock, even without the jewels. They simply cannot survive without their magic. I assumed there was some kind of flaw in the etching, something letting a little magic in, and that was why he was doing so well."

Everybody looked at Merlin. They didn't want to think about how this was doing well.

"But there are no flaws. The runes are complete. The only other way the collar could possibly be allowing enough magic in to keep Merlin alive would be if there was a hole in the collar itself somewhere. But in that case, I would be able to feel the magic flow to the area, as would Merlin, so it is obvious that there is no hole. And yet… it's almost as if he isn't fully inside of the collar."

"But that is impossible," Gaius said.

Iseldir pursed his lips. "That may be, but all the same, Merlin is still breathing." He knelt again, resting a hand on Merlin's cheek. The warlock flinched but quickly calmed himself, his glassy eyes coming to rest on Iseldir. Iseldir held the eye contact as he spoke. "Where is your magic, Emrys?" He whispered, "Can you feel it?"

Merlin continued to stare, reactionless.

"Emrys, I need you to hear me. You must feel it somewhere; it is the only thing keeping you alive. Where is it coming from? Please, listen to me."

Merlin whimpered and shook his head, attempting to shy away from the Druid's contact. Iseldir held firm, keeping his hand on his cheek, urging him to open his eyes again. There was a long moment where nothing happened, and then Merlin's eyes fluttered open and came to rest on Iseldir.

"Destiny," he gasped, and Iseldir immediately understood.

"We need to get Arthur in here," Iseldir said, standing suddenly. The occupants of the room all stood as well, but more in a frantic confusion than in any productive way.

Finally, Gaius got his wits about him. "Why?" He asked, glancing from Merlin to Iseldir.

Iseldir was speaking excitedly. "Because he and Arthur are tied together with a destiny that has existed since the beginning of time. What is it, 'two sides of the same coin?' 'A half cannot truly hate that which makes it whole?' Either way, he and Arthur are incomplete without each other. They do not and cannot exist independently. And so the collar might be cutting Merlin off from his magic, but his destiny is still intact. And that destiny, that magic, is still a part of Arthur. And so Arthur is the weakest link. He is the part of Merlin that is free, whose magic is not bound. The hole in the barrier that should be killing Merlin. So to remove the collar, we need to exploit that hole. Magic does not work on iron, but there are ways to enlarge a hole."

"But how do we do we do that? If there is no physical hole-"

"It's the magic connection between Merlin and Arthur that is the hole, not Arthur himself. We need to utilize that connection, to press the magic directly through that tunnel, so to speak.

"But we can't just go about casting spells on Arthur, surely." Gaius was slowly approaching

"Of course not. The magic has to be direct. It has to go through Arthur. The king needs to wield it himself."

Chapter Text

Nobody moved.

Nobody spoke.

Instead, all eyes turned towards Iseldir in varying mixes of confusion, hope, and dread.

"Could you say that again?" Gwaine asked slowly. Iseldir gave him a sympathetic look.

"I said, Arthur needs to wield the magic himself." He surveyed the rest of the faces in the room, "I realize that this is not something you would like to hear."

Gwaine nodded, more to himself than to anybody else. "Yeah, that's what I thought you said."

The silence that followed was oppressive. It seemed the entire room was at a loss for words. Gaius knelt to feel Merlin's forehead, only to find that the sorcerer had fallen unconscious again, this time in a slightly more natural slumber. He sighed. He wondered if Iseldir had had anything to do with Merlin's miraculous return to consciousness. He couldn't see how, considering the collar had blocked even the most basic of magic. Perhaps Merlin's body had simply sensed it needed to be awake, if only for a moment. Or maybe Iseldir and the Druids were powerful in more ways than Gaius knew. Either way, it was truly a miracle that Merlin had been able to speak to Iseldir, and that Iseldir could comprehend what he had been trying to convey- even if what he was trying to convey seemed virtually impossible.

It occurred to him that Merlin had probably already known about this, had already been aware that his only way out of the collar was through Arthur. How long had he known? Had he been aware of it from the moment the collar was put on him, or had he figured it out later? Had Iseldir speaking to him brought about the realization? Not that it truly mattered, Gaius supposed-the result was still the same. Someone was going to need to speak to Arthur.

Outside, the rain and wind howled and slapped against the windows.

They found him in his chambers.

His crown was laying on his desk, its golden finish dulled by the blue-grey color that leaked through the tall windows. There were some papers scattered beneath them, covered in his thick, heavy-handed scrawl. A few had been blurred illegibly, making it obvious that the windows had only been recently closed; that they had been open during a good portion of the storm. His bed was unslept in.

And Arthur was sitting at his desk. Ink stains on his fingers. Rain in his hair. Jaw in the palm of his hand.

Gwen stood in the doorway once again, unsure of how to approach. The king hadn't noticed her knock or her entrance, and had yet to notice her presence at all. Behind her, in the hallway, she could hear the nervous breathing of Gwaine and Iseldir as they waited for her to signal them in.

She cleared her throat. Arthur didn't look up, and she wondered if he was actually asleep. She took another few steps into the room, and her foot caught on a pile of crumpled paper, scattering it across the floor. She had a moment to glimpse the blurred remnants of the words "decree," and "war," "imprisonment" and "apology," before Arthur jerked and looked up sharply, immediately making eye contact. Gwen suddenly felt like she'd been caught doing something wrong, but shook it off.

"Can I help you?" Arthur asked. The words were formal, but the tone was soft. He sounded tired. Gwen's chest ached with sympathy even as her stomach twisted with anger. She folded her hands in front of her.

"Yes." She broke eye contact, "Gwaine came back."

And although she wasn't looking, she knew Arthur's eyes had widened.

"Alone?" he asked. She couldn't read his tone, and paused for a moment. Arthur remained silent, waiting for her answer.

"No," she said. "Not alone."

This time, there was obvious relief in his voice.

"Has he seen to Merlin?"

"Yes." She bit her lip.

"And?"

"And…" she hesitated again, looking back towards the door. She couldn't see Iseldir or Gwaine, but she knew they were listening. "He couldn't help."

Arthur sank back into his chair. His shoulders slumped for a moment as his hand rose to run down his face and pinch his nose and eyes. He took a deep breath, keeping his eyes lowered towards his desk and covered with his hand as he spoke.

"I see." His voice was tight. His jaw was locked. "And is he still here?"

Gwen took a step towards the door. She did not trust this Arthur. "Yes, he is."

"And he has tried everything within his power?"

She sighed. "His power doesn't matter, Arthur. You know that."

"I know what?" His voice was louder, closer to the edge of his teeth.

"Magic doesn't work on iron."

"Goddamit!" He snapped, standing from his desk and knocking his crown off of it with an angry sweep of his hand. "God fucking dammit!" He ran his fingers through his hair, breathing heavily through his nose and teeth. Gwen stood stock still, determined to stay and afraid to.

"So that's it, then?" he hissed. "That's all there is?" His hand snapped down to slam against his desk, and an inkwell teetered and fell, shattering against the stone floor, splattering the desk and papers there like dark blood. His fingers curled into a fist. "Do you understand what that means?" There were flecks of ink on his fingers, and as he moved his hand he smeared them against the desk. "Do you get it?"

For a moment, Gwen forgot her anger. "Arthur…" she said softly, but Arthur punched his desk again, cutting her off.

"No, Gwen! You don't get it! Do you know what I did? Do you know? I put that thing on him! It was me! I walked right up and I reached around his neck and snap! It was done. And I liked it, Gwen. I really did. He was delivering me breakfast when- Gwen, he was doing his goddamn job- We hadn't even spoken that morning. I didn't even make eye contact, I just came up behind him and- You know he didn't even say anything, he didn't have any time to, he just dropped everything and there was wine everywhere and I liked it. And now-" He cut himself off, still breathing heavily, before muttering, "Magic doesn't work on iron."

Gwen stood, stunned. This was not the way she had expected it to go.

"Please," he murmured, and his gaze met Gwen's again. His breathing was slowing, hiccuping in his chest like he was about to break down. "There needs to be- there can't just be nothing. It's Merlin, for gods' sake- He can't just- I can't be-" He ran his hand through his hair, and ink darkened his forehead and everything he touched.

"Arthur."

Both the king and the queen jumped at the third voice in the room. Gwaine stood in the doorway, Iseldir behind his shoulder. The king's eyes widened and he bowed his head slightly.

"Iseldir," he said, and his cheeks colored with shame.

Gwaine moved to the side to allow Iseldir access to the room. The Druid stepped delicately, avoiding the paper and ink and broken glass on the floor, until he was standing only feet away from Arthur, just behind the fallen crown.

"I'd hoped we could meet again in better circumstances," Iseldir said. Arthur swallowed.

"As did I."

Iseldir knelt and lifted one of the wet pieces of paper. "Looks like you have been busy, your highness." He tilted the paper, watched as the ink and rainwater ran onto the floor. "A new decree?" He lifted another paper. "Or an apology?"

Arthur didn't reply, only watched the diluted grey drip from the paper's edge. Iseldir placed them on the desk.

"I see." The paper hissed as it was slid across the wood towards Arthur. "But you believe it's too late."

Arthur refused to look at both the Druid and the papers. "It doesn't matter," he said. "It is too late."

A half-smile spread across Iseldir's face. "No, it is not. You still have time."

Arthur laughed. "But there's nothing to be done. You cannot help him. Nobody can. What is an apology going to do? What is a decree going to reverse? I can't go back and change things. I've killed him already. It's just a matter of time."

"A decree could prevent this from happening again. God only knows how many innocent sorcerers have been in Merlin's place. And an apology isn't enough, but it is a start." He nudged the crown with his foot, watched it roll across the floor until it reached Gwaine. The knight picked it up and held it awkwardly in his dirty fingers.

"And," Iseldir said, looking at the crown, "There is something you can do for him."

Arthur started at that, his pale eyes searching Iseldir's face. "I have tried to write the legalization proposal many times," he said, motioning towards the papers, "and I have tried to write an apology. But nothing is big enough."

"This isn't something to write down, sire. It is something to be done. Something that I cannot do."

The king continued to search the Druid's face, trying to find answers.

"How far are you willing to go to save your servant?" Iseldir asked, and Arthur breathed in.

"As far as it takes."

"Are you quite sure?"

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

Iseldir smiled. "Then you better finish writing that decree," he said. "And welcome to the world of magic users."

Chapter Text

"Sorry?" Arthur's eyes reminded Gwaine of a fish, bulging and confused.

Iseldir reached over and plucked the crown from Gwaine's fingers. "You did say you would do whatever it takes to help Emrys, did you not?"

"Yes, but I don't understand-"

"And as far as I can tell, you are also dealing with the problem of Morgana? There are much bigger things at stake than just Emrys's life or your destiny. Camelot is at stake as well. You need him as much as you want him to recover."

Arthur closed his mouth. It was true. He not only wanted Merlin to be alright; he needed him. Camelot needed him.

Iseldir continued, "the collar that you so carelessly bestowed upon Emrys is made of iron, making it impossible for me or any other magical creature to remove it."

A loud breath came out of the king's nose, and he looked at his feet. "Yes. Yes, I know." He ran his hand over his hair nervously. "But you said there's a way to fix that, right?"

"There is a way for you to fix that, yes."

"But what was it you said about magic users?"

Iseldir gave a little half smile. "I said welcome."

"Right, and what did you mean by that?"

Iseldir gave Arthur a long look. Arthur stared, uncomprehending. Then his eyes widened as realization dawned on him.

"Wait, now surely you don't mean-" he shot a glance at Gwen, then Gwaine. "-I'm n-not-"

"You said you would do whatever it takes," Gwaine said.

"Yes, but I didn't know that- I can't just drop everything and renounce my father's work! I couldn't!"

"You were already writing a decree to legalize magic, what is the difference?" Iseldir motioned towards the paper scattered around them. "Obviously you have already decided to renounce your father's work."

"The difference is me," Arthur muttered, glaring at the papers as if they were the enemy.

"No, the difference is your commitment."

Arthur moved his chin sharply up towards the Druid, his eyes unreadable. "I am fully committed to legalizing sorcery. I am fully committed to apologizing for the wrongs I have perpetrated against Merlin. Don't think for a minute that I am not."

Iseldir shrugged. "I believe your guilt is true, Pendragon. You believe that Emrys is not evil and that magic is not what corrupts. And yet you are still afraid of it, why?"

"I'm not afraid." The king's voice was low and careful.

"Then join me."

"No."

"Then condemn Merlin to his fate." Iseldir sounded only slightly angry. He had expected such a blatant refusal, of course. The king had been told since birth -brainwashed, really-that what he was being asked to do was the ultimate act of evil. But Arthur was smarter than that. He needed to be.

"Arthur, if you don't do this, Merlin will die."

Gwen's voice cut through the arguing. Every man in the room turned to look at her. Her eyes were dark and serious. Her mouth was set in a grim line. She was powerful and strong and so, so brave, and Arthur felt like the world was crumbling around him. She was right. She had always been right, ever since this whole thing had started. And she was speaking the truth now- Merlin would die. Not only that, but Gaius had said that without Merlin, Morgana was undefeatable. Merlin would die. Camelot would fall.

Iseldir rubbed his chin, watching Arthur. He nodded towards the paper on the table.

"Write the decree first. Legalize magic. Skip the advisors and finish the document."

"But the people…" Arthur trailed off. How would the people of Camelot react? "They have been told for over twenty years that magic is evil, magic is dangerous, magic is the source of all corruption. There will be riots. There will be protests. The knights are already preparing for war, we do not have the resources to stop an uprising as well."

"The people of Camelot have all lost loved ones to the purge. Acceptance will come slowly."

"But Morgana will attack. And if I have legalized magic just days before that, the repercussions will be unheard of."

"Yes, but with magic legalized you may help Merlin without the restraints of your own laws, and you might even gain some magical allies."

"In less than a fortnight? Impossible."

"Then write the document and announce it at a later date."

Arthur opened his mouth, but could find nothing to say.

"As for your job," Iseldir continued once he knew he had won, "you may come with me. We have much to discuss and even more to learn."

The king took an involuntary step backwards. "Where are we going?"

Gwaine and Gwen were already moving towards the door. Iseldir smiled thinly. "To Gaius," he said. "You need as much help as you can receive, and I have a team of Druids, an experienced physician, and the world's greatest sorcerer in that room."

Arthur's entrance when he arrived at Gaius's chambers was less than stellar.

Gwen and Gwaine came in first, and the Druids all surged forward, their eyes full of questions.

"Did the king say yes?"

"Where is Iseldir?"

"Will Emrys survive?"

Gwen and Gwaine didn't have time to answer any of them before Iseldir entered, looking serious but not unpleased. Looking back at Gwen and Gwaine, the Druids noted that neither of them had looked particularly unhappy either-and was that a hint of a smile on Gwen's lips?

Gaius was doing his best to remain calm, but even he was anxious to hear the news.

Iseldir lifted a hand for silence in the small room. It was unneeded, however, because it was only a moment later that Arthur walked in, and whoever had been talking abruptly stopped.

All eyes turned to the king.

Arthur kept his head bowed as he walked in. He had been trying to avoid Gaius's chambers for a number of reasons, and now all of his fears were coming true.

Gaius was standing beside Merlin's cot, as was Percival. A group of druids-at least ten, maybe twelve, was huddled in the corner. And if that wasn't disconcerting enough, half of them had glowing golden eyes.

And they were all looking directly at him. Arthur froze just inside of the doorway.

"Uh-" he started. What was he supposed to say? Thank you for coming? I'm sorry? Welcome? Was he supposed to even say anything at all?

"The king has agreed to our request," Iseldir announced, and Arthur breathed a sigh of relief. Maybe he could get out of the room without saying a word.

The room's reaction was one of stunted joy. Gaius let out a breath and pressed his hand to his forehead. Percival gave a curt nod. The druids broke into smiles and a few gave Arthur looks of encouragement. Arthur felt distinctly uncomfortable, and tried to look at anything in the room aside from a person.

Instead, Arthur felt a hand on his shoulder, gently leading him further into the room.

"We need to begin immediately if we want to get the collar off of Emrys in time," Iseldir was saying, directing Arthur to the back room where Merlin used to sleep, "Please do not disturb us." Arthur kept his eyes forward as the two of them moved, avoiding eye contact.

When they passed Merlin, however, he couldn't help himself from looking.

He looked...horrible wasn't even the right word. Like a corpse, perhaps, or like he was on his deathbed. Arthur couldn't bring himself to observe the details. He was still sick and still hurt, and that was really all Arthur needed to know.

Iseldir pushed the door to Merlin's old chambers open, and Arthur was struck with a combination of nostalgia and guilt. The room looked as if it had been untouched since the day Merlin had been arrested. The bed was still unmade. A goblet, half-filled with musty water, laid untouched on a small table, an open book next to it. A dirty blue shirt was crumpled on the floor beside a used red neck scarf.

Arthur briefly wondered what the guards had done with the red shirt and blue neck scarf that Merlin had been brought into the dungeons with, but quickly abandoned the thought; they had been discarded, no doubt.

Iseldir took a seat on the wooden planks that made up Merlin's floor and motioned for Arthur to do the same. He did so, but only after half of the Druid group came filing in behind him.

With eight people and the door closed, Merlin's room felt uncomfortably small.

"Why-" Arthur began, but stopped himself.

Iseldir rose his eyebrows. "Yes?"

"Why did half of them stay outside?"

Iseldir smiled. "Rain, Pendragon, is a rather magical thing. Now, shall we begin?"

The Druids sat down silently, pulling Arthur back so that they were all seated in a tight circle.

"What happens now?" Arthur asked as Iseldir lit a candle and placed it on the floor.

"Now, young king, we must find your magic."

Chapter Text

Oh. Arthur shifted his weight. "What if I don't have magic?"

The Druids in the room chuckled, and Arthur suddenly felt even more out of his depth than before. "Everybody has magic," Iseldir said, "It's just a question of how much."

"Well, then what if I don't have very much?"

Iseldir was fiddling with his robe, pulling something out of his sleeve. "Then we'll make do."

He revealed a small cloth pouch, cinched closed with a bit of twine. Opening it, Iseldir withdrew a chunk of red stone and placed it on the ground in front of Arthur. He then laid a silver ring, a sliver of charcoal, and a clear crystal beside it, in a neat little line.

"What are these for?" Arthur asked. He had instinctively leaned away from the objects. The Druids had moved into a slightly wider circle, closing it behind him so that Arthur and Iseldir were now seated in the center, facing one another.

"It can take an enthusiastic pupil days, even weeks, to find their own inner magic," Iseldir said, "but we do not have that kind of time. These materials may help to shorten the process."

Arthur was still leaning away from the collection of magical artifacts, eyeing them with suspicion. "I see," he said, his voice tight.

Iseldir pointed to the sliver of charcoal. "This is common charcoal. It will not harm you. It is found in your fireplace. You could go retrieve your own piece right now, if you wish." He moved his finger towards the red stone. "Calcite," he said. "I believe you have it in your own jewel stores. Again, harmless." He pointed to the crystal. "Quartz can no doubt be found in the decorations of the throne room," he pointed to the ring, "and if you prefer a ring of your own possession as a conduit, you are welcome to use it. As long as it is silver."

Arthur looked a little uneasy, but at least he wasn't leaning away from them anymore. "That's all these are?" He asked, motioning towards the objects, "no spells, no curses, no tricks?"

"None of that. Just regular, everyday materials."

Arthur seemed to relax a little more. He fiddled with his hands for a second before removing a ring. "This is silver," he said, laying it down on the ground, "we can use it instead. I do not want to take your possessions."

Iseldir nodded and took back his own, putting it into the pouch. "Very well. It might even be better, seeing as this ring has some meaning to you."

"Yes, I've had it for years."

The candle in the room flickered, and Iseldir produced a second one, placing it next to the first to make the room twice as bright. The storm outside howled against the windows, night still settled across the land.

"So the storm-it's your doing?" Arthur asked.

Iseldir nodded. "Yes. We needed to stall Morgana somehow."

Arthur looked at the window, but it was dark. He didn't speak for a moment.

"Thank you," he finally said, turning to face Iseldir once more. The Druid simply bowed his head and lifted the calcite.

"Are you ready to begin?"

Arthur took a deep breath, dragging his eyes from the window to the stone in Iseldir's hand.

"Yes," he said at last, "I'm ready."

Iseldir smiled warmly. "Put your ring back on, and make sure to remove all other jewelry."

Arthur did as he was told. It wasn't that hard-he was only wearing one other ring.

"Alright," Iseldir continued, "now please take this," he held up the calcite, "in the same hand as the ring."

Arthur took the stone. It was heavier than expected, and clicked against his ring unpleasantly. "Okay, now what?"

Iseldir sat up straight. "Magic is a part of the earth. It is a part of the sky and the air and it is a part you. It flows around you, through you, from you. But it returns to the earth. It always returns to the earth."

Arthur looked at the rock in his hand. It just felt like an ordinary rock to him.

"Calcite is a grounding stone. It is the blood of the mountains. It is what connects you to the natural world. Can you feel it?"

Arthur looked at the rock again. He supposed it was a nice color, and a nice size. It fit into his hand almost perfectly. He reasoned that it was a relatively pretty stone, if a little dirty. But it didn't feel like anything else. What he could feel were the eyes of the occupants of the room on him. A few seconds passed. Then a minute. Then another. As the time ticked by, Arthur looked at Iseldir.

"I feel nothing," he murmured.

"You need to focus."

Arthur closed his eyes. He squeezed the rock, felt it hit the ring and dig into his palm. He felt uncomfortable. He felt silly. There was nothing there, no connection. If he had magic, it was far away from him. He wasn't even sure what he was trying to feel. Another minute passed. Then another.

"There's nothing," Arthur said, squeezing the rock harder. He clenched his jaw, trying to force his fingers to feel anything but a rough piece of rock. Whatever the hell "the connection," was, Arthur wasn't a part of it. He loosened his grip, waited a minute. Tightened it again. Waited another minute. Over and over, he felt a cool rock in between his fingers, but nothing else.

Iseldir could see that Arthur was struggling. He was too tense, too stiff. They needed a different approach. No matter, there were many ways to establish a relationship with magic.

"Pendragon," he said, and Arthur looked at him, the stone still closed in his fist, suspended in front of him like an awkward weight. Iseldir reached down and picked up the charcoal, scraping it against the wooden floorboards, making dark lines in the grain. Arthur dropped his hand into his lap and watched.

"Magic is not just an energy. It can be solid, too. This is the Druidic symbol for earth magic," the symbol on the ground was sharp, with tight angles and sloping curves. "And this is the symbol that represents your destiny as a once and future king; the symbol that is the title of your prophecy."

The symbol curled intricately beside its partner within a circular frame, seeming to pulse in its wooden confines. Arthur took in the pattern, struck with its beauty. He'd never thought of magic as beautiful, yet he felt both appalled and drawn to this shape, as if he had seen it before. The stone in his lap felt heavier, warmer, the longer he studied the symbol. He was struck with a sudden curiosity; he wanted to know what it was, why the lines curved in that way, why they seemed to move.

Iseldir watched Arthur's fingers twitch, saw how the king's eyes followed the lines. He smiled. A visual learner. Iseldir had been a visual learner himself, relying on runes in his younger days rather than artifacts. Some people were drawn to materials. Others were drawn to symbols. it was only a matter of finding which one worked better. It seemed Arthur was no different than any other magic user or young Druid. "What is it?" He asked the king, who still seemed transfixed.

"What does it say?" Arthur asked.

"What do you think?" Iseldir responded, tilting back, "what do you think the title of your future could be called?"

Arthur leaned forward, resting his weight on his fists before him. "I'm not sure," he said, looking up. "You're not bewitching me, are you?"

Iseldir chuckled. "No, Pendragon. I am not."

"Then what does the symbol say?"

Iseldir folded his hands in front of him. "It should be familiar to you by now."

Arthur looked at him blankly. Iseldir sighed. It was becoming evident that Arthur needed to be walked through the entire process, not just nudged in the right direction. "Emrys," Iseldir said, "it says 'Emrys.'"

Arthur nodded, his body tensing. "Oh," he looked at the symbol again, "I should have known."

"You must remember that you and Emrys are one prophecy. Your soul is linked to his. You alone can save him, because you alone have this connection. As I told the others, you are two halves of a single whole. You cannot exist independently. You are the half of Emrys that is free, and you are the half of Emrys that can practice the magic needed to free him. And this symbol embodies all of that."

"But I have never practiced magic. All of this-" he motioned towards the Druids, the storm, the symbols, the rock in his hand, "is foreign to me. How can I recognize something that I have never felt before?"

"You aren't a stranger to magic, Pendragon. You forget that your destiny has already been foretold. You forget that a part of your soul resides in the greatest warlock to ever walk the earth. You forget that even your birth was the result of magic."

Arthur took a deep breath, taking it all in. He'd never realized how often his life and magic had intersected.

"And you feel something when you look at this symbol, do you not?" Iseldir pointed to the Emrys symbol.

Arthur nodded. "I do. But I don't know what to do with it."

Iseldir held his hand out, palm up. "May I see your hand?"

The candles threw shadows across the ceiling as Arthur placed his hand in Iseldir's, looking extremely uncomfortable with the contact. But Iseldir simply pressed Arthur's hand against the floor, over the Druid mark, the calcite trapped between. Arthur gasped in surprise, but Iseldir held his hand still. "Now I need you to close your eyes," Iseldir was saying, but Arthur was still staring at his hand, the pulse of the symbol traveling through the rock and up to his elbow. His fingers felt hot. "Pendragon," Iseldir's voice was louder, and Arthur jerked his head to look at him, flexing his fingers instinctively. "Close your eyes."

Arthur did as he was told, his eyes squeezing shut.

"Hold out your other hand," Iseldir commanded, and Arthur did, his fingers trembling. Iseldir dropped the quartz crystal into it, and his hand curled into a fist around it. "And whatever you do, keep your eyes closed."

The quartz was cool in his palm, a stark contrast to the vibrant heat coming from the calcite in his other. Arthur felt, rather than saw, Iseldir guide his hand to the floor and press it over the earth magic symbol. The crystal immediately when from cool to icy cold, and as much as Arthur wanted to pull away, Iseldir's hands kept him in place.

"Remember that you are doing this for Emrys. With Emrys," Iseldir was saying. "Remember that you are a creature of this world, and a man born from magic. Remember that this feeling is familiar. That magic is natural, not foreign. Can you feel it, Pendragon?"

Arthur gasped as something in his chest shifted, as a pressure he had never realized was there suddenly grew, his very being seeming to swell and stretch. He fought to keep his eyes shut as his head grew heavy and his fingers went numb.

"I can feel it," he began to say, the black space behind his eyelids flashing with red light, but was cut off as a sudden sharp pain shot from his wrists to his spine. He took a quick breath in, but the pain only spread, going from sharp to a dull ache, to a thick, heavy fog. The pressure intensified, and Arthur squeezed his eyes shut more tightly as his body began to shake. He felt the weight of hands on his shoulders, the warm breath of the Druids near his face and ears and the back of his neck. The pressure in his chest grew and the hands on his shoulders made his skin itch. "I-I can't-" He couldn't finish his sentence, couldn't breathe as the pressure pressed against his ribs. The lights behind his eyelids flashed more quickly, and he could hear the Druids chanting.

His mouth opened to speak, but his words were transformed into groaning as his skin crawled, it was too hot, too small- and he was distantly aware that someone was groaning- that he was yelling-when suddenly the pressure came to a peak, and he screamed, his vision bursting with light, with a hot, vibrant gold that he somehow felt inside of his bones, inside of his organs, inside of his stomach and heart and soul. Arthur had a split second of clarity, where he was aware of the Druids around him, could feel their energies and the energies of the people in the room next door, could feel the stunted pain of Merlin's magic, before he took a deep, aching breath, and the world went black.

As Arthur slumped forward, unconscious, the Druids assisted him, guiding him to the ground gently with the hands that were already pressed against his shoulders. Iseldir let out the breath he was holding, suddenly aware that the door to Merlin's room had opened, Gaius and Gwen and Percival standing in the doorway with fear in their eyes. They'd heard the yelling and had come might be angry at Arthur, but in that moment, Iseldir knew they would eventually forgive him.

"He is fine," Iseldir said, addressing the worried trio. "Just unconscious." The group looked from him to Arthur, who was lying very still on the ground. "I promise you, he will wake very soon. He has just undergone an exceptionally grueling transformation. I am sure you will understand if he needs a few moment's rest."

"But did it work?" Gwaine asked, "Does he have magic now?"

Iseldir stood and moved towards the door, gently ushering them out of the room. "Possibly. We must wait for his return to consciousness to be sure."

Gwaine opened his mouth to ask another question, but Iseldir closed the door before he could start.

He knelt before the fallen king. All they could do now was wait.

Arthur's skull felt heavy. It was the first thing he was aware of: His head felt heavy. The second thing he was aware of was the warmth buried in the center or his chest. The third was the fact that he was pretty sure he was lying on the floor of Merlin's chambers. And the fourth was-

Well, Arthur actually had no idea what the fourth thing was.

And it was that feeling- that fourth thing- that had Arthur startling awake, his eyes opening and then abruptly slamming closed again. He groaned and rolled onto his back.

What was going on?

There were seven people in the room. Arthur knew this without looking. He knew it immediately upon waking up. In fact, he knew there were seven people in this room and an additional eleven in the room next door. He also knew there were two songbirds taking shelter from the rain in the bush beneath the window, and a rat scrambling beneath the floorbirds. Everything hummed and buzzed in his chest and head with a different frequency.

And he also knew that he really didn't want to open his eyes again.

"Sire," a voice was saying, and Arthur knew it was a female Druid's voice. He groaned.

A hand was on his shoulder, gently prodding him into wakefulness. "Sire, you must get up."

He shook his head, wincing. The hand disappeared, and then Iseldir's voice rang out above him:

"You need to get up, Pendragon. There is work to be done."

Arthur shook his heavy head. "My eyes," he said, squeezing them shut tighter.

Iseldir knelt down. "Your eyes are fine."

Arthur shook his head again. He wanted to explain that they weren't fine, that when he opened them everything was too bright and too gold, that his pupils burned strangely beneath his eyelids even now.

"Your eyes are fine," Iseldir repeated. "It is your magic that deceives them."

That got Arthur's attention, and he sat up in horror, his eyes opening of their own accord before he pressed his hands over them.

There was a moment of silence, then:

"Open your eyes. I have doused the candles. It should be dark enough in here now."

Arthur hesitated for a moment, but realized he needed to open his eyes eventually. Slowly, he forced his eyelids apart.

The room was nearly pitch-black. He couldn't tell what time of day it was because the storm was still slashing against the windows. Around him, he could see the vague outline of seven Druids. They each oozed a dull golden light.

Arthur quickly found Iseldir in the mass of grey-gold. "What-" he looked around again, took in the way the runes and the rocks on the floor were also glowing faintly gold, "-is this magic?"

Iseldir nodded. "The sensitivity-that is, the gold haze you are probably seeing and feeling- should begin to fade as your body adjusts, but yes. What you are feeling, what you are seeing and understanding, is all magic." He smiled and placed a hand on Arthur's shoulder. "Would you like to see?"

Arthur wasn't sure what he meant by 'see,' but nodded anyway. Already the golden haze was growing duller.

Iseldir pulled Arthur to his feet and lead him across the room. A small mirror was leaning against the wall, and Iseldir handed it to Arthur. "Take a look," he said.

Arthur turned the mirror and nearly dropped it in shock.

"Welcome," Iseldir said as Arthur studied his reflection.

Staring back at him was Arthur's own face-his blond hair, his strong jaw, his straight nose- but what he was fixated on were his eyes. His once-blue irises were now brilliant, glowing, and a vibrant shade of gold.

Chapter Text

"I think it rather suits you," Gwaine was saying, sitting on a stool across the room from Arthur, who was checking his reflection every few minutes. At another time the comment would have been lighthearted, but Gwaine had somehow managed to twist the words into something slightly more bitter.

Arthur gave him a long look, then turned back to his reflection. It had been two hours since he had initially woken up, and an additional five hours that he had been unconscious on Merlin's floor. It was early afternoon, although you couldn't tell from Gaius's chambers, with the storm and the dark windows. Gwen wouldn't stop staring at him from her station by Merlin's side, and even Gaius kept giving him strange looks. But Arthur was confined to Gaius's chambers until the magic died down enough for him to not attract attention, and even longer if he wanted to save Merlin.

The Druids were all in Merlin's little room, preparing something that they had yet to name, although they had felt compelled to force Arthur to leave the vicinity while they were doing it. So now Arthur was seated in the furthest corner of Gaius's chambers, trying to avoid making eye contact with Percival, Gwen, Gwaine, and Gaius while also avoiding looking at Merlin. He was failing at that last one, though, because every time Merlin wheezed or moaned or shifted in his sleep, Arthur's eyes went straight towards him. He was also having trouble ignoring Merlin on a magical level, as Arthur's sensitivity was still high and Merlin appeared to his eyes as a great, glowing beacon even as his magic told him that the warlock was in extreme pain.

Gods, he didn't know how much longer he would be able to stand this. Just being in the same room as Merlin's poisoned, corrupted scraps of magic was enough to make his stomach flip and his skin crawl. It was worse knowing that he had been the one to cause it, and knowing that whatever Arthur was feeling, Merlin was feeling it a thousand times worse.

Arthur's thoughts were interrupted and his head turned of its own accord as he felt an animal bolt through the muddy grass outside. Was this how Merlin felt all the time? So heavy and so light all at once? Every living thing humming and moving around him? No wonder he always seemed so distracted.

He managed to wrestle his attention away from the animal outside just in time to watch Percival kneel down and lift Merlin's body into his arms. They'd clothed him partially with a pair of loose breeches, but his chest was still exposed and Arthur could see individual ribs. He watched in morbid fascination as the giant knight positioned Merlin's body carefully before being handed a bowl of broth by Gaius. With slow, patient movements, Percival brought a spoon from the bowl to Merlin's lips, painstakingly feeding him a few drops at a time.

Arthur looked away. He couldn't bare to see the level of weakness that Merlin had reached under his care. Instead, he preoccupied himself with looking around the room and finding which things were glowing with the power of magic. Gaius himself held a faint aura of gold, along with a few of the books on his shelf. The herbs hanging to dry above them oozed their own weak pulses of magic, and even some random objects glowed faintly. The mortar and pestle in the corner. The handle of the water bucket. The wooden steps leading to Merlin's room.

Arthur found that nearly everything in the room was not without a small amount of magic, and as his eyes went to Percival again, he realized why. As Merlin was laid down on his cot, he left behind a fine dusting of gold on Percival's arms and lap. It seemed that Merlin left a piece of himself on everything he touched. A smudge of it on Gwaine's cheek. Caked under Gwen's nails. The amount of magic Arthur could feel within himself was nothing compared to what Merlin had, what Arthur could see, and he knew that the collar was only allowing a fraction of it through. He couldn't begin to fathom what Merlin's full power would be.

There was some clattering as Percival handed the bowl and spoon back to Gaius and settled Merlin onto the bed, and amidst the noise the door to the adjoining room opened.

Iseldir stepped out from the doorway delicately.

He surveyed the room, taking his time in observing where everybody was standing before speaking.

"We are ready," he said at last. "Please, bring Merlin in with you."

The whole group looked at Iseldir for a moment with owlish eyes. Arthur thought that perhaps it would have been comical nearly six weeks ago.

"All of us?" Gwaine asked, obviously used to being excluded from magical or Merlin-related meetings.

Iseldir nodded. "If you would like. I am sure Emrys would prefer it."

Percival grunted and picked Merlin up again, and Gaius lead the procession into Merlin's room. Arthur was the last one to enter, and he shut the door behind him. He found himself standing alone.

The Druids had already arranged themselves neatly on the far side of the room, beyond Merlin's bed. A few were kneeling while others stood in the back. Gaius, Gwen, Percival and Gwaine were standing in the nearest empty corner.

Arthur stayed where he was by the door.

With everybody inside, Iseldir began to speak once again.

"We will need to stop the storm while this ritual takes place," Iseldir explained. He motioned to the young female Druid in the front of the group, "Linona has taken it upon herself to make sure that Morgana remains well outside of the lands of Camelot. If Morgana shows any signs of mobilizing, the ritual will need to be stopped, and the storm restarted."

Everybody nodded in understanding. Iseldir immediately continued:

"Our goal is to free Emrys from the confines of his collar. As most of you have already been informed, the king is the only one whose magic can actually complete this task."

He motioned for Merlin to be laid on the cot. Percival set him down gently before backing away, joining the non-Druid group in their uncertain huddle.

"To begin, we need to be sure that the king's magic can, in fact, bypass the collar, and whether or not the act of doing so will have a tangible or negative result on him or Merlin. If there is such an effect, or Arthur is unable to penetrate the collar, then we will need to rethink our options."

The room was quiet as the possibility of failure settled heavily on the crowd.

"However, if Arthur is able to do everything successfully, then the ritual will continue and we might even be able to free Emrys this very night."

The energy in the room lightened, and all eyes turned to look at Merlin and the collar that bound him.

"We have prepared a very particular ritual that will be used once the king has gained access to Merlin." Iseldir made eye contact with Arthur, his fingers tented before him. "And we," he motioned to the Druids, "will be using you as a kind of battering ram. If you get in, then we can back you up as you cast the spell."

Arthur nodded, speechless. What was he supposed to say? There was not much that he could protest or question without consequently harming or killing Merlin. And although the thought of being used by a group of Druids as a battering ram in order to break an all-powerful warlock out of his magic-suppressing collar scared him to his very core, he would do it. In the face of the other options, he would do it.

He'd already let fear rule him once. He would not allow it to happen again.

"Good," Iseldir turned towards the cot. "Emrys," he said loudly, as if he were commanding him to wake up. As expected, Merlin didn't stir.

"He is very weak," Gaius cut in, walking up to cot. "I doubt he will wake again while the collar is on him. The fact that he has already woken once is a miracle."

Iseldir nodded in understanding. "I was being hopeful. The process is much easier if he is awake. But no matter, it will still work even if he is unconscious." He looked at the group in the corner. "Do you mind propping him up in a sitting position?"

"Not at all," Gwen said, and the group of four immediately went into action, Percival and Gwen pulling Merlin's limp body up by the arms just enough for Gwaine to slide behind. When they were done Merlin sat between Gwaine's legs, his body leaning up against Gwaine's chest and his head resting back on his shoulder.

"That is good," Iseldir said, "but Arthur needs to be in your place." He pointed to Gwaine.

Arthur stiffened. So did Gwaine.

"I don't know if that's such a good idea, mate," Gwaine said.

Iseldir shrugged. "It is the only way for the spell to work."

Gwaine looked at Arthur. "I… Are you sure?" His hands tightened a little around Merlin's torso. "I really think Merlin'd prefer being with me."

"I am sure he would. But unfortunately, there is no getting around it- The king needs to be the one in full contact with Emrys."

Gwaine hesitated for a moment more. He looked as if he was about to say something, but then thought better of it. He removed his hands from Merlin and shifted back a little.

"Fine," he said, and Arthur stepped in to take Gwaine's place.

As Arthur slid into place, Gwaine narrowed his eyes and hissed into his ear, "If you mess this up, you're a dead man."

Arthur swallowed and flinched as Merlin was lowered against his chest. This was the first time Arthur had had contact with Merlin since he'd brought him to Gaius, and he wished he could say things had gotten better.

They hadn't. Wrapping his arms around him, Arthur could feel every bone in Merlin's chest and the ridges of his spine. He was so thin it was as if Arthur was hugging himself, and his breathing was harsh and shallow in his ears. He weighed nothing. Arthur's stomach flipped and red-hot guilt wound its way from his stomach to his cheeks.

"I'm sorry," Arthur whispered into Merlin's ear, knowing full well that Merlin wasn't listening.

Nobody seemed to notice the moment, as Iseldir barked a few more orders that Arthur couldn't hear and the Druids took up positions around the bed, kneeling in a horseshoe shape around the two.

Iseldir himself stepped over the foot of the bed and knelt on the mattress before Merlin.

"Are you ready to cast your first spell, Arthur Pendragon?"

Iseldir's voice was quiet enough that only the Druids could hear them. Arthur looked at Gwen and Gaius, who were both looking at the group with worried eyes. He looked at Percival, whose face was perfectly neutral while his fingers tapped nervously against his sides. And then he looked at Gwaine, who had managed to look worried and angry all at once. He felt Merlin's breaths against his own, felt the magic that hummed in Merlin's veins and buzzed behind his own eyes.

He couldn't help the painful feeling that he had done this all before as he looked Iseldir square in the eye and replied:

"Yes."

Iseldir leaned in close.

"Repeat after me," he said, and Arthur's heart skipped a beat.

This was it. This was everything he had always feared. This was real. This was happening.

"Āblissian Infær-" Iseldir's mouth moved around impossible sounds.

"Ablissian Infaer…" The words came from his mouth before he was even aware he was speaking.

"-Hē sceole wiþ þǣm," The Druid managed to show some kind of encouragement in his eyes as he continued.

"-He sceole with thaem," The king's tongue felt thick against the roof of his mouth. He couldn't bend it the way Iseldir could, though he tried.

"-līchaman hine gedǣlan." Iseldir rocked back onto his heels.

"-lichaman hine gedaelan."

Arthur waited for Iseldir to continue, but Iseldir was still, watching Merlin carefully through his pale eyes.

"Is-" Arthur shifted Merlin's weight gently. "-Is that it?"

Iseldir remained silent. Arthur resisted the urge to roll his eyes and instead looked down into Merlin's dirty hair. Nothing seemed different.

"I don't think it worked. Should I say the words again?"

Iseldir continued to stare at Merlin. It was like he hadn't heard Arthur at all. Exasperated, Arthur turned to plead Gaius for directions.

"...Gaius?" He managed, but the old man made no response. He, too, had his gaze fixed on Merlin, totally still.

It was at that moment that Arthur realized it was more than just stillness- it was an unnatural lack of motion. As he turned his head, it became more and more obvious to Arthur that everybody- the Druids, Gwaine, Percival, Gwen, even the rain outside-was completely and utterly silent and still.

Frozen.

The word came to his mind unbidden, and everything he had ever known came crashing down with it.

The spell had worked.

The spell had worked.

Of course Arthur didn't know what he was expected to do now- was everybody freezing supposed to happen? Had time stopped? Were there instructions he was supposed to find? Should he get up and walk around, or just remain in the bed? Was Merlin frozen, too?

Arthur shifted the warlock's dead weight and looked down at his chest to see if it was moving-

And gasped.

His lap was empty.

Where moments ago Merlin had sat, there was now empty air.

Whirling around, Arthur's eyes raked the blanket he was seated on, as if somehow he expected Merlin to have hidden himself under the covers. Finding no one, he pushed himself off of the bed and searched the ground around it, being careful to avoid stepping on the statue-like druids.

Nothing. With dread pooling in his stomach, Arthur knew that Merlin was no longer in the room with him.

His first thought was that he had already failed. His only job was to help get Merlin's magic out of the collar unscathed, and he had already gone and lost Merlin.

His second thought, which came to him before his first thought had even finished, was that he needed to find Merlin. Immediately.

Since he was already up and standing without any immediate consequence, Arthur decided it was probably safe to inspect his surroundings.

What was this place?

Was he in a dream? Was he in the real, physical world? He didn't think it was the latter, because in the real world people didn't just up and disappear.

Which meant he was somewhere else. Was he inside the collar? Was this what the insides of magical collars looked like? If so, it was ridiculous.

Sighing, Arthur wondered whether anything he was seeing was real, or if it was all made out of that melty dream-substance that he imagined his thoughts were made of.

He approached a young Druid first. Kneeling with his hands folded in his lap, he could have been meditating had it not been for his wide, glassy eyes staring blankly forward.

Curious, Arthur waved his hand in front of the man's face. When he received no response, he cautiously nudged him in the shoulder. The man's clothing moved naturally, although the man himself made no indication that he had felt anything. Unnerved, Arthur stood up and walked to the window. When he pulled back the dark fabric that covered it, his fingers came away damp, but outside the rain was no longer falling. Instead, thousands of glistening droplets hung in the gray air.

Despite the situation, Arthur took a moment to appreciate the scene. It was as if the sky was adorned in strings of crystalline pearls. Even the moments of impact between the raindrops and the ground were frozen, with bits of water mid-shatter near the earth and trees and-

"...Arthur?"

A voice snapped the king out of the moment. Spinning on his heel, his hand went to his sword before he realized that he didn't have one.

Heart racing, he scanned the room. Everything was just as they were before.

"Hello?" Arthur called, taking a slow step back into the center of the room.

Nobody answered.

Arthur took a few more steps, his stance ready for an attack. But the room was small and no matter how hard he looked, he could see no movement aside from himself and his shadow.

"Arthur," the voice came again, tinny and this time devoid of emotion. Arthur shivered. It was coming from behind the closed door. He thought maybe he knew the voice, but it was hard to tell.

Steeling himself, Arthur walked up to the door, pulled it open, took a step, and let out a shout.

As Arthur's foot met empty air, he didn't even have time to pull back before the threshold he was standing on melted away and he was falling into a pit of absolute darkness.

Chapter Text

Arthur shivered.

Nothing.

There was nothing.

The surface below him was hard and cold, like polished obsidian. He couldn't see it, but he could feel it against the palms of his hands and through the fabric of his trousers. The air around him was cool and dry and dark.

Everything was dark.

Even squinting, Arthur couldn't see his hand in front of his face. He could have been in a space the size of a castle or the size of a broom closet. He could have been nowhere at all.

He thought the last one seemed to be the most likely.

He stood carefully, unsure of his own footing or even where the floor actually was, and looked up. Above him the darkness stretched endlessly, no indication as to where he had fallen from.

If he admitted it to himself, he wasn't even sure if he had fallen, or at least not in a conventional sense. It had certainly felt like he was falling, but then he was suddenly sitting, quite calmly, in the dark, and that didn't really tend to be how landing worked. He would have thought about it harder if it weren't for the fact that the things leading up to the fall were infinitely stranger.

He didn't want to give that much thought, either.

Arthur cast another glance into the sky. Nope, still no explanation. Dropping his head again, he slid his foot forward a few inches and felt to make sure there was ground in front of him. It was solid beneath his foot, and perfectly smooth and flat, and although this should have been reassuring, Arthur just found that it confused him more. With his hands out in front of him, he took another step, only to have the exact same result. There didn't seem to be any resistance or break in the monotony of the dark and the floor. With no change after an additional three steps, Arthur could only pray he was going in the right direction.

And thus began the longest, and perhaps the most hellish, walk he had ever been on.

Periodically, he would blink to see if maybe his eyes were closed, because he had never witnessed darkness this complete. But every time he opened his eyes again, he was still blind.

He kept walking.

Hours passed. Arthur wasn't sure if time was moving, but if it was then it was absolutely crawling by. There was nothing to mark how far he had gone or for how long, and the only sound was his boots scratching against the ground.

Eventually it got to a point where Arthur was absolutely sure he was going to go mad. He couldn't even remember if his eyes were open or closed. He'd taken to whistling to keep himself focused on something. His legs felt numb and his mouth felt dry and he was cold-

And then he stopped, his legs buzzing with the sudden change in pattern, and focused on the temperature.

Had it been this cold before?

He thought, surely, that it hadn't. After wandering for hours Arthur was sure the air was colder and refused to believe otherwise. Even just a few moments ago, it had been warmer than it was now. And even now the temperature was still dropping.

He stopped whistling and let out a breath of relief-at least something in this desolate no-man's land had changed- before he felt his eyes widen in shock-- his breath! It billowed from his mouth in an opaque white cloud. It was faint, but it was certainly visible. He breathed again. Now that he was paying attention to it, it was difficult to miss. It was impossibly bright against the darkness, and try as he might Arthur couldn't seem to find the sudden source of its illumination- the light seemed to be coming from somewhere inside of him, somewhere behind his teeth or in his throat. He breathed out again, deeply, and the white mist floated up and out of him, shimmering and hovering in the air before dissipating.

The air around him was crackling with cold now, his fingertips tingling with it. His toes curled in their boots. Every breath he took was an icy stab to his lungs, but he kept watching his breath hover in front of him. He was tired, and frustrated, and confused- but at least now there was something to focus on. He didn't know if it was going to help him find Merlin in any way, but he decided that any change was better than none at all.

He was starting to shiver. He needed to think clearly, but it was difficult to focus. His clothes were very thin.

"So," he said aloud, listening to his own voice echo around him, "do I go towards the cold or away from it?"

Of course, there was no answer. Arthur knew he sounded like a lunatic, but it wasn't as if there were other people to hear him. He sighed.

"I wish I had my sword," he muttered, absently touching his hip where his scabbard usually lay.

"And how would that help you?" Came a voice from somewhere above and behind him. Arthur took a sharp breath and spun around, but it was too dark to see anything.

"Show yourself!" Arthur exclaimed, before realizing he wouldn't have been able to see the person anyway.

"Typical Arthur," the voice said instead, and Arthur realized it was the same disembodied voice that had lead him to fall in the first place.

"What do you want?" The king snapped.

"Always so demanding. Do you think a sword will protect you?"

Arthur tipped his head back as the voice moved directly above him, "Who are you?" he shouted.

"Just give up now. You have no power here."

Frustration wormed its way into Arthur's gut.

"Answer me!"

The voice got further away. "This is your fault, you know," it said.

Something akin to rage, hot and sharp, filled Arthur's chest. "Tell me who you are!"

"Just give up now, little king."

"NO!" The word burst from his chest and Arthur roared it into the sky. His breath billowed from his throat in a great glowing stream, and Arthur jumped, horrified to see that it was gold.

Instead of dissipating immediately, it threaded its way far above his head before disappearing.

"I was wrong," The voice said after a beat of silence, and Arthur felt his mouth go dry as his heart jumped into his throat. The temperature of the room plummeted to the coldest Arthur had ever felt, like the very heart of winter had plucked him up and devoured him whole. His muscles seized at the change, and he found himself trembling as shivers pushed themselves down his spine.

"You," it continued, the anger palpable in the very air, "Are not Arthur. And you are not welcome here."

There was a great whirring, and Arthur felt the air being squeezed from his lungs as his body shook and his meager vision of his own breath blinked out. Dark. Dark. It was dark again and the pressure was impossible, there was no way his ribcage could take it, no way for his bones to not shatter under his skin-

And then suddenly it was warm again, and Arthur found himself kneeling. With a start he knew that the voice was gone, at least for the moment. His teeth were chattering. His eyes were squeezed shut. Slowly, Arthur's heart stopped pounding, and he managed to pry his eyelids apart.

His mouth dropped open. He hadn't moved; he was still in the lightless space, but now he had something else in there with him: a large door stood just a few inches from his nose.

His hands shaking, Arthur reached up and touched it. It was cool and solid, and like his breath, was illuminated by something within. The wood was a warm, rosy red with brassy hinges. Running his hands along the golden detailing that worked its way along the sides and center and culminated in a fine, heavy knocker, Arthur thought it was one of the most finely crafted doors he had ever seen. Without even thinking, he found himself wrapping his fingers around the handle, squeezing the metal, turning it until the latch caught...

The door swung open with an audible creak, and Arthur had only just managed to get his wits about him when the door opened fully and revealed what was inside.

A dungeon cell. Beyond the unlocked, ornate wooden door there was a stone cell almost identical to the ones in Camelot. The walls of damp gray stone glistened with torchlight, although Arthur couldn't locate any torches. Rotting strands of hay were scattered across the floor. It was almost a mockery to have such a beautiful entrance to such a horrid interior. What prisoner wouldn't be insulted being given a beautiful, unlocked door? It implied such a helplessness, as if even given the opportunity to escape, they would be unable to.

But what prisoner would be so feeble?

Arthur cast his eyes about the room. There were hundreds of rings set into the walls, each one sporting layers of manacles and chains. As his eyes neared the furthest wall, the amount of chains increased as the light decreased, and Arthur found himself squinting at a tangled ball of them.

His heart dropped.

From amidst the darkness and chains, a pair of dull, confused eyes peered sightlessly at Arthur's torso. Arthur could just make out the whites that glinted from beneath the deeply sunken eye sockets. As his eyes adjusted he began to see more: a mop of matted, oily hair. A thin, pallid hand, curled lifelessly, held in midair by a snarl of chains coming from every direction. There was a sliver of hollow, grimy cheek, and when the light caught just right, Arthur saw a blue iris roll just above the cheekbone.

Arthur's breath caught in his throat, and he choked on nothing, panic swelling his chest for just a moment-

"Wh-Who-?" Arthur managed, but trailed off. Taking another step closer erased any doubts he might have had; there was no mistaking the figure for anyone else. "...Merlin?"

Merlin's chin lifted just enough to allow his eyes to look at Arthur head-on, then dropped again. He blinked slowly and dragged his eyes up once again to look at Arthur through his lashes. He didn't lift his chin.

"Arthur…?" He rasped. His voice was brittle and reedy. He blinked again, then squeezed his eyes shut, swaying, unable to finish his sentence. .

"H-How did you…?" Arthur once again found himself at a loss for words as his eyes raked over Merlin's body. Someone had wound thick chains around what looked like every inch of him- there were chains wrapped around his torso, digging into his ribcage through his threadbare shirt, locked tightly to manacles enclosing every joint of every limb- God, there was barely enough space for Arthur to get a finger in. Even his neck was occupied by a grotesque necklace of chains.

Immediately, Arthur wanted to run to him. He wanted to seize the chains and break them in his fists, send the prison walls crumbling around them, grab Merlin and carry him away. But then he lifted an arm to do so, just slightly, just enough for him to realize that his instincts were very much present-

And Merlin flinched, violently, his eyes snapping open. The chains protested and clanked, jerking against their rings, digging more deeply into Merlin's skin as he fought to pull away. The movement must have only lasted a moment before Arthur pulled his arm back and stepped away, but it felt like an eternity before Merlin calmed again, his body trembling from exertion or fear or both.

Arthur had somehow forgotten that although it had been days since he had pulled Merlin from the dungeons and forgiven him, Merlin had had no time to pass judgement at all. Arthur was still the monster that hurt and abandoned.

"I'm sorry," he whispered, trying to keep his voice soft, trying to keep Merlin from flinching and hurting himself even more.

Merlin didn't seem to hear him. One of his long white fingers twitched, his brow furrowed, one of his boots scraped against the stone floor, and Arthur realized that he wasn't even holding himself up. The chains kept him standing upright.

"...you shouldn't be here," Merlin murmured, his eyes threatening to close again. Arthur could tell he was forcing himself to stay alert, to keep his eyes open and on Arthur. He was barely succeeding. Fear was keeping them open for the time being, it seemed, but unconsciousness was slowly gaining ground.

Arthur opened his mouth but was unable to find anything to say. He didn't understand this world, this situation, this frail, bony Merlin.

He jumped when he thought he saw the dark circles beneath Merlin's eyes grow longer.

"You… should go," Merlin sighed, his eyelids fluttering shut.

"What?" Arthur took a step into the room, placing his foot down as softly as he could.

"I said, you should go. Please." Merlin's voice was barely audible, and it was pleading. He shifted one of his legs and the chains clinked. There was a cuff around his ankle, around his calf, around his thigh. He seemed to be trying to move backwards, but was inhibited. His eyes opened and then only half-focused, landing somewhere above Arthur's head. He lifted his head up. "Now."

"But-" The king took another step, and Merlin's irises lazily moved down, as if trying to track the movement in slow motion. There was a chorus of heavy ringing as one of his legs twitched again, then an arm.

"Please, Arthur," he slurred. His tongue came out to lick his chapped lips, and it looked thick and heavy.

"I just want to help," Arthur said. He was squatting now, trying to appear smaller, like Merlin was a skittish colt and Arthur was trying to calm it down. Not that Merlin could bolt or even move away from him at any capacity other than a twitch.

The feeble prisoner behind the mockery of an elegant door.

"I don't…" Merlin's chin suddenly dropped, hitting hard against the metal at his throat. The skin split to reveal raw, pink flesh, but there was no blood. His mouth gaped open and he took a shallow breath, the chains preventing him from taking a full one. The material of his shirt wrinkled around his protruding ribcage, and with a start, Arthur realized the servant was wearing the same clothes he had been wearing the day he had been ordered to the dungeons. They were torn, and dirty, and looked slightly bigger than they usually did, but it was not an outfit Arthur would soon forget.

In fact, he even had bits of breakfast caked to his boots.

In short, Merlin looked like he had the moment Arthur had put the collar around his neck, minus the collar. Arthur's stomach churned. He was sure those clothes had been destroyed-probably burned- once they'd been confiscated.

"...I don't think you can," Merlin managed. His lips were blue. The gash in his chin had yet to bleed. "Just leave me be."

"Merlin, I can't just lea-" Arthur didn't finish his sentence. As he uttered the very beginning of his protest, he found himself lurched backwards, landing on his back a few feet from his original position. He gasped at the pain in his spine.

Staring at the grey stone ceiling, Arthur had only one thought: What had just happened?

He winced and rolled over, sitting up to face Merlin again.

The young warlock was slouched further, gasping quickly. His eyes were trained at the ground. He was trembling. Arthur noticed that the chains had taken on a distinctly bluish hue, but it faded quickly enough.

"You- need- to- go," Merlin said between each frantic breath. His tone was commanding. "Please- just- listen- to- me- now," the thin material of his shirt wrinkled around his protruding ribcage and creased and un-creased with each of Merlin's words. "You- can't- be- here-"

"Merlin," Arthur said. He kept his voice level, but Merlin just shook his head and squeezed his eyes shut.

"You don't understand," he moaned, his fingers curling into weak fists, "You can't. You can't help me. You can never help me. I can't be helped. You need to go, before things get worse."

"What could possibly get worse?" Arthur asked, the words coming out before he could even think about the possible repercussions.

Merlin let out a broken sob. "Please trust me," he said, "you don't want it to get worse."

"Don't want what to get worse?"

Merlin looked Arthur dead in the eye.

"Don't say I didn't warn you," he whispered just as his breath seemed to lodge in his throat. His eyes widened as he began to choke, and he looked desperately at his own chest. A chain had tightened around- no, a chain had appeared around Merlin's chest, tighter than the ones before it. Merlin's mouth gaped open as he fought to fill his lungs with air.

"Go," he mouthed, his breaths stuttering. Arthur watched in horror as Merlin coughed and shook, tilting his head back to expose the white column of his throat, working to breathe. Arthur got his wits about him and surged forward, his fingers finding the chains and pulling-anything to relieve some of the pressure on Merlin's chest-but the bonds were locked tight and unyielding, and beneath his fingers Arthur felt Merlin's movements slow and then stop altogether, his head falling back limply.

His chest ceased to move.

Arthur stood there in shock, his hands still wrapped around the chains. He couldn't move. Couldn't make a sound. Couldn't comprehend what had just happened-

Merlin's chest was still. His eyes were wide and unseeing.

Dead.

He was dead.

Arthur could do nothing.

Tears in his eyes, he loosened his hold on the chains. He reached a hand up to touch Merlin's chest, then his cheek, then to close his eyes out of respect-

And then, as if on puppet strings, the warlock's head twitched to the side, just a little. Then again. Slowly, his neck straightened and twisted. Arthur pulled his hand back, his task undone. Merlin's head tilted forward until his face was level with Arthur's, his jaw slack and hanging. Arthur looked with terror into Merlin's cloudy blue eyes.

"Ar...gur…" Came a wet gurgling somewhere deep in Merlin's throat. His chest didn't move. His jaw didn't shift. His eyes didn't blink.

"...Merlin?" Arthur squeaked.

The gurgling stopped. Merlin's face remained suspended. Silence fell in the room.

And then there was screaming.

Chapter Text

Arthur was distantly aware that the voice-the screams-were coming from his own throat, but he couldn't focus his attention on the noise as waves of ungodly pain washed over his body. He was rooted to the spot, one hand still loosely wrapped around the chain on Merlin's chest. Around him, the chains had begun to glow an unearthly shade of blue, sparking and sizzling in the dungeon air. Merlin's body was awash with it, as was Arthur's-though Merlin had no reaction. Arthur, on the other hand, couldn't bring his fingers to release themselves from the metal, even as the waves of blue-light-pain radiated up his arm and through his chest. God, it felt like someone had taken a hot poker to his skin and his bones.

Squeezing his eyes shut, Arthur tried to will his fingers to move.

They refused.

Arthur growled. He'd faced dragons. He'd ruled a kingdom. He'd lead his knights into battle. He had dueled his enemies and won. He was not about to be bested by a chain and some lights. Not now. Not when Merlin had just died before his eyes and spoken from the dead. If there was a destiny- and he was sure there was- then he refused to believe that it was to be trapped in this cell, stuck to this chain. He opened his eyes and looked at his hand again. This was his hand and his mind, and he needed them both. Now.

Making full eye contact with his own fingers, he gave another mighty pull.

There was a flash of light behind his eyes, in his skull, and his chest seized as another wave of pain caused the muscles around his ribcage to spasm. He groaned through his locked jaw.

C'mon, he screamed inside of his head, move. His ringing ears, or maybe the high rattle of the chains, grew louder, as if trying to drown out his own voice. And there was something else. Beneath the noise there was a low hum that grew louder with every second. Separate from himself and the chains, Arthur clung to it like a lifeline.

The hum turned to a roar. Arthur's eyes opened as the rumble filled his head and his body, heavy and soft. The pain was stinging something far from him now, his mind enveloped in this newfound weight. Looking at his hand, it no longer felt like his. The fingers were dead and far away, the trembling somewhere else entirely. Arthur took a deep breath, his lungs no longer in the barrier of his ribs, his mind no longer in his skull. He could see himself below, frozen to the spot. The chains moved without sound. Arthur moved his focus lazily up his arm, up his fingers, up Merlin's still chest, to Merlin's face-

The body of the king collapsed.

Arthur's head hit the ground.

He felt it.

Grunting, he stared at the damp stone ceiling, his body buzzing and shaking once again. The chains' rattle was sharp. His breathing was stuttered. The roar no longer filled him.

The pain was gone.

He sat up quickly, savoring his freedom from the chains for only a moment before whipping his head over to look at Merlin.

He knew what he'd seen.

Merlin had been the one roaring.

The warlock was still slumped low in his bonds, but he was no longer unearthly still. Instead, his glassy eyes were once again fixed on Arthur, his mouth hanging open as he took in tiny puffs of air.

"It gets worse," he mumbled. His voice was more air than sound. "It can always get worse."

Arthur's eyes widened. "But you were dead!"

"No." He didn't include an explanation. "Just worse." His eyes grew serious. "I'm afraid, Arthur."

"Then let me help you," Arthur said, standing up.

"That's the problem," Merlin shivered and flexed the fingers of his left hand. Tiny blue sparks of residual lightning jumped between them. "I'm afraid of you."

Arthur rocked back on his heels, unable to find a response. Merlin eyed one of the chains pointedly.

"And so is the magic. I can't control this, Arthur. You come close and I react. That's all there is. That's all I am."

Arthur took a tiny step forward. "What do you mean?"

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut as another chain snaked out from the wall and tangled with the mass already wrapped around his wrist. The cuff glowed faintly blue. It was a tiny chain, barely as thick as Arthur's little finger.

A tiny chain for a tiny step. Arthur suddenly understood the rattling and flinching that had lead up to the pain; it was a reaction, but not of Merlin's own accord. Arthur was scaring him and the prison was reacting accordingly.

"Please, just leave."

"Merlin-"

"I know you want to rescue Merlin, but he isn't all here." He made a weak gesture with his fingers, as if to point at himself.

"What are you going on about? You're right in front of me."

Merlin shook his head again, slowly. "No, I'm not. There's more."

"More of what?" Arthur could feel a headache knitting between his eyebrows, and he didn't want to be listening to riddles.

"More of him." He rose his eyebrows as if he expected Arthur to understand. He didn't. Merlin continued with urgency. "Just-listen to me. I want you to know that I'm not strong. Not the strongest, at least. There're more. More, and they aren't like me, won't hold back. You need to find him, Arthur. I don't know how much more he can take. He's tired. We've been here too long." Merlin's eyes were wet, but his voice stayed the same murmur.

"Who is 'we?'" Arthur cried, "Who has been here too long? Who won't hold back?"

"Merlin."

"What about him?! What question were you answering?"

"All of them.."

"I don't-"

Arthur heard the door behind him swing open.

"Go now. There's nothing to do for me. Not yet."

Arthur studied the warlock, trying to make sense of what he'd just been told. There were too many pieces missing. Not enough information. If this wasn't Merlin, then who was it? What was it? He looked at the boy in front of him.

"Please-" Arthur took a quick step towards Merlin, instinct telling him to just grab him by the shoulders and shake the sense out of him, but found himself once again staring at the ceiling, his back aching and his head spinning.

He stood, panting, in the middle of the room, and looked at Merlin.

Merlin, who was once again engulfed in blue light and rattling metal. His face was expressionless, his eyes closed. Arthur felt something twist in his gut.

Had he dreamt the conversation?

No, he couldn't have. His confusion was real. Merlin, apparently, wasn't entirely Merlin. There were more...somehow.

He looked at the man again, bound, and was struck with the realization that only a month ago he would have been pleased with the sight before him. He shook it away. He needed to focus on now.

A key, a sword, a loose rock- Arthur looked frantically around the room, searching for something, anything that would help him free Merlin, but found the room was completely free of debris.

He whirled to look at the door he'd come through. It had swung shut at some point in the chaos, but he was all too familiar with the endless darkness that lay behind it. He shuddered. At least there was light within this tiny room. He didn't want to think about venturing back out there, but he knew that he was going to have to if he wanted to have any hope of finding something to break the chains with.

"I'm sorry, Merlin," he said, "But I will be back," he paused at the use of those words, then continued, "I won't leave you here. I promise."

The warlock had no reaction. It took all of Arthur's willpower to turn his back on him, open the door, and walk through it.

As it shut behind him, Arthur's mouth dropped open.

Black tile floor. Smooth grey walls. Another room.

Arthur whipped around to open the door he had come through. Merlin was still there, too-lifeless and bound.

...and Merlin was here, standing at the very back of the new grey room.

The Merlin standing across from Arthur wasn't chained down. He wasn't being held back by anything, actually. Arthur shut the door and faced this new Merlin, panting at the sudden wave of oppressive heat that hit him in his face and drove up through the soles of his shoes.

He really wasn't sure why he was surprised by the change in scenery or the Merlin double-this entire world had been inconsistent. Still, the shifting settings were making him dizzy, and he wondered if there was a way out of them, or if he was destined to be trapped in this labyrinthian scape forever.

Was this what Merlin had meant when he'd spoken? Was this also Merlin? Or some kind of trick?

"Who are you?" he asked, at the same time that this new Merlin demanded, "What are you doing here?"

Neither of them answered the other's question.

Merlin surveyed Arthur through dark, bloodshot eyes. Arthur did the same, trying to find anything that would give away if this was the real Merlin, if the man chained behind him was, or if they both were something else entirely. This Merlin's brow was furrowed, with hair sticking up in all directions. He was breathing deep, heavy breaths as if he was trying to calm himself down, and the tendons stood out from his bare neck. He had on the usual red tunic and black trousers, but they had faded to brown and grey. There were holes peppering his shirt, rimmed with black as if they'd been singed through. The bottom few inches of his pants had been burned away as well, revealing bare, blistered feet. In short, it looked quite a bit like this Merlin had taken a trip to Hell and back.

"I asked you a question, king," he spat, taking a few strides towards Arthur, his fists clenching. Arthur ignored him.

With only a few feet between them, Arthur could see that his knuckles were bruised as if he'd spent hours punching the walls. A thin line of blood had dried under his nose. Sweat beaded along his hairline. Rather than making him look weak, however, it made him look dangerous. Unhinged. This Merlin was strong and powerful. Capable. Somehow his willowy frame appeared to be made of pure muscle and sinew, heat coming off of him in waves. His very being seemed to tremble like a bowstring pulled taught.

Merlin smirked. "Nothing to say? Typical. Not much going on between your ears, sire."

Arthur found his voice. "I asked you a question as well."

"You don't get to ask me questions." His voice was so low Arthur had a hard time hearing it, even with Merlin's face so close to his own. He resisted the urge to back up. Merlin leaned forward until their foreheads were nearly touching, his hot breath on Arthur's cheeks. "Get out," the sorcerer hissed.

Arthur looked straight into his eyes. He often forgot how tall Merlin was, forgot that he was a man just as Arthur was. Not now, though. Now Arthur could feel the seriousness of his presence. This wasn't the goofy boy that made jokes and polished boots. This was the man who followed Arthur into battle, who had seen more than any servant had ever been trained to see.

And now this man was seething in front of Arthur's nose.

"I said get out!" Merlin yelled, spittle flying from his mouth and onto Arthur's face. Arthur took a furtive glance over Merlin's shoulder, trying to see the contents of the room. It was empty save for another door on the opposite side, just as ornate as the one he had come through.

A jolt to his stomach sent Arthur falling backwards into the door he'd come through, rattling its hinges. Arthur gasped, more in shock than in pain, and stood to face Merlin, whose fist was still raised after pulling back from the punch. What-?

"Did you just..?"

This time, the hit was aimed at his face. Arthur saw it coming and dodged, the blow only glancing off of his cheekbone rather than his nose or mouth. Arthur went into warrior mode. He didn't have time to think as Merlin wound up for another attack. One thing was clear in Arthur's mind: he needed to get to the door across the room.

Another fist, and Arthur caught it, twisting it behind Merlin's back, incapacitating him until an elbow dug into his ribs, forcing him to release. The sorcerer whirled to face Arthur once again, distancing himself in order to speak.

"How does it feel to be defending yourself from a servant?" He asked, still breathing heavily.

Arthur glared at him. "I don't want to fight you."

"Of course not. It must be oh-so-demeaning. Like being-collared-and-chained-in-a-dungeon demeaning. My sympathies, truly."

Merlin suddenly whirled in a kick, but Arthur jumped back, barely able to regain his balance before a jab to his solar plexus caught him off guard. He choked and knelt.

Since when was Merlin so strong? When had he become so capable in a fight?

Arthur recovered his breath just in time to look up and catch Merlin's arm as it came down towards his neck. The warlock snarled and tried to jerk away, but Arthur kept his grip. With as much power as he could muster, Arthur caught his other arm and pinned them together, wrist to wrist between his palms. In this position, Merlin's face was only inches from Arthur's, their hands the only thing between them.

"Listen to me," Arthur ground out. Merlin continued to struggle, seemingly oblivious to Arthur. "Merlin."

The warlock froze, his eyes going wide.

"I'm not," he said quietly, as if startled by the use of his name. He looked very small for a moment, like a child with his wrists pinned, and then the mask was back. His brow dipped low and he grimaced.

"Don't call me that!" He ripped his hands free of Arthur's grasp, and they both stumbled backwards. Arthur stared at his own hands in shock as Merlin got his footing again, growling like a wild animal.

"You did this," he hissed. His nose had started bleeding again. He used the back of his sleeve to wipe it away, smearing some across his cheek. "This...is your fault," he motioned to the walls of the room with his bloodied sleeve. "All of this."

Arthur looked at the grey walls. Merlin's feet were bleeding like his nose, tracking footprints across the shiny black tile. As he watched, they seemed to brown and sizzle, as if landing on hot embers.

"Why can't you leave us alone?" Merlin moaned, his hand dropping to his side. He chuckled then, shaking his head. "No, no. I can still do this. I can still… I never fought back, you know?" His hands went up to touch his collar-less throat. He shrugged. "Couldn't. But you're here now." He grinned, showing too many of his teeth. "You know, the idiot next door kept saying to wait." He jerked his head in the direction of the door Arthur was trying to reach. "But I knew...I knew he was wrong. And look at us now!" he took a stumbling step forward, still grinning, motioning towards the room Arthur had come from. "What'd the wimp tell you? Huh? How's he doing in there?" He screamed the last part, as if he were speaking to the Merlin in the other room rather than Arthur. He shook his head, more laughter bubbling up from his chest. "No, he doesn't answer anymore. None of them do. Not for awhile. These goddamn walls..."

Arthur had taken a few steps back in horror. Was there another Merlin behind the next door? And what about beyond that? How many Merlins were there? How was he supposed to save the real one if there were so many of them, all speaking gibberish and stumbling around in their own rooms? Was this what the first Merlin had meant when he said he wasn't the strongest? And if so, how strong were the others?

"You look confused," Angry-Merlin was saying, squinting at Arthur's face. "Good. I was confused, too, when I woke up with that collar. When you locked that door." He wound up and punched a wall, spattering flecks of rusty red that hit the grey and turned an ashy black. "When the guards came in with the chains. With the ropes- that chair. 'I'll come back?' Bastard. You enjoyed it."

Arthur shook his head. "Merlin, I'm sorry. I should have-"

"Shut up. Why don't you take that load of shit to him?" He jerked his thumb towards the door across the room. "If he's still alive, that is." He paused. "No, on second thought, I don't want you anywhere near him." He moved to stand in front of the door. "I can handle you myself."

Arthur looked from Merlin, to the door, and back again. "I'm not here to hurt anybody." He put his palms up. "I'm trying to help you."

Merlin barked out a laugh. "Right, sire. I am sure. What will it be this time? Shall we build a pyre? Oh, wait-" He spat onto the ground, where it made contact, steamed, and evaporated. "We already have, haven't we?"

Arthur took a step forward. "Then come with me."

"I'd rather burn."

Another step. "I'm not going to let you burn."

Whatever the hell that means. Arthur's grasp on the situation was weak at best, but guilt still gnawed at his stomach as he listened to this Merlin's version of events. They sounded real, and whether they were or not was beside the point- he'd seen the confusion in Merlin's eyes when he'd abandoned him in the dungeons, and he could only guess that what he was seeing now was a side of Merlin that had previously been kept hidden. All Arthur could think to do was attempt to atone for the wrongs he'd already committed, to pacify the angry presence of this man for long enough that he'd be able to get to that goddamn door.

After that, he had no plan.

"I'm already burning, sire, thanks to you and your collar. But I'm sure the sentiment is genuine. You think I have information, don't you? Of course you won't kill me."

Arthur saw an in. "No, I don't think you have information. Not anymore."

The warlock rolled his eyes.

"I'm telling the truth. You are innocent. I know you are. I was wrong about you. About your magic."

Something in Arthur's words must have struck a chord, because a strange look came over Merlin's face. He narrowed his eyes.

"You speak your own treason."

"I speak the truth."

Merlin squatted down, his eyes weary. "Prove it," he said, jutting his chin out in front of him. Arthur looked lost.

"How?"

"What you speak is treason," he repeated slowly, reaching up to wipe the blood from his nose again. "And treason is punishable by fire." He stared at the glistening red on his fingers, then slowly tilted his hand, watching it run down his palm and hit the tile below, where it hissed and smoked. Merlin looked Arthur straight in the eye as he finished his sentence. "So you must burn."

Arthur's eyes widened. "What?"

This wasn't Merlin. Merlin wasn't vengeful. Merlin didn't encourage the pain of others. Merlin wasn't-

Merlin wasn't able to see the sun for five weeks. Merlin was tortured in a dungeon. Merlin was dying.

Maybe this was the monster Arthur had created. He looked at the man, still squatting on the floor, with blistered feet and a bleeding nose.

Merlin looked back. "You heard me, sire. Prove your allegiance. Purge your wrongs with fire."

The king could feel the heat of the tiles through the soles of his shoes. He could take Merlin on in hand-to-hand combat. He knew he was the stronger, more skilled fighter. He didn't need to do this. And yet, and yet- every time he closed his eyes, he saw broken fingers and sunken cheekbones and bruises. He didn't want to cause any more harm to the man in front of him.

And aside from that...he really did deserve this, didn't he? He'd done far worse to Merlin, and here Merlin was giving him a choice. He'd never given Merlin a choice. He'd never let Merlin prove his innocence. In this twisted new Merlin's mind, perhaps this was mercy.

Arthur took a deep breath and squatted until he was eye-level with Merlin. Sweat rolled between his shoulderblades, and he wondered how Merlin was able to stand barefoot so nonchalantly. Maybe they'd been blistered beyond feeling- it sure looked like it.

"Okay," he said, and Merlin cocked his head to the side.

"You're going to do it?"

Arthur nodded.

"Your hands, then," Merlin said, holding his own up.

Arthur sighed and lowered his hand until it was just above the tiled surface, then stopped.

The warlock rocked back onto his heels. "Well? Go on. Unless you were lying."

Arthur closed his fist, his fingers trembling. Once more, he moved to press his hand against the searing heat of the floor, then hesitated.

Instead, he reached for his boot.

"What are you doing?" Wariness played across Merlin's face as he watched Arthur's fingers go towards his laces. "You were lying, weren't you? You're just the same as before."

He ignored him in favor of fiddling with his laces. Merlin stood up, already preparing for a fight.

There was a tense moment of silence.

Then, a hiss of pain, and a single dark boot was flung across the floor in Merlin's direction.

"Take it," Arthur grunted, gritting his teeth. Red-hot pain was shooting from the sole of his now-bare foot to his ankle. He began to loosen his other boot, biting down hard on the inside of his cheek. His vision blurred as he put his weight on his right foot in order to maneuver his left boot off before it, too, was flung across the room to join the other.

Merlin's eyes were wide. "What?"

"I said take them." Arthur squeezed his eyes shut as he forced himself to stand. The pain was horrible, the tiles blistering against his soles. How was Merlin still able to walk?

The man in question was staring at the shoes with an unreadable expression on his face.

"You're… Giving me your shoes?"

Arthur winced. "Yes."

Another moment of silence, then Merlin stooped to pick them up. He inspected them for a moment, his eyes flitting between the shoes and their owner, before placing them carefully next to each other and sliding each of his feet in. He pressed a hand over his mouth as he surveyed Arthur once again.

"Y-You," Merlin stammered, more surprised than relieved. Arthur hadn't been sure how much good the boots were going to do for such burnt feet, but hopefully it was more than he expected.

Arthur also distantly noted that he and Merlin wore the same size shoe, and decided if Merlin survived this ordeal, Arthur was going to gift him more hand-me-down shoes than he knew what to do with.

Merlin squatted down, running his hands over his face and through his hair.

"Maybe," the warlock muttered, more to himself than Arthur, his eyes darting to the door he'd previously been guarding, "maybe the idiot next door was right."

Arthur's heart lifted in his chest, but he schooled his expression into one of neutrality. Merlin looked at him as if trying to read his mind, before straightening and walking to the door. He stopped and drummed his fingers on the knob.

"I don't trust you," he said, his voice uncertain. Then he knocked on the door and pressed his ear against it, listening. After a moment, he pulled himself away from the door. "But I don't think you can do any more harm to him than you have already."

He twisted the knob, and the door creaked open. Arthur peered inside the dark room before shuffling on stinging feet towards the entrance.

Sniffling. Ragged breathing. The air in this room felt cool and clammy in comparison to the room he'd just left. He took a deep breath of moist air.

The dust on the ground had turned into a brackish sludge that stuck to the wounds on Arthur's feet and stung.

At least it wasn't hot anymore.

From behind him, angry-Merlin let out a breath.

"He's worse."

Arthur squinted in the dim light to see what was worse. A few feet in front of him, lying against the wall in the muck and covered in filth, was another clone, and another door.

"What happened to him?" Arthur asked, surveying the sickly-looking man lying before him. He was thinner than any man Arthur had ever seen, dressed in only a pair of moldering brown trousers. He hadn't so much as flinched when the door opened, and if it weren't for his labored breaths, Arthur would have thought him dead, curled on his side and facing the far wall.

"Hope."

Arthur looked at Merlin. "Hope?"

"Wasn't this your plan, sire?" Angry-Merlin asked.

Arthur looked at the prone form on the ground. What had his plan been, all of those weeks ago? When he'd first gone down to that dungeon? What had he been thinking...

A groan came through the bars, and with a start Arthur realized he didn't have a plan, didn't know how to begin an interrogation on a person whom he had trusted so thoroughly. What was he supposed to say?

That's right. He'd been nervous.

Perhaps he could use this... anxiety to his advantage. Even if Merlin was an evil sorcerer, he could surely experience some kind of fear, especially in the face of such a situation, bound as he was. If Arthur felt anxious, then it must be the same the other way around. And where there was fear, there was also hope. Arthur could utilize the trust they used to share, bend it to his advantage.

Oh. Oh no.

What was a better way to break a man than to give him hope and take it away?

He'd wanted to break Merlin's spirit by destroying his hope. But had he succeeded?

"He's still breathing," Arthur muttered under his breath.

"Sorry?" Angry-Merlin asked, "didn't catch that?"

"I didn't…" He didn't finish. Break him. He turned to the man wearing his boots. "What should I do?"

He shrugged. Arthur cursed and moved so that he was kneeling just inches behind the unconscious form's back. Minor red and purple abrasions littered the area around his spine, with a few angry sores open on his side. Arthur laid a hand on the man's hip, where the sores disappeared under his waistband, and shook gently.

"Merlin," he whispered, then louder. "Merlin."

A groan, and Merlin's eyes rolled under his eyelids. He did not wake up.

Arthur moved his grip to the man's shoulder and turned him over. Merlin's face was slack and pale where the muck didn't stick to it. It reminded Arthur too much of the Dorocha attack-death hovering around him like a grey phantom, loosening his jaw and features.

"Merlin, c'mon. You need to wake up." His right eye was crusted shut with dried filth, but the left once again rolled, his eyelid fluttering. "Please."

Another moan. Arthur looked at the Angry-Merlin, who was still standing in the doorway.

"Why don't you help?" He demanded. Merlin held up his palms.

"Not my room," he said, as if that explained everything. Arthur looked from one Merlin to another.

"What if I brought him to you?"

"I'm not sure you're allowed to do that." Angry-Merlin said, shifting uncomfortably.

"And why not?" Arthur grunted as he lifted the unconscious Merlin's body into his arms.

Angry-Merlin shrugged. "Can't leave our rooms."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, well, I can. And you seem to know what is going on here much better than I do." He shook a few strands of blond hair out of his eyes. "Move."

Angry-Merlin complied, worry lining his features. Arthur took a deep breath, braced himself for the pain and the heat, and stepped over the threshold with Merlin in his arms.

Instantly, Arthur had to readjust his hold as both Merlins gasped and contorted, one falling to his knees while the other arched his back and writhed in his arms.

The episode ended quickly enough, and Angry-Merlin stood on trembling legs, his hand clutching his head. He groaned and glared at Arthur.

"That was not a good idea, sire."

Arthur frowned and looked at the bundle in his arms.

"We need to get him warmed up."

Angry-Merlin snorted. "That should be easy enough in here!"

Choosing to ignore him for the moment, Arthur readjusted his grip.

"Can you hold him for a moment?"

Angry-Merlin nodded. "Fine."

The passing-off was awkward, and the sight of Merlin holding himself made Arthur pause. It was…odd, to say the least. He shook the thought away and made quick work of shedding his shirt, the thick fabric already sticking to him with sweat. He laid flat it on the ground and felt the surface.

Very warm, but not scalding. Arthur squatted down before it and motioned to have Merlin returned to his arms. Carefully, he situated himself so he was seated on the edge of his shirt with the unconscious Merlin, whose long limbs spilled across the fabric. With soft fingers, Arthur wiped away some of the muck on Merlin's face, watching as beads of sweat began to form on his forehead. Arthur took that as a good sign.

"C'mon, Merlin, wake up." Arthur coaxed, rocking his body a little. Merlin's forehead was resting against Arthur's clavicle, and Arthur took advantage of the position, getting close to Merlin's ear. And whispering.

"Look, Merlin. I know you have no reason to trust me. No reason to listen to me, either- If you can even hear me, that is- but I need you… no, I want you to wake up."

Not a sound. Just more fluttering eyelids. Arthur shot a helpless look at Angry-Merlin.

"Don't look at me, sire. You did this to him. I'm done with cleaning up your messes."

Arthur bowed his head again. "I know I lied to you," he murmured, making eye contact with Angry-Merlin. "Both of you."

He turned to Merlin's ear. "Merlin here says I ruined your hope. Can you believe it? As if someone could ever ruin that will of yours. Honestly, I think he's mistaken. I think it's still there in that thick skull of yours." He rubbed his hands over Merlin's arms, trying to warm them up. His voice broke. "And if it isn't…" he squeezed his arms. "No, I know it is. I'm a stupid prat, remember? Don't you want to prove it now? Look! You were right when you told this other Merlin to wait- I did come back! I'm here right now. Your hope didn't go to waste."

The fluttering eyelids stopped. Merlin let out a shuddering sigh. Arthur pulled him closer, as if he could force his own life into Merlin's body.

"That's it, Merlin. Prove us wrong. Prove to me that I'm not strong enough to break your spirit. I know you want to."

Another breath, and one of Merlin's hands curled in the warm fabric below them. Arthur held his breath. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Angry-Merlin doing the same. C'mon, he urged, as if Merlin could read his thoughts.

Another low moan, and Arthur shifted his position just in time to see Merlin's eyes open into slits and focus lazily on his face.

"Arthur?" He grit out, a sleepy smile creeping across his face.

"Yes," Arthur whispered, afraid any wrong move would send Merlin spiralling away from him again.

"You came," he murmured, his eyes falling closed. Arthur panicked as he seemed to slip into unconsciousness again. At the same time, he heard a groan come from his right, and looked to see Angry-Merlin grabbing at his head again, swaying for a few moments before tipping forward. Arthur gave a yelp as the unconscious body crashed into his shoulder, driving him into the searing heat of the floor. His vision flashed with white and black spots as he scrambled to get away from the weight of the two unconscious bodies and the pain, clawing himself free and standing just as his vision went completely white.

When it cleared away, Arthur found himself staring right into the eyes of a very exhausted, but level-headed looking Merlin.

The two unconscious figures were gone. Sporting Arthur's shoes and tunic, Merlin stood upright where they once laid, his eyes fixed on the king.

"Arthur," Merlin said, a grim smile on his lips.

"Yes?" Arthur squeaked out. "Merlin?"

The muscles in his jaw twitched. "Not Merlin yet," he murmured, looking around the room as if seeing it for the first time. His eyes landed on the darkened doorway of the room Arthur had fought so hard to get to. A scowl darkened his features, then softened. With a lurch, he took a long stride in its direction, the end of his sentence coming out as a half-whisper, "...but I will be."

Chapter Text

Arthur moved to follow, his eyes glued to the space between Merlin's jutting shoulder blades. Sweat had already darkened his tunic there, turning the blue fabric a rich purple-black. Arthur couldn't say he missed the shirt sticking to his own back, though he felt exposed now, without it and his boots.

He never imagined Merlin dressed as a king, albeit, perhaps, the broken one that Arthur was. As it stood, Merlin might have even deserved the livery more than Arthur did, as the only one with the sheer power to hold Camelot together.

The thought was humbling.

Merlin stopped just inside the doorway, examining the contents of the tiny room that had housed a part of him for god-knew-how-long. Arthur watched the muscles in his back tense and his knuckles whiten. He took a step, boots squelching in the mud, and turned, just a little, just enough for Arthur to see the ridge of his cheekbone and lashes.

"Well," he said, "are you coming, sire?"

Arthur didn't miss the way Merlin mocked the word "sire." It wasn't the same. It didn't matter how much hoping Arthur did- Merlin had every right to feel however he wanted about the situation. Which, Arthur realized, seemed to only be some bastardization of anger and hope at the moment.

Merlin cleared his throat.

"I said," he grunted, clearly trying to keep his voice even, "are you coming?"

Without a word, Arthur lurched forward, taking up position beside Merlin in the doorway. He, too, took a moment to take in the room, though it held less significance to him. Just a dirty floor and the faint imprint of Merlin's body towards the back.

The moment passed.

"Open it." Merlin's voice was anything but gentle. Arthur's gaze traveled upwards to land on the next door. It was just as beautifully ornate as the others, though dirt was stuck in the crevasses of the goldleaf and carving. Even so, it glowed with that same strange luminosity that both fascinated and confused Arthur.

Merlin cleared his throat a second time. Suddenly, the room didn't seem so harmless to Arthur. His feet were still firmly planted on the searing floor, and the burns and blisters had decided to make themselves known once again. The room before him seemed to stretch, the mud as welcoming as saltwater on his open wounds. Biting down hard on the inside of his cheek, he resisted the urge to tell Merlin to do it himself. Instead, he took a few wobbly steps- he was right, the silty floor did nothing to comfort his torn blisters- and managed to reach the door in a few agonizing seconds. He took a moment to lean against it, trying to ease the pressure on his feet. To distract himself from the pain, he turned his attention to the door, studying the intricate detail work until his breathing settled.

At this point, Merlin had crossed the room and was practically breathing down Arthur's neck.

"C'mon," his voice was uncomfortably close to Arthur's ear, "Try the handle."

Arthur's hand seemed to move on its own accord, his fingers wrapping around the knob and squeezing. He felt the need to say something, anything, before he pulled the door open and faced what was inside, but nothing was forthcoming.

Merlin seemed impatient.

Arthur sighed, and with a grunt, yanked the door towards him. There was a moment of resistance in which Merlin looked resigned and Arthur felt panic bloom in his chest before it gave. Arthur released the handle as the door swung wide.

Light.

Both of them immediately threw their hands over their faces, wincing. The room was bright- blinding after the dark tile and gloomy muck. It seemed to be a solid wall of yellow-white brilliance.

Arthur recovered first. Squinting, he covered the short distance it took to get over the threshold and looked around.

Or rather, he tried to look around. He'd barely had time to adjust enough to see the milky yellow of the walls and call out, "hello?"before he was being bowled over by a bundle of shouting limbs.

"Arthur!" the bundle was yelling, nearly shrieking, "ARTHUR! You're here! You clot-pole, you scared me! I can't believe it! You're here-!""

Arthur immediately went to work untangling himself from the appendages that had found their way around his torso, trying to stand back up in the process. He noted that Merlin was smirking behind him, clearly amused by Arthur's distress. Well, Arthur thought, at least he doesn't look worried. He rolled his eyes and finished prying himself away from the shouting creature, holding it at arm's length as he stood up.

The squirming body stopped pushing against his hands, and Arthur released it, muttering, "stay," as if he were training a dog.

He went to straighten his shirt out, only to remember that he'd given it away. He settled for wiping his hands on his trousers instead, using the brief respite to study the occupant of this new space.

It was, unsurprisingly, another Merlin. Sitting on his knees where he'd been released, the man was vibrating with nearly-uncontrollable energy. Arthur thought that if the man really were a dog, he would be wagging his tail.

It was all very shocking after what he'd experienced up to this point, but what was even more shocking was his appearance. Unlike the other Merlins, this one seemed to have been at least fed relatively regularly. His shoulder blades didn't jut like a pair of wings and his ribs weren't visible through the blue shirt he was wearing. He even had proper attire on- a pair of boots, and a belt to hold his trousers up. If Arthur was only looking at the man from the neck down, he would have believed that nothing at all was amiss.

However, Arthur wasn't just looking at Merlin from the neck down.

The longer Arthur looked, the more sure he was that there was just something...off about Merlin's eyes.

He couldn't quite put his finger on what it was, exactly. They were perhaps a little too wide, but it wasn't just that. There was something else, too. An extra shine, a lack of depth- the blue of his irises a little too soft and flat. And his pupils-

Arthur let out a very unkingly noise of realization. The pupils were cloudy.

As Merlin calmed down enough for his body to stop quivering, Arthur watched his eyes wander from just above the floor to somewhere slightly to the right of Arthur's face. They stayed there, rapidly twitching back and forth.

Merlin made a humming noise behind him, reaching the same conclusion as Arthur: this new Merlin was very obviously blind. Blind, and the only thing in the room that Arthur could keep his vision focused on. Everywhere else Arthur looked was the same shade of blinding yellow-white, so consistent in hue that Arthur couldn't be sure of where the walls ended and the ceiling and floors began. What he had originally thought were walls didn't appear to be tangible-the solidity of the light simply gave the illusion of a physical space. If he were to investigate, Arthur was sure there were walls somewhere just out of reach, but it was impossible to tell how close or far away that was. And so, in the middle of the light-fog, Arthur's squinted eyes remained trained on the dark shape of Merlin.

Still on his knees, Merlin's face broke into a wide grin, his occluded eyes crinkling into half-moons.

"You're late, sire," he teased, crossing his arms in mock annoyance. "I should have expected that, though- You wouldn't be able to find your own arse without me."

Arthur was caught between feeling insulted and incredibly relieved. Merlin pulled himself up, swaying for a moment as he planted his feet beneath him. His hands rested on his hips.

"Well? Do you have nothing to say for yourself? Typical!" He threw his hands up as if to brush him off. "You know, I don't even know why I try with you."

He paused again, squinting in Arthur's general direction as if that would help his nonexistent eyesight.

"You… you are there, right?" He rolled his shoulders back. "My words are getting into that big head of yours? Or am I just talking to myself?"

Arthur was at a loss for words. The Merlin behind him gave him a quick, hard shove between his shoulder blades, prompting him to speak. Arthur shot him a look before turning to Blind Merlin.

"Uh…" Arthur cleared his throat, "I can hear you just fine, Merlin." Was he supposed to act normal now? Was he expected to banter like they used to? Arthur wasn't sure he was up for that. Guilt still sat heavily in his throat.

Blind-Merlin had other plans, however. He rocked back on his heels and whistled. "Wow, it really is you. And I thought you said we weren't friends. Changing our mind now, are we?"

Arthur searched the man's blank eyes for any hint of spite, but it seemed he was being genuine. Still, Arthur could not find the words he needed to continue the lighthearted interaction. All he could hear in his head was the Merlin in the dungeons of Camelot, screaming and pleading to just end it all. That had been only days ago, and now he was staring down an aspect of Merlin that he had tried so hard to forget, an aspect that had no doubt been beaten out of Merlin in the weeks of torture he had sustained.

But apparently, the torture hadn't completely driven it out of Merlin. Although strangely enough, it had driven it out of Arthur. The easiness, the casual tone, the sense of companionship - Arthur couldn't relax into it. The memory of their bickering conversations seemed to belong to another man entirely, a man who was greater than Arthur was. Fighting Merlin had been hard, but this was so much harder.

"...Okay..." Merlin tilted his head to the side, angling his left ear towards Arthur. "Should I just...stand here? Wait for you to process what I said?"

It was supposed to be a jest, Arthur knew, but it hit a little too close to home. Of course he understood what Merlin was saying, he just didn't know what to say back. He was trying to calculate it in his head. Should he just come right out and start apologizing? Was that too forward for this Merlin? It certainly seemed like he was comfortable being blunt to Arthur. Did it work both ways?

"Right. Well I'll just stay here, then." Merlin had started chewing on his lip, the first hints of uncertainty playing across his face. He wrapped his arms around his abdomen as if he were cold. Arthur needed to say something, and soon.

Merlin let out a dramatic sigh. "It's not like I've been doing a lot of traveling, anyway."

"...yes... well, me... neither," Arthur blurted. It came out rushed and unevenly spaced, the beginning too quick. There was a strange pause between "me" and "neither." Arthur winced. So much for normalcy.

Merlin raised his eyebrows. "Really? So you've spent some time in fathomless glowing rooms, too?" His tone dripped sarcasm. "And here I thought I had a unique experience."

"How do you know it's glowing?" Arthur could have kicked himself. This was not the way he wanted to address the elephant in the room.

Merlin laughed. "Right!" His hands came up to cover his eyes. "Because I can't see, right? At least not anymore. I did say you were late." He dropped his hands. "I assume it's still glowing. It's not like it had any mercy before, obviously. I don't know why it would start now. Although that would be my luck."

No mercy.

Merlin had been driven to blindness staring into the abyss of this room, waiting. Waiting for… Arthur, it seemed? Arthur had to stop himself from picturing what that must have been like. He was late. But he wouldn't have been if he hadn't made the problem in the first place.

"I'm sorry," Arthur said, and as an afterthought, "And you're right, it's still bright."

Merlin smirked. "Probably brighter than you." His brow wrinkled. "But what are you apologizing for? Other than for being a general ass."

Arthur turned to the Merlin behind him, eyes wide, and mouthed: He doesn't know?

Merlin shrugged, looking just as bewildered as Arthur. I don't know.

"Merlin," Arthur began carefully, addressing the blind man, "What do you think I'm apologizing for?"

"Would you like me to fetch you a list?"

"I don't think that will be necessary."

But Merlin had already started counting off on his fingers, his eyes closed. "You enjoy putting me in the stocks. You throw goblets at my head. You make me shine all of your boots-"

Arthur glanced down at his own bootless feet, then behind him, where his boots were still around Merlin's feet. That Merlin gave Arthur a smug look.

"- a few weeks ago, you wrung out a mop on my head, after I'd finished cleaning the floor. You keep insisting I go on patrols with you, but you never give me any armor, except once, and that was because I was serving as bait. Speaking of which, how many times have I been a bargaining chip? Or bait? Because I think I've lost count. And you never say thank you, or please, or give me days off, or give me any raises, or-"

"I get it," Arthur cut Merlin off. "I'm an ass. But do you know of anything else I could be sorry for?"

Another confused look. Arthur tried a different approach, desperately trying to avoid breaking the news to Merlin that Arthur was currently wandering aimlessly through a spell he had cast in the hopes of salvaging Merlin's tortured, dying body and magic. "Do you remember how long ago it was that I wrung out that mop over your head?"

"Christ, Arthur. I don't know. Do you think I keep a detailed account? And even if I did, do you think I know what day it is?" He spread his arms out wide. "I'll just use the angle of the sun to keep track of time, you know, after I check my sundial in this shadowless, changeless abyss." His hands dropped. "No, I don't know when you dumped mop-water on my head. I don't even know how long I've been in here for, or even how I wound up here in the first place!"

Ah. There it was. Arthur scrubbed a hand across his face.

"Okay, Merlin, then what do you remember? What's the most recent thing you remember doing before you were here?"

"I… remember waking up in my room."

Arthur nodded, "Okay…"

"And I remember getting your breakfast from the kitchens."

Arthur swallowed the lump in his throat. "And then?"

"I went to your chambers - on time, I should add."

"Fine, okay. And after that?"

Merlin wrinkled his nose. "And then there was light."

"...that's it?" Arthur didn't mean for his voice to sound so unimpressed, but it did anyway. The Merlin behind him snorted.

"Looks like you're just going to have to tell him yourself," he whispered behind Arthur's back. He was obviously enjoying every minute of Arthur's discomfort. Arthur shot him a look over his shoulder. Merlin managed to school his face into something resembling guilt, but it was for show and they both knew it.

The other Merlin frowned, clearly disoriented by hearing his own voice having a conversation elsewhere. He couldn't have been aware that there was anybody else with them until now, and he certainly wouldn't have guessed that person was his virtual clone.

"Arthur…" Blind-Merlin's voice was low and the most serious it had been so far. "...you're hiding something."

Arthur didn't respond. The words were trapped in his throat.

"Arthur?" Blind-Merlin had started to breathe a little more heavily, his hands twitching at his sides as if he suddenly had the urge to do something with them. "What are you not saying? I know you. I know when you're avoiding something."

When there was no immediate answer, he brought his twitchy hands up, covered his mouth with his balled fists, and bit his knuckle.

"Tell me," his voice was muffled by his fingers, "What are you apologizing for? What did you do?"

But Arthur was staring into Merlin's pale, blank eyes, lost in thought. They were wide and red-rimmed with the beginning notes of anxiety. They reminded Arthur of a child's; round and unaware. Who was he to ruin that?

But no, he knew that he was wrong. Merlin was a grown man who'd been through more than most. The blindness didn't diminish that. He more than deserved to know what was going on. So why was it so difficult for Arthur to tell him?

"Look, whatever it is, it doesn't matter. I swore to be your servant until the day I die, and I meant it. But I can't serve you if you don't explain what's wrong- are you still there?"

Merlin took a frantic step towards Arthur, one hand outstretched, feeling for confirmation that he hadn't been abandoned. Arthur was out of reach, however, and Merlin stopped, letting out a loud breath through his nose. His eyelids fluttered closed, and he knelt, his knees hitting the floor first. Arthur had the sudden urge to cover the short distance between them and take the boy by the shoulders, but he was stopped abruptly as the Merlin behind him pushed past, wincing at the thrum of pain that came with crossing the threshold of another room. Blind-Merlin gasped, his hands moving from his mouth to his temples, and screwed his eyes more tightly shut.

The two warlocks rode out their respective pain in silence. Arthur watched.

The Merlin who'd been in the doorway pulled himself together first. He had experienced the pain once already, and after a few breaths through his nose, the tremors stopped. Gently, he put his hands on the blind one's wrists, guiding them down until his face was in full view. His eyes were still shut, but they softened as the pain dissipated.

"Arthur?" he whispered, mistaking the hands on his wrists for the king's.

"No," it was the kindest tone Arthur had heard the bitter man use since they'd met two rooms back, and it sounded so strange Arthur actually did a double take, his vision flitting between the clones to confirm their identities. He was largely ignored as the conversation continued without him. "But he's still here. And I'm afraid to say that you and I haven't met in a very long time." He squeezed the wrists gently.

Dull eyes shot open in surprise. That was definitely his own voice. Blind-Merlin was sure of it. He pulled his wrists out of the other's grip, his lips parted. He was caught between speaking and hysterics. Arthur could see the laughter ready to burst from his chest. His world was already blank. He didn't need it to be filled with his own crazed voice, too. Dear lord, he probably thought he was losing his mind.

Arthur only realized Blind-Merlin was muttering to himself when the Angry Merlin murmured, "You idiot. You're not losing your mind. Or… at least any more than we all have. And you know what we are, stupid. You just need to use that mind of yours. Here, I'll even prove you're not dreaming this up..." He shot Arthur a dirty look. "Get over here," he hissed.

Arthur didn't need to be told twice. As if on autopilot, he approached the duo and placed a hand on the blind man's shoulder, clearing his throat. His heart nearly broke when the man tilted his face up at the contact and broke into a wide, relieved smile. The other Merlin gave Arthur a warning look before backing off to watch from his doorway.

"Oh…" Blind-Merlin heard the other retreat, and his expression turned thoughtful. "Oh, I see." There was something akin to realization glinting behind his eyes. He chewed on his lip for a moment before, to Arthur's relief, he started speaking.

"I don't know what you did," he started, then tried again, his words as jumbled as his thoughts. "I don't remember what you did. But I'm starting to, not remember exactly, but, if he's here-" he gestured in front of him, where the other Merlin used to be, "-then… I know why he's here, is what I'm saying… But I must have.. I'm not an idiot, Arthur, I know whatever it was, you don't want to talk about it. But, yeah, I know why he's here, there really isn't another reason for it- him?- we? to be the way he- we- are… But I must have chosen to forget the other stuff, more than I wanted to…"

A beat. Merlin knitted his brow. His eyes had closed again as he focused. "Let me try that all again: I woke up. I got your breakfast. I walked into your chambers and everything was so bright, it hurt, and I couldn't make it go away, even with my eyes closed. I couldn't even fall asleep." He laughed bitterly, "But it got better. I had this awful headache, you see, and I can't remember why, but it just got worse and worse, and it was the only thing that existed."

He ground his palms into his eyelids. Arthur winced. He kept talking, oblivious. "I made a deal. I said- Gods, I'd do anything to make it stop- I said to myself that if nothing happened, then there was no reason for me to feel it. Whatever was happening...I wasn't going to be present for it anymore. And I retreated. I decided I wasn't a participant in any narrative. I didn't even notice the dark until it had sneaked up on me. Greedy little bastard, would've put you to shame. But anyway, the headache stopped!"

He winced. "I did it a little too well, though, I think. Because I forgot the deal and I forgot the events and I forgot why I was here in the first place, what I was, what I am- not a whole but a piece of something much more complex. And now I…" He smiled, softly, gesturing again to where his clone had been. "I need to know what happened at breakfast. There was something there, something happened between your chambers and the light. Something that shattered us. I know it doesn't make sense to you. But when the lights wouldn't stop and the headaches began, I just wanted to silence everything in my head. But it was never my head. It was ours. I just lost my ability to be us. And I can't join us if I don't know what the rest know."

His voice dropped to a whisper. "What broke us, sire?"

Arthur look down at the blind Merlin, then at the Merlin in the doorway, who raised his eyebrows. "Go on. Perhaps you need to take it upon yourself to start fixing what you screwed up."

He folded his arms over his chest, signalling he was done speaking.

Arthur felt the familiar weight of guilt settle in his limbs. He deserved this. He deserved far more than this. And he would relive the horror of what he'd done a thousand times over if it would make Merlin alright. He let out a breath, but it came out as a sigh. His tongue was no longer glued to the roof of his mouth. Regret was much sharper than shame. "Alright," he started, "then I guess I'll begin at breakfast."

And Arthur began to tell the tale of his greatest mistake.

He was only partway through week three of his explanation when Blind-Merlin let out a moan and doubled over. Arthur paused, but the warlock just waved his hand. "No, no. Keep going. I'm fine."

Arthur stared at him a moment longer before continuing. "The reports were getting worse and worse, but I wasn't- Merlin, I was a heartless bastard. I didn't even bother to reflect on what I was doing. I think I was afraid to. Actually, towards the end of the five weeks, I completely stopped reading- Are you sure you're alright?"

Blind-Merlin's forehead was resting on the floor now, his arms wrapped tightly around his skull. He let out a groan in answer. Arthur went to put a hand on his back, but he violently shook it off.

"Keep talking." Merlin's voice came from the doorway, his eyes glued to the figure on the floor. He was speaking the words the other Merlin couldn't say. Arthur opened his mouth to protest, but Merlin silenced him. "Keep. Talking."

Arthur had forgotten where he'd left off. "So… the reports, they were coming in, and of course I read them. And the third week we were trying something new, something with…" Another groan from Merlin. "...something with.."

"Fire," Merlin grunted from the ground. "You were...using fire."

Arthur blanched, "Yes, we were using fire. H-how…?"

"And those rods," he moaned, his face still pressed against the floor. "The metal ones?"

Arthur's stomach did a flip. "...yes."

The trembling Merlin let out a yelp and jerked, curling further into himself. The scent of burning fiber and charred flesh filled the air and Arthur heaved, taking deep breaths to keep the bile from rising higher in his throat.

"But I don't have answers," Merlin was choking now. He rolled onto his back in an attempt to get air into his lungs, his hands hovering over his thighs where he'd been burned weeks ago. Hovering, but not touching. The smell grew worse. Arthur saw blood on Merlin's chin - he'd bitten his tongue.

Gods, he was watching Merlin get tortured all over again. There was no way he could keep talking.

Fortunately, the other Merlin seemed to be having a much easier time coping with the situation. But of course, he would. Arthur realized. He'd spent the last five weeks being cooked alive from his feet up.

He'd made his way to the two of them and was trying to get Blind-Merlin's attention while still prompting Arthur to speak. "Arthur, ask him-" a shriek came from below them. They both cringed. "-ask him questions. Talk to him, you useless toad! Don't just sit there staring."

Arthur hesitated, afraid he'd hurt him more. But the Merlin from the other room seized his arm and yanked him over, filling his vision with a whimpering, quaking Merlin. That was all the motivation he needed. He pulled the bleeding, sobbing boy's head into his lap. Sweaty hair was stuck to his forehead, his eyes squeezed shut against whatever agony he was caught up in. Arthur placed his hands on either side of his face. "Merlin, can you tell me what's going on? What's happening?" He tried to keep his voice even. Blind-Merlin just shook his head.

"C'mon, Merlin. Talk to me."

In response, Merlin's back arched off the ground and his mouth gaped open in a silent scream. Bruises bloomed across his face. Blood dripped from his nose. His fingers twitched and scratched at the floor beneath him, leaving long red trails that glowed against the light. Arthur felt something wet and sticky seep through the back of Merlin's shirt and onto Arthur's trousers.

He's going to die like this, Arthur thought. There's no way anybody can lose this much blood.

As if to prove his point, Merlin's body gave a few more violent spasms and then relaxed, his spine finding the floor again. He laid like that for a few moments, his chest heaving. The bleeding slowed. Arthur held his breath.

Eventually, his eyelids fluttered open.

His pupils locked onto Arthur's, the cloudiness gone. He coughed harshly, bringing up blood and bile. Some of it splattered onto Arthur's cheeks, but nobody noticed. Everybody was too focused on the way Merlin's lips were moving. Arthur brought his ear as close as he could to Merlin's mouth, straining to hear the words. "You really. are. an ass," he managed to whisper, squinting. The room was still painfully bright. He frowned, blood running from the corner of his lips to Arthur's knee. "And where's. your. shirt?"

Arthur couldn't keep himself from barking out a laugh. Merlin ignored him, instead turning his attention to his clone.

"I'm sorry," he groaned, "I wasn't. there-" He squeezed his eyes shut, still out of breath.

"But you remember now?" the clone asked, and Merlin nodded earnestly, mustering up as much strength as he could to move his head while it was still in Arthur's lap.

The uninjured Merlin seemed like he wanted to say more, but all he wound up saying was, "Well-"

The lights went out.

Something gold glittered in the dark.

Chapter Text

It was suddenly far too easy for Arthur to hear his own heartbeat, his breaths loud and labored. It felt like he'd just finished a duel, though all he'd done was watch someone else's discomfort.

Already, he could feel that distinct lack of Merlin, neither kneeling beside him nor in his lap. Just as it had been in Merlin's room at the beginning of the ritual, the warlock had vanished from his original position. The blood that had been spreading across the front of his trousers was already cooling against his skin, growing tacky. Itchy. Arthur ran his palms along his thighs and grimaced at the feeling of coagulated blood on his fingers. He squinted into the darkness, where two pinpricks of yellow light hung in mid-air a dozen or so feet in front of him.

"Are you alright?" Arthur called, recognizing the golden orbs for what they were: a pair of magic-riddled eyes.

The eyes blinked. Arthur got to his feet and made his way over.

"Please," came Merlin's voice, "give me a second."

Arthur stopped. The eyes closed, plunging Arthur into an uneasy darkness, then opened again, a few feet higher. Merlin must have stood up. He took a deep, shaky breath.

"Stay there," his eyes turned and disappeared again. Arthur heard the tapping of his boots moving away.

"And where are you going?"

"Just stay there."

Arthur huffed. His stinging feet were coming to his attention again. Wincing, he lowered himself to the floor and put his legs straight out. For the first time, Arthur wondered what the real-world consequences of these rooms would be. Would he wake up in Merlin's chambers with his feet burned like this? There was very little Arthur could do by way of fighting with his soles blistered and torn. Would his clothing be transferred to Merlin? He didn't think that seemed plausible, because Merlin hadn't been naked when this all began. But then, nothing that had happened had seemed plausible to Arthur until very recently.

Ahead of him, something creaked, and Merlin's dark silhouette appeared in the gray light of a freshly-opened doorway. All Arthur could see were two burning circles of gold set into the black outline of Merlin's face, boring holes into Arthur's forehead.

Cold water slapped at his feet and legs suddenly, and Arthur gasped.

"Just water," Merlin said, then ducked through the doorway. His silhouette doubled over for a moment after crossing the threshold, and Arthur scrambled to get up, splashing through the inch of water on the floor. Before he'd even made it to the doorway, Arthur could hear coughing, then nothing at all.

The room beyond was cool and small, with soft slate walls that dripped with water.

Merlin stood in the center just above a dark, wet heap of fabric that Arthur could only guess was the latest Merlinesque inhabitant.

"He isn't breathing," Merlin said, nudging the heap gently with a booted foot.

Arthur's heart stuttered, and he elbowed him aside to get a better look at the soggy pile of rags. It was another Merlin, alright. With shaggy black hair plastered to his forehead and water flowing from the corners of his mouth and nose.

His lips were blue.

"What do I do?" Arthur looked up at Merlin.

"Make him breathe."

Arthur looked around the room frantically, but there was nothing in sight- just puddles.

"But how?"

"Don't you have magic?" Merlin asked, sounding a little bored.

Arthur stared at him. "How-?"

"Your eyes." Merlin motioned towards his own face. "It's hard to ignore."

Arthur didn't bother to ask why Merlin hadn't brought up the acquisition earlier.

"What do I do, then?"

Merlin shrugged. "Do look like I have magic?"

"What?" Arthur did a double-take. "But you do!"

"Not here, I don't!"

Arthur looked down at the blue-lipped Merlin. He groaned. "Goddammit…" He put his hand in the center of Merlin's chest, where the rise and fall of his lungs had stopped. His blue tunic was sticking to his skin. He hesitated. "I don't know what to do," he said.

Merlin was watching him intently. "Then you'd better hurry up and find out, sire."

Arthur looked at his hand on Merlin's still chest. Was he supposed to say a spell? Wasn't that how magic worked? How was he supposed to know the proper words? He didn't speak the tongue, and he had never bothered to pay attention to the way sorcerers spoke before they tried to kill him. He only knew the handful of words that Iseldir had given him to begin this quest, and the strange guttural roar Merlin had used to summon a dragon all those weeks ago… And even Arthur knew the dragon tongue was different than spell-casting.

And Merlin had never even used spells, had he? Not in all the time that Arthur had watched him from the shadows. It was just a pointed look or a lifted hand, followed by the flash of his eyes. Could Arthur do that? Make magic with a pointed look and a flash of his eyes?

Iseldir had said Arthur's and Merlin's magic was connected, but how did Merlin do it? Casting without words was practically unheard of. Now that he thought of it, he realized he'd never seen anybody else do it successfully. Even the handful of spells he'd seen Morgana cast were muttered or spoken.

Leave it to Merlin to do things the hard way.

"Okay, Merlin," Arthur said, repositioning his hand on his chest. "Your- our- stupid magic must be even a little useful, or else you'd be dead by now."

Merlin's chest was cold and clammy where his shirt was parted.

"You need to hurry, Arthur," Merlin said above him. "We're running out of time."

Breathe, Merlin, Arthur tried to say it as clearly as he could in his head.

His vision blurred for a moment.

Nothing happened.

Arthur grunted in frustration and pushed on Merlin's chest again. Maybe he couldn't do the whole wordless-spell thing. Maybe it needed words. "Breathe, Merlin."

Again, his vision blurred, halos appearing around every pinprick of light the wet floor reflected. His own chest stuttered of its own accord

Merlin remained still.

Arthur pushed down harder. "Breathe, goddammit!" He put his other hand over the first. There was no heartbeat. It unnerved him. His own heart was pounding in his ears.

"You idiot! You know how to breathe, I know you do!" Arthur took a deep breath of his own, then let it out. He tried to visualize Merlin's chest expanding and contracting.

"Sire-" Merlin said above him,but Arthur shushed him.

"Don't say it. It's not too late yet," he said. Myrddin persisted.

"Sire, æðm."

"What?" Arthur looked up. He caught a glimpse of his own eyes in the puddles- Golden spots of refracted light. His stomach rolled.

The Merlin above him had a peculiar look on his face. His brow was furrowed as he chewed on his lip. "Try æðm," He said the strange word again. "I don't know-it feels... right?"

Arthur continued to stare. "It feels right? What if it isn't?"

"Oh, don't look at me like that, it's your fault I can't remember," Merlin quipped. Arthur suddenly felt guilty.

"Fine, right. What was it again? Om-a?"

"Æðm."

"Ae-om," Arthur repeated. He looked down again. He made sure his hands were directly in the center of Merlin's chest, closed his eyes, and said, shaking:

"Ae-om."

His eyes flew open as something burned the inside of his eyelids. The world was brilliant, a warm haze coating everything he could see. His fingertips were framed in light. Merlin's chest was framed in light. Specks of yellow danced through the air.

And then his fingers moved.

Or, rather, the body below his fingers moved. Just slightly. He would have thought he imagined it, but at the same time, the Merlin above him gave a strange little half-gasp and clutched at his own chest.

Arthur said the strange, foreign word again.

This time, the body below him most definitely moved, and with it came a sound- a burbling, scratchy keen. Arthur pulled his hands from Merlin's body and pushed him onto his side, watching as streams of murky water ran from his mouth and nose. Arthur held his own breath as the young man coughed once, twice, and then took a horrid half-breath.

His lungs whistled. Water streamed from his nostrils. He opened his eyes.

They were green.

Arthur was taken aback at the strange color, but only for a moment, as he realized the color he was seeing was a strange in-between shade of blue and gold, as if Merlin himself had cast a spell and stopped halfway through.

Merlin took another wheezing breath, coughing up more water. Arthur pulled him up and patted his back awkwardly, waiting for the hacking to cease.

When it did, the man looked at Arthur and began to sob.

The king had never seen Merlin cry-not like this, not so openly. He'd seen him tear up, hiccup a little. Take a few shaky breaths and move on- but not this, mouth open and red-faced and whimpering. Tears were running down his chin and mixing with the puddles already there, and Arthur had the absurd thought that Merlin was going to drown himself once again.

So he did the only thing he could think of- the one thing he did when Gwen cried, and what Morgana had done when he was young and had cried- he embraced the young warlock.

Both Merlins stiffened at the unexpected contact. Arthur half-expected to be pulled away, but instead both went very still.

Arthur knew he should let go. He'd done so much damage to Merlin, surely the contact was making him uncomfortable. He'd just looked so pathetic-

A pair of arms rested against Arthur's lower back. Arthur's focus was jolted back to Merlin, who was sopping wet, trembling, and… hugging back?

"Lucky bastard," the other Merlin muttered from behind him. "Doesn't remember what I remember," he sighed.

Arthur looked down. This Merlin was so childlike in his posture, curled up in Arthur's arms and making small snuffling noises. He had yet to speak. His wet clothes were impossibly heavy against Arthur's lap. His tears were soaking every inch of Arthur that hadn't already been soaked by the rest of the room.

It was immediately clear what aspect of Merlin this was: his sadness, and it was so overwhelming it had nearly killed him.

Arthur swallowed. What was he supposed to do to fix this? Make him happy? Content? Dry him off? Help him wring out his weighted clothes?

"... He will soon enough, though," the other Merlin was saying.

Arthur felt the weight in his arms shift. The other Merlin knelt in front of them both.

"Give him to me," he said, and Arthur understood that Merlin wanted to do this healing on his own. Reluctantly, Arthur slid the wet bundle to Merlin, who looked down at himself with a bittersweet smile.

""Æðm," he said, but this time Merlin didn't sound at all uncertain. The crying young man stopped sniffling as both of their eyes burned gold.

It only took a moment. Arthur was a but disappointed that, even staring directly at it for the first time, he couldn't tell what happened when the two Merlins merged. There were two and then there was one. There was no transition that Arthur could see, except that the newest version of Merlin stood with his shoulders a little more hunched, and his eyes looked a little more shadowed.

It made Arthur uncomfortable, that the further he explored this place, the more broken Merlin seemed. Or at least the more tired. He knew he couldn't expect Merlin to just be okay, especially in this environment, with only his head torturer as a companion, but he'd hoped something magical would happen to let Merlin bounce back quickly.

This was going so much more slowly than he'd hoped.

"I don't think I need to go through an introduction again," Merlin said, looking at Arthur. "We've been through this three times before, and I know it's you now, and you know it's me. So let's just move on, shall we?"

He turned to the far side of the room, where the last four rooms' doors had been located, and stopped. He was staring at a blank, smooth wall. There was no door set into it. No handle. No outline of a frame. Just unblemished stone.

"Where-?" The young warlock ran his hands along the wall, then whirled to look at Arthur, his eyes wide. "We're missing someone, aren't we?" he asked.

Arthur nodded mutely. Merlin sighed. "We need to get him, then," he said, pushing off from the wall. "Let's go."

Arthur turned to leave the room, but found words spilling out his mouth faster than he could think them through:

"There are chains, though, in the first room. And Merlin was… well he was dead, and then he wasn't, and the only reason I left him was to find something to break him out, but there hasn't been anything in any of the rooms. Not a single blasted thing, and I'm still not sure how to help him get out. If I only had my sword, then maybe I could. I should never have left him, I know, but I didn't have much choice, and-"

Merlin cut him off. "I said we'll go get him. We. Us. I meant it. Let's go."

Chapter Text

Instead of protesting, Arthur let himself be lead back through the doorway, through the room that had once been bursting with blinding light, shuffled through the muck that bit and stung Arthur's wounds, and finally to threshold of the room that radiated heat.

Arthur took a deep breath, trying to mentally prepare himself for walking across the scalding tile on feet that had tracked blood throughout the whole structure.

"It'll be over in a jiffy," Merlin said, beckoning to him from across the room. Arthur didn't have much of a choice.

He crossed the room as quickly as he could, tears threatening to spill from the corners of his eyes as his blood hissed and bubbled. Once on the other side, Arthur took hold of the ornate door knob and twisted it, wasting no time in escaping the heat of the floor.

Inside, the sound of rattling metal had not stopped. The smell of burnt hair and sweat hung heavy in the hair.

The Merlin observing the scene blanched.

"This is… I was not expecting this," he said.

Arthur nodded grimly. "Neither was I, the first time around."

They both took a few more steps toward the glowing figure. His face was impassive; a stark contrast to the seizing muscles of his limbs and torso. No new chains had grown, at least that Arthur could see, but the existing ones seemed to have no intention of stopping their blue lightning display.

"Has he been like this the whole time?"

Arthur ran a hand over his face before answering.

"No, he spoke earlier. Then this-" he waved to Merlin, "started happening and- Don't touch him!"

Merlin's hand froze a few inches from one of the chains. He gave Arthur a confused look.

"I made the mistake of doing that earlier," Arthur explained, "and it is a bad idea."

Merlin lowered his hand, opting to lean forward and squint hard at the situation.

"He's afraid," he said after a moment. As if that explained anything at all. Arthur cleared his throat.

"Yes, he said something like that earlier. But how does that help here?"

Merlin straightened again. "I honestly don't know."

"We need to find something to break him out."

Merlin gave him a side-eyed look. "And how has that been working for you so far?"

Arthur stuttered. "Well, do you have any better ideas, Merlin?"

"I suppose not."

The king threw his hands up into the air. "Perfect!" He took a minute to pace around the perimeter of the room, as if something would become obvious if he stared at the walls long enough.

"Sire," Merlin said. Arthur shushed him.

"I need to think, Merlin."

"And we both know how well that goes. Listen, sire."

His pacing stopped. "What, have you suddenly come up with an idea?"

"No-"

"Then what could you possible have to say?"

"-look up!"

Arthur did.

"...You've got to be kidding me."

Above them, the ceiling was broken by the faint outline of a trap door about two feet square, nearly invisible if it weren't for the glowing of the chains in the room.

"How did I not notice that before?" Not that Arthur had been paying much attention to the ceiling at all before. He'd been too shocked by the broken form of Merlin bound in chains.

"Maybe it wasn't there before," Merlin offered. It was true that the landscape here changed without warning. The door could have simply materialized within the last few minutes.

"Am I supposed to jump up there?" Arthur mused.

"I could give you a lift?"

"Don't be ridiculous, Merlin. You couldn't lift a child."

The warlock crossed his arms. "Fine. Then you could give me a lift."

They stared at each other for a moment, the strangeness of banter after weeks of cold avoidance catching up to them. Did Merlin trust Arthur enough to lift him into a strange hole in the ceiling?

He supposed Merlin didn't have much of a choice. It was either trust Arthur or spend eternity trapped in a room with his own tortured clone.

"Right," Merlin said, breaking the silence. "Let's go."

Arthur intertwined his fingers, offering Merlin his cupped palms as a step-up. Merlin only hesitated a moment before placing a boot down, and Arthur pushed him up towards the ceiling. It was relatively low, and Merlin easily pushed the panel up before scrambling into the space above. It was dark as night. Merlin's face peered down at him.

"There's nothing up here," he said. "Just darkness."

Arthur squinted into the space. Cold air was spilling from the hole above, and his heart skipped a beat.

"I know where you are," he said.

"And where is that?" Merlin had crawled away from the hole, and his voice was small and distant.

"Outside. I don't know what to call it… it's wherever I was before I found you."

"Oh..." he said, and his voice was nearly inaudible. "Huh!"

"What is it?" Arthur called, trying to change his angle to see into the hole. "Merlin?"

He could hear Merlin shuffling on his hands and knees, but there was no response. "Do you see anything?" he tried. Again, there was no response. Arthur felt his already-pounding heart start to race. What if they were wrong, and Arthur was supposed to go through the hole? What if Merlin got hurt? Would they both be trapped here forever?

He nearly had a heart attack when the door behind him slammed open. Turning around, he felt his heart sink. Merlin stood in the doorway, looking wide-eyed at Arthur.

"How-?" The warlock whirled around. The rooms had disappeared, replaced with the darkness that had been there before. A few yards beyond Merlin, a square of light was set into the floor- the trapdoor he'd crawled through.

"It's a circle," Arthur breathed. "God dammit…"

Merlin ran back to the hole in the floor and looked down. Above Arthur, his face appeared in the ceiling.

"That doesn't even make sense," Merlin muttered.

"None of this makes sense," Arthur replied.

"Where did the other rooms go?"

"Probably wherever they were before they appeared in the first place." Arthur pressed his fingers to the bridge of his nose. "I don't know."

Merlin entered the room through the doorway. He studied Arthur for a moment, then the figure behind him. "And he hasn't changed."

Arthur looked back at the chained Merlin. "No."

"Then you go outside, and I'll watch over him."

"I don't see how that's going to change anything."

"It's worth a try, isn't it?" Merlin snapped. "Besides, you've been out there before."

So Arthur took a deep breath and pushed his way around Merlin. Once again, he found himself standing in a nothing-scape, with a single doorway illuminated in front of him. The only difference was the presence of two Merlins, and a trapdoor a few yards in front of him.

"There's nothing here," he murmured. At least the smooth floor soothed his aching feet. He'd started to forget the pain, which he wished was a good thing.

He turned to look at Merlin, who was once again inspecting his clone.

"Any brilliant ideas?" he called back into the room.

"Nothing I can think of," Merlin called back. He turned to face Arthur. "Maybe if-"

The door swung closed.

"Merlin?" Arthur bolted across the small space to the door. The handle was stuck fast- locked.

"Arthur?" The Merlin inside sounded confused. "Arthur! Open the door!"

"I can't!" Arthur shouted back. Merlin was banging on the wood, shaking the hinges.

Arthur wound up and threw himself at the door, hoping the force would knock the hinges clear off, but only succeeded in bruising his shoulder.

The pounding inside stopped.

"Merlin?"

If Merlin made any response from inside, Arthur couldn't hear it. Arthur hit the door again and swore as he pulled his bloodied palms away from the wood. Wiping them on his trousers, he rested his ear against the wood, trying to listen for signs of life.

"Merlin, can you hear me?"

Nothing. It was like Merlin had vanished.

"C'mon, Merlin! You can't disappear on me again! Come back!"

Nothing. Not even the rattle of chains. Arthur let all of the breath out of his lungs. Merlin was gone again.

Merlin was gone again.

All of this was Arthur's fault. He slumped to the ground, his feet aching, shivering without his boots and shirt.

An idea struck him.

The trap door!

Arthur stood and raced to the square in the ground, which was still glowing dimly with blue light. He knelt and peered in…

...and found himself staring at his own face.

A mirror...? Arthur waved his hand over the hole, watching his reflection do the same. He tried to reach through it, but was met with cool glass. He balled his hand into a fist.

The impact of his hand against the glass shattered it, but it did not reveal Merlin. Instead, it broke to reveal more smooth floor beneath. The light went out. Arthur swore.

He was right back where he'd started. No Merlin, no idea how to proceed. Except now he was missing half of his clothes and had burned his feet. He groaned and sat back on his heels.

"Merlin, you need to come back!" he shouted, as if something would hear him and respond. As if maybe Merlin would appear before him, grinning and intact and unharmed.

Maybe Arthur was dreaming. Maybe he just needed to wake up, and he'd be lying in a forest somewhere, his knights asleep around him, the fire dying in the early light of the morning because Merlin had fallen asleep before stoking it. Gwen would be at home when he arrived, and she'd kiss his cheek and lead him to the throne room, where Arthur would sit and make simple amendments, and maybe he'd legalize magic, too, just to avoid all of this business happening to anybody else. And maybe Morgana would be good, and she'd be his advisor, and Merlin would write his decrees for him and smile when Arthur gave him a promotion and a new pair of boots, and-

"You are not welcome here," a voice, the emotionless one that had insisted that Arthur wasn't Arthur, that had lead Arthur through a doorway only to plummet into this hellscape, growled. Arthur felt something in his chest tighten.

"Yeah?" He snapped, "Well I don't even know where 'here' is. Why don't you enlighten me?"

The voice ignored him. "You have magic," it said.

"How observant," Arthur muttered into the wood.

"You are not Arthur."

"I take my statement back." If the voice could tell he had magic but couldn't see he was the king of Camelot, it had it coming.

Instead of reacting, it continued:

"Get out."

"No," Arthur said. He stood and turned around, facing the darkness. "Give me Merlin."

There was a booming cackle that shook the ground.

"Give you Merlin?" It asked, mockery in its tone. Arthur squatted to keep his balance. So it thought this was funny.

"Yes," He said with as much dignity as he could muster. "Give me Merlin, and I will go."

"Oh, how mislead you are," the voice said, and this time it was close to Arthur's ear. "I cannot just give you Merlin."

"And why not?" Something didn't feel right in Arthur's gut. He was missing something. He knew he was.

"Because, Arthur…" Something brushed his shoulder, and Arthur whipped around to face the owner of the voice. "...I don't want to go."

Arthur realized his mistake the moment he laid eyes on the person in front of him.

It was Merlin. The voice belonged to Merlin. Standing with a smirk on his face and his arms crossed against his chest, he was unmistakable.

The smirk grew wider at Arthur's incredulous look.

"Hello, Arthur," Merlin said, and the voice was off. It was Merlin's face (albeit with golden eyes), but without the face Arthur hadn't been able to recognize the voice at all.

He was dressed in a pair of black trousers and his normal brown boots. His shirt was deep purple and ripped down the front, revealing his chest. The skin of his torso was blackened with what looked like soot and beneath it he could see Merlin's swollen veins, throbbing gold. Along his arms were angry, oozing welts that glistened unnaturally brightly.

"Who are you?" Arthur managed after a moment of shock. This wasn't fear, nor was it anger or hope or sadness or any of the facets of Merlin Arthur had ever had to deal with, not in this enchantment nor in real life. This wasn't human-it was a creature, angry and dark, and Arthur could feel cold coming off of it in waves.

"I am Merlin," it said, still grinning.

"No," Arthur shook his head and pressed himself against the door behind him, "not all of him."

Not-Merlin shrugged. "I'm the part that matters, though," he purred. "At least to the real Arthur."

Arthur grit his teeth. Not-Merlin unfolded his arms, and Arthur caught a glimpse of something shiny and green in one of the welts.

"I am Arthur," Arthur said.

He scoffed. "Not any Arthur I know."

"And what Arthur do you know?" He really didn't think he had time for games. There was no telling where the rest of Merlin had been sent, what was being done to him as they spoke.

Merlin's lip curled in disgust at the question. "The Arthur I know," he spat, "would never find himself here. Would never stoop so low in his mind as to wield magic."

"And if he did?"

"He wouldn't."

"Humour me," Arthur was standing up straight, moving away from the door, curiosity outweighing fear. "If the Arthur you knew did wield magic, why would that be a source of disgust?"

Not-Merlin's brow furrowed and his lip curled even further. His fists clenched and released, the tendons in his ashen arms bulging, but he did not answer.

Arthur took another step toward him, fighting the urge to rock back and away from the cold. "If I am Arthur, and I am wielding magic… What then?"

Not-Merlin began to take a step forward, but stopped. He pulled himself back and fluttered his fingers nervously. It was a minute motion, but one Arthur didn't miss. This creature was unsure. Angry, but unsure. It opened its mouth and said forcefully, "It's not possible."

Arthur tilted his head, a small smile beginning to form on his lips. This man was clever, but not nearly as clever as Merlin was with words-and Arthur had a lot of practice deflecting Merlin's banter. "And why not?"

"Because," Not-Merlin said, and hesitated again. His right hand went up to scratch at one of the swollen welts on his arm, and beneath the skin something glinted purple. Arthur quelled his revulsion and tried to shift his weight to get a better look, but the creature noticed and snapped its arm backwards out of view, snarling and baring its teeth like a wild animal. "Because the Arthur I knew was an ignorant, selfish bastard," it finished quickly.

"As are many sorcerers."

"I wasn't finished!" It snapped, "the Arthur I knew was a tyrant. He was a monster. He was attention-hungry and calculating. He was emotionally stunted and narcissistic. And above all else, he feared magic. So tell me: Who are you? How did you come to be here?"

"I don't even know where the hell I am!" Arthur exclaimed in frustration. "Who are you? Where did you take Merlin?"

The creature chuckled. "If you really were Arthur, you'd already know."

Its head twitched to the side, exposing a welt in its neck. The creature grimaced.

"If you are the king- which I highly doubt, but we'll continue on- if you are, then you took Merlin all on your own. Broke him up into little pieces and scattered them."

It rolled its shoulders, wincing as if it was in pain. Arthur could only imagine it was, with the amount of infection that seemed to be bubbling under its skin. "We all have our inner demons, Arthur. Some stronger than others."

Arthur got the feeling that Merlin wasn't only talking about his own inner demons.

"The collar," Arthur murmured. "You're his magic?"

The creature tilted its head back and laughed, the sound came from every direction. "What's left of it, anyway!" Its voice was an unearthly echo.

It hunched its shoulders forward, its spine and ribs prominent even under its tattered shirt, and took a slow step towards Arthur, then stood straight again. Its fingers came up to scratch at one of the welts on its chest, tearing another long gash into the fabric of its shirt. It seemed to be irritated by something as it shook its head back and forth, muttering more to itself than to Arthur:

"You would look at me and see evil, and that is the irony of it! Look at me! Can't you see what you've done?" The scratching was getting more forceful, the blackened skin over the welt puckering beneath its nails. "Can't you see what you've caused?" The skin broke, and a river of gold-red spurted forth from the wound, seeping into its shirt and drying into an ashy black dust. "Can't you see that you. Made. Me. Like. This?"

With the final word, the creature tilted its head back and howled in pain, fingers digging into the wound, blood pulsing between them as something small and hard was pulled out and flung in Arthur's direction.

Arthur recoiled as the thing skittered to a halt on the floor inches from his feet, illuminated by its own faint internal light:

A shard of ruby.

Chapter Text

Arthur couldn't catch his breath as he suddenly took on an entirely new view of the welts that dotted the creature's arms. "Y-You-" he stammered, unsure of what to say.

The creature was still recovering from the violent outburst, but took the moment to fix its gaze on Arthur. "Yes?" It managed between breaths.

"But we removed the jewels," Arthur managed to get out.

But the creature just shook its head, smiling through a grimace as if in disbelief.

"You aren't the sharpest, are you? Not so quick on the upkeep? Not all of them, and besides, the collar is still on." It straightened, the hole in its chest still trickling gold-tinted blood. "Now you must answer my questions. Tell me, who are you and how have you come to be here?"

But Arthur wasn't listening. He was staring at the shard of ruby. What had Iseldir said? Something about exploiting the hole in the collar with magic. About how Arthur's magic was the piece of Merlin's magic that was free from the collar's affects.

But what was Arthur supposed to do with that information? Why hadn't Iseldir given him more instruction? He'd just thrown him into this spell completely blind, with just a vague understanding of destinies and magic and interconnection.

"I'll ask again," the creature snarled, "Who are you? How did you arrive here?"

"Arthur. The Druids helped me."

The creature shook its head. "Not Arthur," it said, "he'd never trust the Druids enough to cast a spell on him."

"How can I prove it to you?"

The creature scratched its jaw with chipped nails. "You can't," it said finally.

"The other Merlins believed me quickly enough. What makes you different?"

"I'm not a fool."

Arthur stared.

"Merlin and I are very close, but he can be a bit… Daft," the creature continued.

"How can you speak as if you are separate from him?"

The creature laughed. "With a collar and some jewels. I'd say the separation is pretty complete. Besides, his magic resides in other places." The creature cracked is neck and winced. "And I have a different name: Emrys."

Arthur felt his chest grow tighter. "Merlin is Emrys."

"Not without his magic and destiny," another twitch, followed by a grimace, "he's just a little lost serving boy now."

"His magic resides in me, you know," Arthur said suddenly, and then felt overwhelmingly sad when the creature's words actually sunk in. Merlin isn't Emrys without his magic. Merlin has no destiny without his magic. How must it have felt to have his destiny stripped from him? To have something that fiercely embedded into the fabric of his being stolen away?

"In that case, you disgust me," the creature- Emrys- spat. "Wielding the thing you stole from Merlin as your own?"

"I thought you didn't believe that I'm Arthur." And I thought you'd be much friendlier, was left unsaid.

"I don't. But if you were trying to pacify me, you're doing a horrid job."

"I'm just trying to help you," Arthur said, but it came out more petulant than he would have liked, and the resulting cackle that erupted from the creature's throat was enough to startle him. Over the sound, Arthur shouted, "you can at least let me try!"

The cackling stopped, Emrys's eyes growing serious. "And why would I do that?"

"It's not as if I can make anything any worse, is it?" He looked pointedly at the ruby on the ground. "And... you're dying."

The ruby looked like a scab, crusted and surrounded by pus. The collar, he remembered now, had looked beautiful to him. But now the metal was infection, the jewels bloody sores and boils. Arthur stooped to pick up the red gem, but hissed in surprise when it sent a jolt of discomfort through his fingers.

"...yes. There's nothing you can do about that." Sorrow filled Emrys's voice. Arthur looked up. The death claim had been a gamble. The creature looked resigned, tired. Its breathing was still heavy, and it was obvious that it wasn't going to improve any time soon. The collar was killing it slowly, and it seemed to be reaching its end. Even Arthur, with his pathetic threads of immature magic, could feel the way the exhaustion was eating away at the creature.

"I have a question, though," Arthur said finally, keeping eye contact. "I can tell you're lying. You know I'm actually Arthur. Why deny it?"

Instead of answering immediately, Emrys ran a hand through its hair, tugging at the dark strands absently. Its eyes went to its feet. A shiver visibly ran down its spine, and it let out a laugh that rapidly turned into a hacking cough. As Arthur watched, the coughs grew wetter, until Emrys was shuddering and breathing in a way that was reminiscent of crying… although Arthur wasn't sure Merlin's magic was capable of crying, even in this twisted human form.

"Emrys-" The name rolled off Arthur's tongue. "I-"

"Don't speak that name," Emrys hissed, the strange sobs ceasing. It looked at Arthur, "you don't deserve to."

Arthur shut his mouth, knowing they were on the precipice of something important, something his big mouth could ruin in a matter of moments.

"You threw it away," it continued, head still bowed, "you threw all of it away. Destiny. Trust. Protection. You think your destiny was ruined?" It fixed Arthur with a glare. "Imagine Merlin's! Destiny. Trust. Health." It's voice rose in pitch. "You took his life away from him, Arthur! His friends, his magic, his dignity-" a shuddering breath, "-you took his- my- our- body from us! Locked me up and threw away the key! Had me beaten, starved, tortured. Abandoned me to die in the dark! And you know what? I was finally, finally content with dying… And then you showed up."

Arthur looked stricken. Emrys took a step towards him, eyes dark and glowing.

"You're here, and you've ruined everything!" Arthur flinched back, Emrys's cold breath in his face. "Why couldn't you leave me alone? Let me die in peace? Give me that one mercy…" Its voice cracked. "But no, now you need to be here, too. Well, I'm not having it this time! Merlin might be gone from me, but I can still remember the pain. I can still hear the pleas falling on deaf ears. Just end it all, just kill me, please- I can still hear him screaming. I can still-" the creature choked on its own breath. "I can still-"

At some point, Arthur had fallen to his knees, though he couldn't remember when. "I'm sorry," he was saying, over and over again. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry."

Emrys was gaining its composure again. "You ask me why it can't be you, standing before me. You ask me why I refuse to believe King Arthur has finally come."

Arthur held his breath, afraid any sound might somehow shatter the creature.

"You can't be here now because you were never here before. You never came back. You never listened. You never showed the compassion that I once believed was in your heart. You never once looked at me, in all those weeks. I prayed that you'd change your mind, that you weren't exactly what I feared you were.

And now? It can't be you now, because you're too late. It can't be you now because…" Emrys's voice was nearly too soft to hear as it uttered the final words of its rant:

"... Because I can never forgive you."

Chapter Text

Emrys gripped its hair more forcefully, squeezing its eyes shut. "I can never forgive you, and you're here now, saying you're sorry. I've vowed to never forgive you, and here you are, trying to save me." It looked up. "Are you trying to save me because you feel guilty? Because you need to use me? Because you realize I'm still a helpful tool?! Why? Why go through all this trouble now, comfort all of those versions of Merlin, wield magic and release me now, when you didn't before?" It stretched out its arms. "I'm dying, Arthur! Merlin's destiny doesn't even exist. If I wake up, will it be in chains again? Will it be on a pyre? Will Owain be kneeling in front of me, crying and covered in Merlin's blood? Will you ask Merlin and I more questions that we don't have the answers to? Will Merlin be a criminal? Will our friends ever be able to look at us the same way again? Do they even know where Merlin has been? Do they think he's dead? A traitor? A pathetic prisoner beneath Camelot? Will I get to see them before you kill me? Would they even want to? I just don't know, Arthur! You didn't care. How can I trust you now?"

Arthur began to speak, but was cut off abruptly:

"I used to keep going because I thought, who'll protect Camelot if I'm gone?" Its voice had reached a hysterical pitch, "But now I know that I'm not needed. I was gone for three months and nothing changed. You're fine. The castle didn't crumble around me. The guards switched shifts like clockwork. Nothing changed. Nobody found me. Nobody came looking or tried to stop it from happening. So please. Just let me be. Let Merlin be. Give us this request. If nothing else, just let us die. I'm not asking you to forgive Merlin for lying to you about his magic. I just want you to find it in your heart to allow us to die, if not as a human being in your eyes, then at least in our own kind of peace."

Arthur's eyes had filled with tears. His view of Emrys had blurred until it was nothing but a grey-gold smudge. He saw the damage he'd done in strange, detached glimpses: Merlin, healthy, smiling, carrying his breakfast to him every morning until the day Arthur stepped in and decided to torture him to death. Merlin, unconscious but coming to in the dungeons, confusion in his words. Merlin, fear, then trust, then fear again in his eyes, his arms trembling as he tried to follow Arthur from his cell. Merlin, crying as Owain broke every bone in his fingers. Merlin, collapsing to the ground weeks later, hysterical and broken. Merlin, lying pale and gaunt on Gaius's table, unable to wake up.

What had happened in between those moments? Arthur had never checked. Nobody had, aside from the guards and the report-writers. Leon had probably seen Merlin once or twice- had Merlin seen Leon? What had he thought when his friend had walked by him in his cell and turned the other cheek? Had anybody ever bothered to tell Merlin why his friends weren't coming to see him? Why Gaius never tended to his wounds? Did he think they'd abandoned him to die? Had Owain had the courtesy to tell Merlin that he was believed to be dead? If he had, then Merlin would have had to face his own death in all but body- he would have known that people had mourned for him, buried him, maybe, sold his things. His name was carved into a monument for the dead somewhere, perhaps. Arthur couldn't picture what it would be like to be told you were dead already. He also couldn't imagine what it would be like to not know at all, and just assume everyone you knew had condemned you to pain in a dungeon. From Merlin's perspective, it would have made sense. Arthur had seen him, as had Leon and Owain, and all three had done nothing to stop his torment altogether. How was he to know that all of Camelot hadn't done the same? He must have felt like an animal. A creature. A phantom.

Certainly, he hadn't felt human.

He'd just wanted to die.

Arthur swallowed. How could he possibly tell Merlin of Morgana now? He was in no shape to take on another burden. To take on Camelot's burden. To take on another one of Arthur's burdens. He might've not even been strong enough to take on his own burden, the burden of living, anymore.

"Emrys," Arthur said, though his throat had closed up, and it came out as a rasping whimper. He coughed, rubbed his throat, tried to get his vision to focus on Emrys through the guilt. "Emrys," he tried again, "I- I want to give you what you've asked for." He coughed again, cleared his throat. "I want to...I want peace. For you. For Merlin."

Emrys was looking at him with those golden eyes, and Arthur couldn't read them- were they relieved? Sad? Hopeful? Resigned?

Merlin had never been suicidal.

He just wanted everything to stop.

"I was wrong," Arthur continued, "about everything. About Merlin. About you- about magic. I treated you like something less than human. Treated you worse than even my own enemies would deserve to be treated. I let fear, and hatred, and stupidity cloud my judgement. I ruined so many lives. I ruined yours and I ruined Gaius's and Gwen's and all of the knights and probably so many more that I don't even know about. And I know I don't deserve forgiveness. I won't ask it of you." He ran his hand over his face. "And I want so much to just leave you be, Merlin, believe me when I say that. If I could give you everything you've asked for, I would. But-"

"You called me Merlin," Emrys interrupted. Its eyes had slipped to stare at the floor, "just now. You called me by his name."

Arthur froze. "I'm sorry," his heart was pounding, "It just slipped out."

Emrys nodded. "I see."

"It's just- you are very similar to him."

"Yes, I suppose I am." Emrys sounded thoughtful. "Continue."

What was that about? Arthur wondered, but continued speaking anyway. "I'm sorry. I guess this is more towards Merlin than it is towards you. But Merlin has disappeared. And I owe every part of him a debt greater than I can ever repay, including you. Especially you."

He took a deep breath. Emrys was rubbing its chin, its eyes glazed over in thought. "I know I don't have the right to ask anything of you…" He trailed off. It seemed that Emrys was not listening. "...Emrys?"

The creature slowly looked up, its hand falling from its face. Its eyes found Arthur's and held them, the gold pulsing slowly, chasing itself in circles around the pupils like goldfish chasing wisps of smoke. Its voice sounded very far away when it finally spoke:

"I can bring you to him."

"What?" Arthur must have misheard.

"I said, I can bring you to him."

Arthur's heart skipped a bear. The world around them was no longer cool; it was freezing, the whole great expanse of it like the depths of a bottomless ocean. Arthur's magic prickled. The hairs on his arms stood up. He felt Emrys in front of him as a tangled mass of thorns and vulnerable flesh, of something ancient and tired, holding something soft and naive.

Somewhere far away, a child slept. Or perhaps it was not a child, but Arthur himself. Something confused and small, something different from Arthur but not at all separate, a package of organs and slow, deliberate breaths and wide blue eyes accustomed to the dark.

"But I didn't rescue all of him," Arthur said. "He is still in two pieces."

Emrys twitched its head to the side, cracking its neck and wincing. "He's been broken for a long time. It was the only way to keep him alive. The collar was destroying him, bit by bit. It attacked his body. His mind. His magic."

Emrys took a deep breath. "I couldn't do much for his body. I was...restrained." Arthur looked at the jewels lodged in its flesh and felt the growingly familiar urge to vomit. "I could just keep him breathing, and that was only through a loophole."

"Me," Arthur breathed. Emrys nodded.

"I couldn't protect his mind, either. Not the way it was. And at first, he felt everything. Thought through everything. Remembered everything. I hate to admit that it took me a few weeks to sort everything out enough to be of any use, and at that point his mind had already begun to fracture. If I am being honest, it was the fracturing that gave me the idea. Isolate bits of him. Preserve what I could."

Emrys had begun to walk now, away from Arthur, and Arthur slowly followed, keeping a dozen feet between the two of them. He couldn't see where they were going.

"It worked, but it was a temporary solution. The collar was having an effect on me as well. What started off as safe havens became prisons."

Arthur thought back to the searing heat, the muddy floors, the spontaneously growing chains. The blinding walls and wet tiles.

"Merlin isn't strong enough to put himself together again. I'm not strong enough to free him. Things are crumbling around us."

"I freed him from most of those rooms," Arthur pointed out. "But I don't know how to get him out of the last one."

A smirk spread across Emrys's lips, and it looked back at Arthur. "Fear is a very powerful thing."

"He's afraid of me. How can I help if I am the problem?"

"You can't," Emrys said. "Merlin is afraid of you."

"Then how can you take me to see him?"

"Because, Pendragon," Emrys knelt down, running its hands along the smooth black floor. Its broken nails met an invisible ridge, and it tugged, pulling a square of darkness from the floor, opening up a trapdoor identical to the one Arthur had climbed through. "You were missing a piece of the puzzle."

Hesitantly, Arthur approached the hole. Inside was a short drop, and at the bottom was Merlin, asleep on his side, still dressed in Arthur's tunic and boots.

Emrys slid through the hole, landing silently beside the sleeping figure. Merlin didn't stir at all as Emrys looked up.

"Come on," it said, and Arthur followed, landing with a thud in the center of the dungeon cell.

"What was I missing?" Arthur looked around. The room was the same as before. No debris. No weak links in the chains. No space between the Merlin strung up in the back's body and his bonds.

"You were missing me," Emrys said.

"But you said you're not strong enough."

Emrys was already walking towards the back of the room, where the body of Merlin's fear was slumped.

"I wasn't strong enough to fix Merlin, no," Emrys agreed, resting a hand on the prisoner's cheek. "I couldn't string his pieces back together. And can you imagine what would happen to a person's mind if only their fear was released?"

"So you had the power to unlock Merlin's fear, but nothing else?"

Emrys laughed sadly. "His fear was the only thing I could fully control at all. The collar was completely fine with letting his fear run amok while the rest of him withered away."

Realization struck him. "You locked away Merlin's fear yourself, then."

Emrys nodded. When Merlin's mind had fractured and only fear was left, his magic had done the only thing it could to try to preserve Merlin at all. It had stopped him from feeling anything.

"Merlin," Emrys whispered. Neither of the bodies stirred. Emrys smiled sadly, as if looking upon its own sleeping child. "It's up to you to deal with the damage you've caused," he said to Arthur.

Then, with trembling fingers, it ran its hand over the chain across Merlin's chest. There was a creaking sound, a hiss like water in a hot pan, and the chain crumbled. Merlin took a hollow gasp, his chest expanding fully. His eyes fluttered.

Emrys took his time, running a hand along each of Merlin's bonds, destroying them piece by piece until only his wrists remained and Arthur had to step in to support his dead weight as Emrys finished the task.

Merlin's eyes were open but half-lidded, his body limp in Arthur's arms.

Emrys looked from each Merlin to Arthur.

"You haven't finished your quest," he said, "but now you can."

And with that, there was a flash of light, a deafening pop, and the walls around the four of them had collapsed.

Or, two of them.

Arthur's eyes opened slowly. As the dust settled, he found himself sitting on Merlin's bed. The druids were gone. Gaius and Gwen and the knights had disappeared. The rain outside the window was still. Arthur was sitting with his legs out, leaning against the wall.

And Merlin was across from him, sitting cross-legged, his back towards the low footboard. As recognition came to Arthur, Merlin pulled his bowed head up and rested his eyes on the king.

"Hello, sire."

Arthur's breath caught in his throat. It was him. Arthur could feel it. Not a patchwork of emotions and missing memories. Not a clone or magic incarnate.

This was Merlin.

This was the man that had spent his days scrubbing Arthur's floors.

This was the man who had spent weeks in a dungeon.

This was the man Arthur had betrayed.

This was the man who lay in Gaius's chambers.

This was all of him, maybe more than Arthur had known before.

And he was staring at Arthur like he wasn't sure if he should bolt or fight.

"Merlin?" Arthur squeaked. His magic was buzzing in his brain. That's me, it said, because Arthur knew the magic was only borrowed from Merlin. He knew that his own body was simply a conduit for something much bigger, something that had moments before been glaring at him with golden eyes and jewels embedded in its chest.

Merlin took a breath. His lungs rattled wetly. He looked better here than he did in real life, but only marginally. His fingers were still twisted. His eyes were still bruised. The ring of blisters was still visible on his neck when the collar moved. He was thin and exhausted and should have probably been unconscious, but Arthur suspected that his physical injuries didn't carry over the same when they were both residing somewhere between Arthur's and Merlin's minds and a spell cast upon a magic-suppressing collar.

"What do you have to say?" Merlin asked quietly. He fiddled with the hem of his shirt (his shirt; Arthur's shoes and shirt had vanished with the final transformation).

Instead of continuing his request, however, Arthur opened his mouth and said, "I'm so glad to see you."

The words came out unbidden, and Merlin gave him a strained smile that didn't reach his eyes. The feeling wasn't mutual.

"You were saying you were sorry," Merlin said. His voice was still soft, but it was cold.

"Yes," Arthur said, clearing his throat, "did you hear that? Earlier?"

Merlin nodded.

"Is your magic here, now?" Arthur couldn't tell by looking at Merlin. His eyes weren't glowing. There were no jewels in his skin. He still wore the collar.

Another nod. The collar had looked uncomfortable when Merlin was unconscious, but now that he was awake and moving, it looked even worse.

"Then you know that I want nothing more than to give you everything you've asked for," Arthur continued.

A third nod, but this time Merlin tilted his head to the side. "But there's a catch," Merlin stated. It wasn't a question. He knew Arthur's speech patterns. Knew when a request was being made of him.

Arthur closed his eyes, his fingers coming up to pinch his nose. The way Merlin spoke about his desire for Arthur to let him die was so nonchalant.

"Yes," he forced out. "There's a catch."

"There's always a catch."

Arthur looked around the room. There were no decorations on the walls. The blanket was plain. Merlin had never asked for much.

"Your friends didn't know," Arthur found himself saying. "They didn't know you were still alive. I told them you were dead."

Merlin nodded.

"You knew?" Arthur asked, "Did Owain tell you?"

"No. I didn't know." Merlin murmured.

"That was why they never came down to visit, and why they didn't help you. They thought you were dead."

Merlin smiled, staring into his lap. "Leon knew."

Arthur faltered. "I- yes. Leon knew."

"So Gaius isn't dead?" Merlin's eyes found Arthur's, and they were so dark Arthur couldn't remember how to speak. Of course, it would have made sense to think that. Gaius had known of Merlin's powers. If Merlin hadn't known that his friends thought he was dead, he must have assumed that they'd all condemned him for his magic. But Gaius would never have condemned him. Of course the only explanation for Gaius's lack of intervention would be to assume he'd been killed.

"No, Merlin. Gaius is fine. He thought you were dead, too. Everybody did. Nobody came looking because they didn't know there was anyone to look for."

Merlin shrugged. "They wouldn't have come looking anyway," he snorted.

Arthur felt bile rise in his throat. So Merlin thought his friends hated him for his magic. He thought they wouldn't have tried to help him even if they were given a chance. How had Arthur ruined Merlin's view of himself so thoroughly? How had he convinced Merlin he was something incapable of being loved?

But he knew the answer. Arthur and Leon were enough proof. Merlin had seen two friends give up on him, and had seen nothing else.

Of course Merlin didn't want to go back.

"You're wrong," Arthur said. "They would have stormed that dungeon."

Merlin laughed, shaking his head in disbelief. "You don't need to lie to me."

Something rose in Arthur's chest. "I'm not! You didn't see what I did- what your death did to people!"

A flinch ran down Merlin's spine. Arthur inwardly winced, but this needed to be said.

"You don't understand," Arthur continued, "Gwaine and Percival blacked out the windows for weeks. They won't look me in the eye. Gwen won't speak to me. Gaius, either. Elyan goes on patrol for days at a time because he can't stand to be in my presence."

Merlin had stopped picking at the hem of his shirt and was now very still, his head cocked to the side as he listened.

"Gwaine won't stop drinking. Every night, he goes to the tavern. He won't let me take the mourning cloths down. Gwen no longer sleeps in the same room as me. She spends her time in Gaius's chambers. The only reason Gwaine hasn't killed me by now is because Percival holds him back. The only reason Percival hasn't killed me by now is a complete mystery, but I suspect it's out of sheer willpower. Elyan, too."

Arthur took a deep breath. He was getting lightheaded.

"And honestly, I deserve all of it! I wish they had killed me! At least then, Owain and and Leon could have come forward."

"They could have come forward anyway," Merlin muttered. "And if you had died, what would have happened? Would I have been released? Killed immediately? Would people have simply forgotten I was there and let me starve to death? Would Leon and Owain have come forward, or would they have continued to keep quiet about the whole thing?"

"They were just following orders."

Merlin laughed. "Right! Because that makes all of this alright."

"Owain tried to tell me to stop. I wouldn't listen."

"And what of Leon?"

"He claims he wasn't aware the situation had gotten so bad."

Merlin crossed his arms. "So you're apologizing for them."

"No. That's up to them."

"No," Merlin snapped, "That's up to me. I decide what's acceptable and what's not. Not you."

Arthur fell silent.

Merlin took a few heavy breaths. "What do you want from me? Do you want me to tell you that it's okay? Because it's not."

"No. I know it's not."

"Fine," Merlin snapped, "then just tell me what you need me to do and get it over with."

Arthur hesitated. Merlin growled.

"Well? Come on! What is it?"

The room was spinning. Arthur could feel the weight of his mistakes crushing him. But he needed Merlin's help. He needed to ask, and he needed to be prepared for Merlin to say no. He needed to be aware that Merlin owed him nothing, owed everybody nothing.

"It's… It's Morgana," Arthur began, and Merlin snapped.

"Are you still convinced I have information, Arthur!?" he shrieked, sliding backwards off the bed. "That's it, isn't it? Do you want me to give you my plans? How about you open me up a bit more!" He fell to his knees on the floor of his room and spread his arms out wide. "Maybe if you chop a couple of fingers off, I'll remember." He got up, crawled across the bed until he was inches from Arthur, waving his long, broken fingers in Arthur's face. "You know how great I am at resisting torture! I couldn't tell you what you wanted even if you killed me!" He laughed. "The best kind of informant is the kind that knows nothing at all, right?" He ran his fingers through his hair. It was like he couldn't feel the pain of his body at all. Maybe he couldn't. "Is that why you came here? I was too far gone in the real world to answer questions anymore, so you had to enter my mind instead? Well, joke's on you! I know nothing of Morgana!"

Merlin got off the bed again, backed himself into the corner of the room. There was a trunk pushed against the wall there. He sat down on it.

"And you'd have been too late, anyway. All I gotta do is wait a little while longer, and this'll be over. You can watch, if you want. I'm sure it'll be bittersweet for you. You won't be able to ask me questions anymore, but on the other hand, there'll be one less monster in your dungeons to deal with. You'll just need to find a place to burn my body. Or, maybe you can just let it rot in the dungeons. I've already had a funeral, right? Don't need another one."

The rapid movement seemed to have drained Merlin of his energy, because he stopped then, doubling over and gasping into his knees. His hands went around his stomach as he coughed and spluttered, blood splattering onto the ground below him. He reached up to grip the collar around his neck.

Arthur leapt up, his heart pounding in his ears. This had gone more wrong than he had imagined. He could feel the way Merlin's magic was fluttering, the last bits of his life draining away.

"I don't want any information, Merlin," Arthur said, frantically hitting him between his shoulder blades, trying to help him expel the blood that was filling his throat. "I want you to live so that you can save Camelot from her. So that you can see that your friends never abandoned you. So that you can fulfill the destiny that you've worked so hard for."

"Then why haven't you released me?" Merlin gasped, spitting more blood into his lap.

"I don't know how!" Arthur exclaimed. Merlin pressed his hands to his face, blood staining his fingers. His breathing was slowing. Arthur was holding him up. The warlock turned his head towards Arthur, his face pale, his eyes rolling back into his head.

"Just take the damn thing off." He gasped. "You have the power. Just. pull. it. off."

Arthur stared. What? He looked at the collar. Could it be that easy? Was that the final step? His mind had been restored. His magic reunited with his body. Was the last step that simple? Arthur didn't have a key, or a spell. Did he need one, now that he'd completed everything else?

He looked at the tiny line that indicated the collar's seam. Letting Merlin fall against his chest, Arthur reached up and wrapped his hands around the metal on either side.

Only one way to find out, he thought.

And he tugged.

Chapter Text

The metal came apart with little resistance, the two halves falling away with an airy hiss. Merlin let loose a howl- of pain, of relief, of surprise- before he began heaving in lungfuls of air, his forehead still resting against Arthur's chest. A fine spray of blood and saliva coated the two of them every time Merlin frantically pushed air from his lungs before gulping down more, his shoulders bouncing, the muscles in his back pulled taught. His fingers spasmed in his lap.

Arthur threw the collar across the room, where it struck the far wall and landed with a loud clang. He never wanted to see the thing again, for as long as he lived. For as long as Merlin lived.

He seized Merlin's jerking shoulders and pulled him upright, trying to catch the young warlock's eyes, trying to assess the damage, trying to get him to calm down.

Merlin kept swallowing mouthfuls of air, his eyes squeezed shut. He tilted his face up to breathe more deeply, blood covering his face and neck and clothes. There was pain in his features, pain and… bliss? Was that it? The way he squeezed his eyes shut and breathed? Like watching a drowning man breach the surface of a lake.

Arthur carefully avoided looking at the space where the collar had been. He knew he had to face it eventually, but he was sure that the moment he did, he would break down, and that was not what either of them needed right now. Instead, he focused on the fact that Merlin had managed to clear the blood from his throat and was now flagging, the lines on his face smoothing out as his muscles went slack. Arthur cupped Merlin's face in his palms.

"Merlin," he said, watching the warlock's eyes roll beneath his eyelids. "Merlin!"

The warlock jerked at the sound, his eyes fluttering open. They were a hazy gray, and before Arthur could pinpoint why, they morphed to a gold so bright he had to close his eyes.

Arthur jumped as warm fingers found his wrists. Then his shoulders. The space behind Arthur's eyelids was too bright to comprehend, and he realized that his eyes must have been glowing, too, if the light and heat were anything to go by.

Another pair of hands rested against the small of his back. Arthur gasped and opened his eyes, but there was only golden light- who was with them? Whose hands were touching his arms and back and face? They were not the cold, shattered ones that belonged to Merlin, whose face was still resting in Arthur's, even if he could no longer see it.

This is it, something whispered. Let go.

Arthur didn't want to let go. He wanted to bundle Merlin up and protect him forever. He wanted to wrap him up in the finest, softest blankets and feed him all of his favorite foods until his body and soul and mind and magic had healed. He wanted to see him practice the kind of magic he wanted, see him hug Gwen and Gaius again, see Gwaine and Percival and Elyan tease him.

Let go, Arthur, the voice persisted, and the hands tugged on his arms gently.

"Please," Arthur whispered, "don't hurt him."

Your job is done, Pendragon.

Resigned, Arthur let them pull him away.

He was not what Merlin needed anymore.

As Arthur's hands fell into his lap, the gold light rapidly faded around him.

Your job is done.

Arthur had a brief glimpse of the back of Merlin's head before the darkness swallowed him up, and he knew no more.

"Merlin!"

Arthur awoke with a start, Merlin's name on his lips. It took him a few moments to adjust to the dim light of the room, but when he did he was met with a sea of faces and wide eyes.

"Ah-!" He tried to scramble backwards, frantically twisting his head, but a steadying hand on his shoulder kept him still.

"It is okay, Pendragon," a voice from above him said, "you've done it."

Arthur whipped his head around to see Iseldir, his hand still on Arthur's shoulder. It was then that Arthur became aware of his surroundings: The sea of faces belonged to the Druids. Gaius, Gwen, and Gwaine were scattered along the outskirts of the room. Percival was halfway through the doorway. The Druids seemed satisfied; they were looking at him with hope. Everybody else looked wide-eyed with residual panic. Had Arthur been yelling? It was obvious that Percival had suddenly burst into the room only moments ago. Hadn't he been in the corner with the others? How long had he been out?

He looked down. Merlin was in his lap once again. His hair was greasy and long. His spine was jutting grotesquely under the bandages and digging into Arthur's chest.

There was a beat. Arthur could feel his own rib cage heaving as he looked up, his eyes wide. The Druids were holding their breath. His friends were, too. All eyes were glued on Arthur and the precious cargo in his arms.

Arthur's stomach dropped as he had a horrible thought:

Was this real?

It was then that there was a shift, and Arthur had only a split second to register what was happening before the mop of black hair twisted to reveal a pair of swollen eyes and the room erupted into noise.

The goblet on the table shattered, splashing water across the nearest Druids, who had jumped into action. A handful of them grabbed Gwaine and Gwen and shoved them, along with Percival, through Merlin's doorway. Two leapt up to shield Gaius, their eyes glowing as they cast some kind of counterspell. The rain roared through the window, the glass exploding inward as the wind whipped through the room, tearing the curtains from there mounts. The table beside Arthur collapsed. The book lying atop it flipped rapidly through its own pages.

It was as if a tornado had manifested itself within the room, and Merlin and Arthur were at the center. The floorboards creaked. Moss blossomed along the walls. Rats bolted from unseen holes in the foundation and disappeared again. Arthur clutched Merlin tightly to his chest, trying to shield him from the bits of wood and leaves and debris that were flying around the room. Or, he tried to, but Merlin, who had somehow wound up facing Arthur, simply pushed him back, his eyes glowing, his expression unreadable.

The collar had fallen into Arthur's lap at some point (hadn't he thrown it across the room?), and now the pieces of it burned Arthur's skin. He yelped and scrambled backwards, trying to brush the pieces of scalding metal off.

Was this supposed to happen? Why did the Druids seem unprepared? Where was Iseldir?

Merlin was squatting on the bed like a gargoyle, his uncut hair whipping around his face as his magic howled and shrieked around him. Arthur winced as something flew by his cheek, but nothing touched him. Squinting, Arthur realized that although the wind was screaming and kicking up debris from outside, none of it was actually hitting anybody- not the Druids, nor Gaius, nor the spell that they had cast to protect him.

It was all very Merlin.

The wind continued to rush through the room for a few moments more, and although it had felt like longer, Arthur knew it had only lasted several seconds.

As abruptly as it started, it stopped. The book went still. The curtains fluttered to the ground. The twigs fell to the floor. The moss retreated. The noise died down.

Merlin's eyes faded back to their usual blue, and for a moment they remained like that, their depths settled on Arthur's own.

But the moment passed, and Merlin slumped forward as they rolled into the back of his head.

This time, it wasn't Arthur who caught him as he fell. It was Gaius, who had rushed forward before the magical fit had even begun to die down and had made it to Merlin before he'd even started to collapse.

Standing at the foot of the bed, the physician caught Merlin's shoulders from behind. Arthur scrambled off the side of the bed and rushed towards the window. Behind him, Iseldir had joined Gaius in helping maneuver Merlin into the bed, but Arthur had to check something first.

He needed to know if the spell was really over.

He peeked outside and breathed a sigh of relief. Camelot stretched as far as he could see. The rain was falling steadily. The grass bent beneath the droplets.

He was back, and Merlin was free.

Chapter Text

Arthur was screaming.

Gaius didn't have time to look- he was too busy maneuvering Merlin's limp body into the bed. Arthur had run to the window the moment Merlin's magical fit had stopped, and if he'd gone and hurt himself in the process, it wasn't Gaius's problem right now.

What was his problem was Merlin, whose body was limp beneath his fingers.

Gaius could have seen Merlin flagging from miles away. As the room had roared and spun with wind and debris and magic, Gaius had been watching Merlin. He knew the boy better than anyone, knew what he looked like when he was exhausted, dizzy, or about to pass out. He'd seen him cast strong magic. He'd seen him weak. He'd seen countless other sorcerers, both collared and uncollared, casting voluntarily and involuntarily. And he'd be damned if he couldn't recognize when a spell was taking more than a sorcerer's body could sustain.

And he would have to hang up his title of physician if he couldn't recognize when Merlin, of all people, was about to collapse.

So as the Druids rushed to protect Gaius and Iseldir tried to figure out a way to stop the reaction and Arthur scrambled to the other side of the bed, Gaius pushed his way through.

It was clear to Gaius that this was Merlin's magic returning to him, and not even a healthy body would be able to withstand that much. So when the episode inevitably passed, Gaius would be there to catch the boy before he hit the ground.

That time came more quickly than Gaius had expected.

Merlin was squatting at the foot of the bed with his back to Gaius, the wind whipping around his head. His slouched posture pushed his bruised spine grotesquely into the air, the thin bandages turning red as his skin was stretched and cracked by the movement. Gaius could feel the pressure in the room building, building, building-

And then it dropped.

No climax.

Just...dropped.

Gaius had only barely gotten to the bed before Merlin had started to slump forward, the rigidity of his spine softening. Gaius caught the boy by his shoulders, his fingers lightly pressing on the bones beneath his skin. Gaius cringed a little- no matter how many times he treated Merlin, he'd never gotten used to a body so emaciated. He hoped he never did.

Iseldir appeared beside Gaius, and together, they turned Merlin onto his side. Gaius realized he'd need to change Merlin's bandages again, with the wounds being reopened and the amount of debris that had been caked to the linen.

And- Gaius looked at the skin where the collar had been- he'd need to bandage his neck, too.

Gaius felt something flush under his skin. Gods, there was relief, there- without the collar, Merlin might heal. Without the collar, destiny wasn't broken. Without the collar, maybe Merlin would have hope of recovery…

But right now, he was unconscious with a ring of nasty, gnarled burns around his throat.

They got him into the bed comfortably, Arthur having scurried away for reasons Gaius couldn't begin to guess, when the screaming began.

Gaius thought it was Merlin until Iseldir rushed towards Arthur, at which point Gaius decided that just this once, Merlin was going to come before the king.

It was only after a few seconds that the screaming actually did begin to come from Merlin.

"Merlin-!" Gaius gasped as the warlock's eyes shot open and filled with tears. He lifted his arms and went to push Gaius away, his fingers curled into half-fists.

"Please-" Merlin's voice was hoarse, his eyes wide and desperate, "Just leave me alone, let me die, let me go, please, I just want to go-"

Gaius felt his heart break as the mantra continued. The crying only grew worse when Gaius managed to catch Merlin's clubbing hands, turning into sobs as the boy realized he wasn't strong enough to escape.

"Please!" He writhed. "Just leave me alone!"

"Merlin-" Gaius tried to keep his voice soft but firm. Merlin continued to cry, shaking his head back and forth. "Merlin."

The boy's eyes landed on Gaius but slid away again.

"Merlin, it's Gaius," he continued, "I need you to listen to me." The boy continued to writhe. Gaius dropped his voice to a whisper.

"Merlin, you're safe now. Please, look at me. Look at me. You're okay, my boy, just look at me."

Merlin's eyes fell on Gaius, and Gaius felt struck to the bone by how exhausted they were. How grey and flat and resigned they looked. Then they brightened, just a little, and Merlin took a deep, surprised breath.

"Gaius?" he squeaked, as if he couldn't believe what he was seeing. Gaius knew he probably didn't, not after what he'd been through.

"Yes, my boy. It's me," Gaius's voice cracked. "You're safe now. It's over. You're-"

He didn't get to finish. Merlin's eyes filled with tears and he threw himself forward, his arms winding around Gaius's neck. Gaius broke down completely then.

"Gods, Merlin-"

Merlin hiccuped. "I thought you were dead," he whispered through his tears.

Oh, Merlin… Gaius thought. He squeezed him tighter.

The door behind them slammed open, and Gaius could feel the way Merlin's muscles bunched under his skin at the noise.

"It's just the door," he murmured, then, realizing that Merlin might not know who was coming through the door, he said, "it's your friends. Nobody is going to take you back."

Merlin nodded into Gaius's shoulder, but he was still tense. When a floorboard to Gaius's right creaked, Merlin pulled himself away from Gaius, his eyes filled with apprehension. Gaius kept his hands braced against the boy's shoulders as he turned to face whoever it was that had approached. Gaius prayed it was a Druid, or Gwen, and not a knight- not now, when Merlin was so obviously terrified of being dragged back down to the dungeons.

He didn't need to turn around to find out. Merlin peered over Gaius's shoulder, then looked back at Gaius. His lips parted as he let out a puff of air.

It had to have been Gwen. There was nobody else that could have received a reaction that calm from Merlin.

Gwen's fingers were trembling. She was already on her knees beside the bed, her hand covering her mouth. Her shoulders were shaking.

"Merlin," she said, her voice muffled by her hand. Merlin searched her face. Her fingers came up to brush his cheek. "Can I-?"

Merlin was already leaning into her touch, his eyes sliding closed. Gwen froze, feeling the sharpness of his cheekbone against her palm. Her heart pounded when she saw the scarring on his neck. But at least that meant the collar was gone, and the skin covering his cheekbones was warm, and he was leaning into her as if the world was on his shoulders and she was holding him up.

They remained like that, with Gaius holding Merlin's shoulders and Gwen holding Merlin's cheek, frozen, for what felt like an eternity but was probably only a few breaths before Merlin opened his eyes and pulled away from Gwen.

"You don't hate me, then?" He asked, and it sounded like he was forcing nonchalance. The apprehension in his eyes spoke otherwise. He really thought she might hate him.

"Of course not," she said, scooting closer until her elbows rested on the edge of the bed. She took his hands in his lap. "I never did."

Merlin nodded, his eyes falling to their hands. His cheeks colored in shame.

"I thought you did," he whispered into his lap. "I'm sorry. I thought you did."

Gwen shook her head. "Now you listen to me, Merlin," she said, and her voice was forceful enough to bring his gaze back up to her. She let go of his hands in favor of cupping both of his cheeks. "You don't apologize. Not to me. Not to anyone. Do you understand? You have done nothing wrong."

Merlin's gaze fell again. His chest was heaving through the stained bandages. Gwen had to force herself to look at his face and not the injuries adorning it. It was difficult. The color was returning to his skin, but that only made the silvery-yellow of scar tissue more prominent. His lungs, free of the emeralds that had bound them, expanded fully, but that only served to pull on the wounds on his torso.

How he was awake was anybody's guess. Gwen suspected it was adrenaline, or perhaps the magic that she'd witnessed wreaking havoc just minutes before.

Or maybe it was just Merlin's sheer stubbornness. That wouldn't surprise her even a bit.

"Okay," Merlin whispered, nodding. Then to himself, "okay."

There was a commotion behind them at that moment, and Gwen and Merlin jumped- she'd forgotten there were others in the room.

Merlin's eyes shot up to look behind her, and his breath caught in his throat. Gwen's heart pounded. Was it guards? Why did he look so frightened? She whipped her head around, preparing to bodily shield Merlin from the intruders-

Only to find Gwaine and Percival.

Merlin's breathing picked up. "I'm sorry," he was saying, "I'm sorry, I know it's you, I'm sorry, I can't help it, I know it's you, but-"

He scooted backwards a little, would have probably leapt off the bed if he'd had the strength.

Gwen thought he was apologizing for his magic for a second before she realized his eyes were darting from their faces to their outfits.

The Druids were one step ahead. Before either Gwaine or Percival could say a word, they'd ushered them back outside, the door swinging shut behind them.

Merlin watched them go with a stricken look on his face.

"I know it's them," he was muttering, "I know it is."

Gaius and Gwen exchanged looks. Merlin's reaction was involuntary; he'd seen the armor and his body had reacted accordingly. They didn't blame him, weren't even surprised- but it was a reminder of how far Merlin was from recovery. He was awake, but that was all. There was a long way to go.

And Morgana wasn't going to wait.

Things were going too slowly.

Arthur knew that wasn't necessarily true- he knew he had no right to rush things, and it was ridiculous that he'd thought it would go more quickly, but he'd never considered that the healing process would involve him, specifically.

But it did.

Gods, it did.

Arthur thought he would go mad with boredom. He'd been confined to the tiny bed in Gaius's quarters for the better part of two days, and he was fairly sure if he had to stay another two he would snap.

The only thing that kept him from storming out of the room was the thought that Merlin was dealing with far worse.

Well, that, and Arthur's feet.

As it turned out, the spell wasn't entirely in Merlin and Arthur's heads. Or it had been, but obviously some of it spilled into real life, or else Merlin wouldn't have been freed. And Arthur wouldn't be banned from standing for more than a few seconds.

Arthur's feet weren't burned, per say, but they hurt like hell, and that was enough for him. They looked fine, though, which was maddening to Arthur, because he had been bed-ridden for days, just stuck sitting in the main room of Gaius's quarters, over injuries that didn't technically exist.

Iseldir had said something about wounded magic, or maybe it was magical wounds? Something about Arthur's mind and magic experiencing physical ailments even if his body hadn't. Arthur hadn't been listening all that closely, though, because the explanation had been given to him a few seconds after the collar had been broken, and a few other events had happened at around the same time:

One, Arthur had gotten himself to the window, confirmed reality, and then promptly collapsed to the ground as his feet came alive with fire.

And two, Merlin had been maneuvered into bed, but as Gaius and Iseldir finished that task and Iseldir turned to see why Arthur was screaming in the corner, Merlin had opened his eyes and started screaming, too. And writhing. And crying. And doing his damndest to get away from anybody in sight. Which was horrible to watch, especially because he hadn't had the strength to actually get up or fight back- just bat Gaius away weakly with his hands, tears streaming down his face and pleas falling from his lips.

"Just leave me alone, let me die, let me go, please-"

And even through his own pain, Arthur had shut his mouth and stared at Merlin in horror until Gaius had calmed him down, at which point Iseldir had tried to explain what was going on to Arthur.

But Arthur's focus was only on Merlin, who stopped trying to fight back when Gaius caught both of the warlock's wrists in his hands and forced him to make eye contact, whispering something Arthur couldn't hear over Merlin's begging and his own searing feet.

He'd only broken away when Merlin's face softened with recognition and he started crying anew, throwing his thin arms around Gaius's frame and burying his face into the physician's shoulder.

Gaius had started crying, too.

And that was when Arthur had looked away, something hot and cold and shuttering filling his chest, something stronger than whatever phantom-magic-pain had possessed his body. Something between shame and relief and guilt and anger, something that made the world spin and blur and make Arthur want to throw up or melt into the floor or scream until darkness claimed him.

Darkness didn't claim him, though. And although Arthur wished with all of his heart that he'd been unconscious for the last two days, the truth was he had barely slept at all.

As a few of the Druids and Iseldir had helped Arthur limp towards the door, it had swung open, and everybody who had previously fled the room spilled back in.

Gwaine and Gwen and Percival rushed to Merlin's bed, where the warlock and mentor were still embracing.

Leaning heavily against Iseldir, Arthur watched, trapped between the window and the bed by the commotion.

Gwen approached first, her eyes wide with dread when she saw Gaius cradling Merlin, only to fill with relief when she saw that Merlin was holding Gaius, as well. Her hand had flown to her mouth and her knees had nearly buckled as she made her way towards the bed, her other hand outstretched.

Arthur felt like he was watching everything on mute. A roaring had filled his ears.

Merlin broke away from Gaius then, or rather, Gaius pulled back a little, then held Merlin by his shoulders to keep him from falling as he turned his head towards Gwen. There was a jerky discomfort that came with the head turn, as if he was afraid of what he might see- only to have his eyes, swollen with tears now, fall on the queen. They went back to Gaius, then to Gwen quickly. His lips parted as he let out a tiny breath.

Arthur remembered the words he'd said only minutes ago:

"They wouldn't have come looking anyway."

And now, here was Gaius-the man he'd believed dead- and Gwen- the friend he'd thought had abandoned him.

Her hand shook as she gently placed it on Merlin's cheek. Arthur expected him to flinch away from the touch, but he instead leaned into it. Arthur had a flash of Owain in the dungeon, his hand in the same place.

There were lips moving, Arthur could see them. Gwen was speaking. Merlin was, too. Slowly, Iseldir began to bring Arthur towards the door again.

"I think it's best he doesn't see you just yet," Iseldir whispered. Arthur nodded. He understood. It was somehow different to see Merlin now, even though they'd only just spoken minutes ago.

But they didn't get him out quickly enough.

Arthur didn't miss the way Merlin cringed when he realized how many people were near him. He didn't miss the way some of the Druids had to step in and usher Gwaine and Percival out because the sight of their armor scared him.

He didn't miss the way Merlin's eyes slid to Arthur, just for a moment. Or the way they shuttered and grew distant.

The door closed between them right after.

And it had been roughly that way ever since: Arthur had stayed in the main room of Gaius's quarters, bored out of his skull and trying to avoid making eye contact with anybody. He'd sent Leon out to tell the knights that he'd sustained a minor training injury and would be absent for a few days.

He was afraid to inquire after Merlin's wellbeing, but he'd gotten the general gist. He sighed. He just hoped the Druids were able to keep Morgana at bay a little longer.

Chapter Text

The moments after Merlin's reunion with Gwen and Gaius had been… awkward, for lack of a better term. After the sight of Gwaine and Percival's armor drove Merlin into a wheezing, apologetic mess, the knights had gone to their own chambers to change into their old peasant clothes.

Merlin was horribly apologetic. Even after the nights had left and Gaius and Gwen had reassured him that there was nothing to be sorry about, you could see the guilt and shame in his eyes. He was afraid of his own friends, even though he didn't want to be, even though he so desperately wanted to pretend he wasn't, even though the fear filled him with a pitiful wave of regret.

On top of all of it, Merlin was also wounded badly. And although they'd all gotten relatively used to the way Merlin's body looked, Merlin himself hadn't been lucid enough to process anything for a long while. Gaius could only imagine the way it must have felt to look down at yourself and see an emaciated, bloodied form where your body used to be. It was heartbreaking to watch.

"I guess," Merlin coughed, "I guess I should have expected this," He had muttered, staring down at the bandages on his chest. Fresh blood was blooming across the white linen, and he took a moment to look at his arms, his wrists, the yellowish tinge to his fingertips. He was chewing on his lip heavily. Gaius thought he might have been recalling where each wound had come from, cataloguing the damage and comparing it to what he could remember. Gaius wondered if he could remember all of it. He'd been delirious when he'd been brought in, and it was highly likely he'd been delirious for days before that. Each session of iron dust had no doubt rendered him weaker. Could he remember his fingers being broken by Owain? Was he lucid enough to know when they'd flayed the skin from his thighs? Gaius prayed that he'd lost touch with reality early on, although he knew that was unlikely. Merlin had a ridiculously high pain tolerance, an unlimited reservoir of magic, and a stubborn streak to boot.

Merlin looked at Gaius and tried to smile. "I'm a mess, aren't I?" he said, and Gaius could feel Merlin trying to find normalcy, blindly reaching for something familiar, trying to be just Merlin, as if he wouldn't have changed after all of this. It was a shield Gaius could see through too easily. Merlin was never an excellent liar, but this was entirely different- how could you lie away the trembling of your limbs, or the blood on your chest? How could you lie away the haunted look in your eyes? He'd only been awake for a few minutes, yet he was already trying to protect the people around him.

But before Gaius or Gwen could answer (and how could they answer? Yes, you are a mess, Merlin, but you should be dead? No, Merlin, you're fine, you've just been beaten and tortured and imprisoned?), Merlin's eyes had filled with tears, and he'd taken the blanket that lay in front of him and pulled it up clumsily with his splinted fingers until it touched his chin, hiding the mess that was his torso— only to drop it when his strength gave out. Gaius's hands were still on his shoulders, and he doubted Merlin was even aware of how little strength he had, of how much weight he was giving over to Gaius. Already, his eyes were glazing over with exhaustion.

He dropped his face towards his chest, his eyes squeezed shut, his cheeks reddening.

"I'm sorry," he rasped, his voice thready with tears. "I can't-"

He didn't finish what he was trying to say, just started crying again instead. Gaius had the feeling that there hadn't been an ending to the sentence.

There was a stretch of time where Merlin stayed that way, his eyes shut, his shoulders shaking softly.

Then without warning, the crying stopped, and Merlin's eyes widened. He looked at Gaius, then at Gwen, and finally took in the room around him—The torn mourning cloths, the debris on the floor, the blankets on the bed— before his breathing hitched.

"Where am I?" He asked. Panic laced his tone.

Gaius felt his own brow furrow. "Your room, my boy," he shifted a little, as if he was somehow blocking the view too much.

Merlin shook his head. "No," he said, his hands coming up to grasp Gaius's arms. "No, where am I really?" He tried to scoot back, but failed. His speech came faster. "I want to believe you, but he wouldn't have brought me here, I didn't tell him anything he wanted, or did I...? No, I couldn't have, I couldn't even tell him my side, and he wanted me dead, how can I be here now? Who would have brought me? This must be—"

Gaius squeezed Merlin's shoulders, giving them a little shake to snap him out of the tirade.

"I don't know what kind of dreams you've been having, Merlin, but I assure you, this is real."

Merlin shook his head again. "But how—"

"If you'd let me explain, you'd know how," Gaius said, cutting him off. "And I know you can sense the difference between reality and dreams."

"Maybe not anymore," Merlin murmured, glancing at Gwen. He kept repeating it: "Not anymore, not anymore, not anymore…" He was rocking a little, his eyes glassy. Gwen pressed her hand to his forehead.

"He has a fever, Gaius," she said. Gaius's lips were set in a hard line. It had come on so fast.

"He needs to sleep. Obviously he can't handle all of this right now."

"But how are we supposed to get him to sleep? Another draught? He's been asleep for days already." And how will it be any better the next time he wakes up? Remained unsaid by Gwen.

"I don't think we are going to need to do much of anything," Gaius said, and Gwen turned her attention back to Merlin, who was still muttering. His eyes had a far-off look to them, and his lids were sinking rhythmically.

"When his fever goes down," Gaius said. "And when he is in a better state of mind, we can hopefully explain things properly."

Gwen nodded. That… was a lot of explaining. From how he came to be freed, to the ever-growing threat of Morgana, to his predicted recovery rate— it was going to be an exhausting exercise. She just hoped Merlin would have the strength to endure all of it.

Merlin's mutterings had slowed to murmurs, and his head was bobbing up and down. Gwen helped Gaius get Merlin into a decent sleeping position before retrieving wet cloths to bring down his fever. His bandages would need changing, too, but everything had its priority and right now it was the fever and delirium, more than anything else, that was worrying them.

Neither of them dared to wonder if the delirium was a symptom of the month of torture Merlin had sustained. It was obvious that Merlin was still there, but what state was his psyche in?

Gwen was honestly not sure how she was holding it all together. It felt like she'd been on autopilot for days now, just running flat-out to keep Merlin alive and the knights informed and she didn't even want to think about Arthur, who was a whirlwind of guilt and anger and raw energy. And now there was Merlin.

Merlin, who was now snoring softly in his bed, and had been for a few hours. His breathing had evened out considerably, his fever finally broken, and she would be lying if she found relief in his quiet existence. At least right now.

Gods, his voice sounded like broken glass. She did her best to act nonchalant whenever he'd spoken to her in the last three days, but now that his fever was broken she could process everything.

It had almost been easier before Merlin had woken up. She hadn't had time to think about what steps had to happen next— it was always keep him hydrated and check his breathing and change his bandages. Now.

But now there was more to it. Because what were they supposed to do now? How was she supposed to support Merlin through this? How could this mess be fixed? It wasn't just keep Merlin alive anymore. It was help Merlin get better.

And for the last three days, it had been this sort of suspension— this limbo— because Merlin was awake and healing, but with a damned fever that kept him either silent and glassy-eyed with exhaustion or thrashing and crying with delirium.

The few things he'd said to her were far from conversation. When he was lucid it was apologies. When he was delirious it was any number of pleas to stop hurting him or begging them to end his existence. When he was in his strange, stare-at-the-walls episodes of catatonia he didn't speak at all, and it was those episodes that Gwen hated the most, that frightened her the most. What was going through his head?

Neither Gaius nor Gwen had slept that much. They learned quickly that although the absence of the collar meant Merlin was healing, it also meant that he was reacting to stimuli— and that meant feeling the massive amounts of injuries on his body and magic full-force for the first time. Sometimes they would mistime a dose of pain medication. Sometimes they'd wear off without warning. Either way, Merlin was spending a good portion of his time—while lucid and feverish, at least—in pain. (Whether he could feel pain while catatonic was another question entirely, a question neither Gaius nor Gwen knew the answer to.)

Gwen knew Morgana wasn't going to wait for Merlin to get better to attack, and Gwen had hoped that three days in, he would have at least been made aware of the situation. But how were they supposed to tell Merlin that he was already needed? That he didn't have time to rest? How much did he already know? They hadn't been able to discuss it at all, really. Merlin could barely focus on eating and drinking and breathing.

Gwen ran a hand over her hairline. What if they never got around to telling him? What if Morgana attacked before they could? Looking at him now, his face softened by sleep, the bruises only just beginning to yellow at the edges, Gwen wondered if she'd let Camelot fall for him.

For a moment, she could almost fathom it.

But the moment passed.

Gwen wasn't certain, but she had a niggling feeling that Merlin would die before Camelot fell, even now, even when he owed the kingdom nothing.

She felt her eyes fill with tears. He was a great man— One of the greatest she had ever met. She could say that with ease now, would shout it from the rooftops. He'd always been, and nobody had ever said it, nobody had ever told him, he'd just gone on and done good until the day that fate decided to throw him into hell and leave him to die.

But no, not die. Because he was here now, breathing, free from iron restraints, and the yellow on his bruises meant they were getting better, and Gwen wouldn't blame him if he woke up and decided to walk right out the door without a second glance. He had a mother and a village in a different kingdom that he could return to. He could leave and heal somewhere untouched by Arthur's reign. No, Gwen wouldn't blame him for making any of those choices—

But she knew he wouldn't.

Her face flushed with anger.

He wouldn't leave Camelot to fend for herself, and it was so dreadfully unfair. Why had Merlin been handed this power? Why was he forced into this role? He was alone. He had always been alone, would need to make the decision alone, would face Morgana alone—

Gwen cut herself off right then. No, she thought, he won't face Morgana alone. He would have the entirety of Camelot's army behind him. And no, he wouldn't need to be alone ever again, if he didn't want to be, because she would stay by his side. And Gaius, and the knights. And probably Arthur, too, if he wanted.

She wiped the angry tears from her eyes.

She was spending too much time inside her own head. She couldn't confide in Merlin, felt guilty confiding in Gaius— and she certainly couldn't confide in Arthur.

Could she?

She glanced at the door. Iseldir had all but carried Arthur out of the room on the first day. His eyes had been on Merlin the whole time, Gwen knew it instinctively. He was probably beating himself up right now. That seemed to be his only way to pass time with his feet burned and bandaged for the last three days, but could she blame him? The guilt must have been unbearably heavy. Who could he confide in?

And Owain? She'd seen the guilt in his eyes, too. Who did he have to talk to?

Gwen sighed. This whole situation was a mess, and not a single person had benefited from it— save for maybe Morgana, but even that still stood to be determined. She mopped Merlin's brow with a damp cloth, wrung it out, and put it back onto his forehead. Hopefully, Morgana would benefit the least. Somehow.

Night had fallen only an hour or so ago, and Gaius had gone to get a few hours of sleep while Merlin seemed relatively stable. Gwen's fingers were itching to change his dirty bandages, but she didn't want to risk waking Merlin up.

She was just restless all the time now.

She looked back towards the door.

She knew somebody else was restless, too.

Merlin wasn't sure what hurt the most. His neck did— but then his neck had never stopped hurting, not in days, weeks, months, god-knew-how-long, honestly it didn't matter, everything hurt and throbbed and radiated and christ, why did it hurt more than usual? His mouth tasted like copper. He thought that death would be easier— none of this burning, coughing, heaving nonsense, the way his throat was full of phlegm and Arthur was still speaking, leaning over him, just leave me alone, just let this go— It was harder than he expected, this dying, but he didn't want Arthur to have a hand in it— he'd already done enough, had already handed his death to him on a platter, was it so much to ask for Arthur to let Merlin finish what Arthur had started? Did he need to be in Merlin's head now, begging for information about Morgana? He was too tired.

And now Arthur was speaking nonsense, some kind of lying, back-stabbing dribble, dripping from his lips like the blood was dribbling from Merlin's, and dammit, what was he saying? Even now Merlin's mind wouldn't let the words fade from his concentration:

"I don't want any information, Merlin. I want you to live so that you can save Camelot from her. So that you can see that your friends never abandoned you. So that you can fulfill the destiny that you've worked so hard for."

Merlin would have laughed, had he any breath left over. He settled for spitting a wad of bloody saliva into his lap. "Then why haven't you released me?" he managed to gasp, but the bite was gone from his words— the venom drowned with the gurgling behind his tonsils. Arthur was striking him hard between the shoulder blades, and between the shame and the pain, Merlin couldn't help but feel grateful that the force was knocking some of the bile and blood in his throat free.

"I don't know how!" Arthur shouted, and it rang loudly above the roaring in Merlin's ears. The hand on his shoulder blades stopped moving and Merlin felt like his lungs were going to explode with the pressure it took to breathe, to pull air in between his lips. He was drowning, he knew it, even now that he was above land, he was going to drown on his own fluids, this was the end—

Arthur awoke with a gasp, his hair plastered to his forehead with a cold sweat.

A dream.

Gods, it had been so vivid– Arthur could still taste copper in his mouth. He glanced at the closed door to Merlin's chambers, then groaned and flexed his feet. He debated going in to check on him. It was a constant battle of conscience— Arthur desperately wanted to be at Merlin's side for every step he made towards healing, but knew that his very presence would inhibit that healing. Sighing, he laid back against his pillow.

Arthur was never going to heal at this rate. Every time he fell asleep, he was plagued by dreams and nightmares. One second he'd be inside Merlin's head, living through a vivid rendition of something that had happened in the dungeons. The next, he'd be standing before Merlin with a torch, ready to light the pyre. He dreaded sleeping. Either he was doing something terrible to Merlin that he hadn't really done, or he was experiencing something terrible happening to Merlin that he had really done. It didn't matter, really. All of it was horrible and disturbing, and to know that half of it was real just made Arthur nauseous whenever he woke up. There was no talking himself out of the guilt, no whispers of it was just a dream when most of it wasn't just a dream. The only thing he found solace in was when he awoke from a nightmare in which Merlin was dead, and he was able to tell himself that wasn't true, that Merlin was still alive.

Not that he knew more than that. It had been three days since the two of them had emerged from the Druids' spell, and Arthur wasn't sure if anything had changed. There was a nearly constant stream of visitors coming and going from Merlin's quarters, but Arthur hadn't spoken more than a few words to any one of them.

The Druids simply looked at him with their wide, glowing eyes as they walked past, filled with something between wonder and disdain, as if they were staring at a villain from a childhood fantasy story. Arthur didn't like it; he avoided talking to most of them unless they spoke first. They were like skittish colts to him, ready to bolt at a sudden movement. Only Iseldir seemed solid in this world of Druidic phantoms, and they'd only had a few short, stunted conversations since the spell had been cast and finished and done.

The knights who came through to see Merlin ignored Arthur almost entirely, although it seemed to be more out of an all-consuming concern for Merlin than it did an active avoidance of Arthur. Which was almost a comfort; at least there was no active hatred of him. Still, it was odd to be a king and be the least noticed person in the room.

Gaius was really the only one to approach him regularly, sometimes with Gwen in tow. They'd check his feet and have him stand up and do small exercises to see if they were healed yet, and sometimes they'd make light small talk before walking away. Arthur had to admit that Gwen was an excellent healer, and would make an excellent physician's apprentice if the position wasn't already technically filled by Merlin. That, and Gwen was still queen, even if she and Arthur were on the most unfriendly of terms.

But Arthur never asked about Merlin. He didn't feel that it was his right. He'd made a mess and he'd done what he could to fix that mess, and now the situation wasn't his anymore. It wasn't his to ask how Merlin was doing, wasn't his to know whether he was healing or dying or staying the same. Merlin had been rather explicit in the last few moments of their spell- he didn't want Arthur's involvement anymore, and Arthur couldn't blame him. He hadn't earned the right to nurture Merlin and make sure he was okay. He'd just earned the right to fix what he could and let Merlin heal on his own.

Which wasn't to say that Arthur wasn't being driven mad by the waiting. He'd thought that perhaps Iseldir or Gaius or maybe Gwaine would have at least mentioned Merlin's wellbeing to him at this point, even in passing. But it was like an unspoken pact had been made, and nobody told Arthur a thing. Leon, too, was utterly out of the loop.

The only information Arthur had pertaining to Merlin's status was what he could gather from listening through the walls, and what he could hear was awful. Long bouts of silence followed by screams and crying and begging and then apologies. Sometimes there would be crashing or thumping in there, too, and Arthur could only picture Merlin thrashing about violently, or perhaps breaking things in fits of some sort.

And those weren't even the worst.

Arthur had never thought pain could be a sound, but he had been wrong.

The worst started the same night Merlin had woken up: long, pain-filled noises in the middle of the night. Arthur had gathered from hushed conversations that the pain draughts given to Merlin in the day always wore off at some point in the night, waking Merlin up with agony. The moaning only stopped when Gaius awoke and administered a new dose of medication, but that in-between time was torturous. Arthur would lie there, staring at the ceiling, and wonder if this was what the dungeons had sounded like all the time. Was this what Owain had listened to as he sat by his post? No wonder the poor man was so traumatized. It was nearly unbearable for Arthur, and he only had to endure listening to it for an hour per night at most, along with some sporadically spaced throughout the day. And how could Merlin stand any of it? Surely he'd be driven mad by the pain now. His mind might have been fractured and protected before, but now he was 100% Merlin, and he was experiencing every moment. Did Gaius keep him drugged? Was he kept unconscious until he'd healed? Was his magic helping him recover, or was it still recovering just as Arthur's was? Arthur didn't know the answers to any of these questions, and he didn't see anybody being forthcoming with answers in the near future. So he sat there, and he waited. He waited for someone to tell him what was going on. He waited for Morgana to attack. He waited for Merlin to heal. He waited for the the walls to crumble around him. Waited for the world to turn upside down. For anything other than staring at nothing and thinking.

He only had to wait another fifteen minutes before the world gave him exactly what he was waiting for.

Chapter Text

Gwen walked in.

Without Gaius, without prompting, without a poultice or herbs or a draught or a bucket of water.

She just… walked in. And looked right at Arthur.

Arthur stared.

It was the middle of the night; there was no reason for Gwen to be standing a few feet from Arthur's bed and looking at him, her eyes wide like a startled deer. Was she alright? Was Merlin alright? She looked exhausted. Her eyes were red and puffy, her shoulders rigid. Was she coming to get Gaius? Arthur had heard no moaning, no shouts or cries or whimpers. It didn't seem like Merlin needed a pain draught…

Gwen straightened her spine, her eyes still fixed on Arthur. Her hands curled into fists, slowly, and then released. She seemed to have made up her mind about something, because she shook her head a little before taking a step towards Arthur.

Arthur's mouth went dry. Gwen looked at the foot of Arthur's cot. Stiffly, she motioned to it.

"May I sit?" She asked, her voice tight.

Arthur nodded dumbly. Gwen perched herself on the base of the cot, being careful to avoid his injured feet. For a moment, she remained there, her hands clasped in her lap.

"How are you feeling?" She said at last, her conversational tone forced.

"...Fine?" Arthur couldn't imagine where this was going. And what kind of a question was that?

Gwen hummed. "I'm tired," she looked at Arthur. "It's been a long couple of days, hasn't it?"

"Yes," Arthur said, slowly, "it has."

There was a long stretch of silence.

Arthur cleared his throat. "Do—do you need something from me, Guinevere?"

Gwen frowned. "No," she took a deep breath. "I just thought," she hesitated, "I just thought that perhaps you needed to talk."

"Pardon?" This had to be a joke. When was the last time Gwen had spoken to him willingly? As of an hour ago, they had been on a strict silent-unless-absolutely-necessary communication pattern. What had changed?

"Please don't make me say it again, Arthur."

"I just don't understand."

She sighed. "Then nevermind," she moved to stand up, "it was a stupid idea."

"No, please," He sat up straighter. "I just don't know what to say."

Gwen laughed bitterly. "I don't think anybody knows what to say." Arthur could sense the anger behind those words. She might be talking to him now, but she still blamed him for everything. Arthur wondered how difficult it was for her to be talking to him right now, and what had prompted the exchange in the first place.

Arthur ran a hand over his face."How am I supposed to start? I'm sorry. I wish I could take everything back. I would do anything. But how am I supposed to tell Merlin those things? He won't look at me, and I don't even want him to look at me."

Gwen settled back down. "I think it's what you do that matters more," she said, "And I think you've already started doing what you need to do."

"It won't be enough."

"It's going to have to be." Her eyes were focused on something far away. "You're going to have to keep trying, and hoping, and maybe things won't be the same as they were, but-"

"But...?"

"But they'll get better, I think." She stood up. "Maybe not yet. But I think they will."

"I won't deserve it," his voice was soft.

"Perhaps not, but that's up to Merlin to decide, isn't it?"

Arthur was saved from answering by a low rumble in the floorboards. His heart jumped into his throat. His immediate thought was that they were being attacked early, and they were woefully underprepared.

He didn't have time to think of anything further before the whole room was filled with white smoke.

Blinking rapidly, there was a moment where Arthur was sure he was dreaming— there had been a wall next to him just a moment ago, hadn't there?—Before his brain caught up to his eyes and he understood what he was seeing.

The wall between Merlin's room and the main physician's quarters was gone.

Or, gone wasn't the right word— it was still there, only it was in pieces on the floor, crumbled to chalky dust. Bits of it were on Arthur's blanket and Gwen's hair. His ears were ringing.

Morgana.

Injuries and conversation momentarily forgotten, Arthur and Gwen leapt into action, sprinting into the area that used to be Merlin's room, coughing as the dust from the disintegrated wall filled their lungs. Arthur's eyes were watering.

"Merlin?!" He called, squinting into the wreckage.

The wall seemed to have collapsed straight down, because the exterior walls of Merlin's room were still intact; in fact, aside from the single wall between Arthur's bed and Merlin's, everything remained untouched, a fine layer of rock dust rapidly settling on all of the furniture.

"What happened?!" Gwen was looking around in shock. Arthur ignored her in favor of picking his way over the bits of rock, frantically searching for Merlin.

"There," Gwen said pointing.

He was difficult to spot, covered in the same white-gray powder as everything else, but there was no mistaking him. He was on his hands and knees a few feet from his bed, as if he'd scrambled away from the wall as soon as it had started crumbling. His bed was covered in bits of rock and wood.

To his credit, Merlin looked like he'd just been violently awoken from a deep sleep, kneeling on the floor, bewilderment and panic obvious on his face. And honesty, he probably had been. It was the middle of the night, after all.

Arthur couldn't quite wrap his mind around what he was seeing. Why would Morgana collapse a single wall, but leave Merlin untouched?

He didn't get an answer. The moment Merlin laid his eyes on the two of them, he seemed to come to life, snarling and clawing his way haphazardly towards the wall beneath the window of his room. He pushed his back up against it and fell still, gasping, anger in his shadowed eyes. He looked like a rabid dog, cornered and panting.

"I know," the warlock wheezed, in a voice a few notes lower than his usual register. His gaze darted from Arthur to Gwen. His face slipped from anger to grief. "I know all of it."

Gwen turned towards Arthur, the question he knows what? obvious in her eyes.

Behind him, Arthur heard the creak of steps.

Merlin's eyes flew to just above Arthur's right shoulder before falling on Arthur again.

"That's why you haven't killed me, isn't it?" His gaze went to the spot above Arthur's shoulder again. "Did all of you know?" He looked like he was going to cry. "Did- Gaius, did you know?"

The footsteps behind Arthur stopped, and the king turned to see Gaius there, an unreadable expression on his face. He looked just as startled by the state of the room as Arthur felt, but even more startled by Merlin's sudden change in demeanor.

"Merlin, my boy, are you alright? What happened here?"

Merlin growled. "Don't change the subject."

"I don't know what you're referring to." This looked like one of Merlin's feverish fits of paranoia and confusion, but the speech was too organized. And where had the strength to crawl across the room come from?

"Yes, you do." Merlin shot a glare at Gwen. "You all do. I saw it."

"What do we know, Merlin?" Gaius's voice was calculated. Slow.

"I saw it," Merlin was shaking his head back and forth, "in my dream, I saw it-"

"Merlin, what did you see?" Gaius could see Merlin was spiralling. If he kept this up he was going to hurt himself further. "Maybe if you get back into bed-"

"No!" Arthur felt the floorboards beneath him reverberate out from Merlin, and it suddenly occurred to the king that perhaps Morgana hadn't been the one responsible for the sudden wall collapse. "You-" Merlin raised his trembling arm and swept it across the room, encompassing Gwen and Arthur and Gaius, before it fell again. "You all need me, don't you? That's all! I saw her. She's coming. Any day now, she's coming, and you-" he looked at Gaius. His voice softened. "I expected it from Arthur. But you, Gaius- I never thought-"

Arthur's mouth fell open. Oh. So Merlin had had a dream-a vision, maybe, although Arthur wasn't sure if Merlin was capable of visions- of Morgana.

"We were going to tell you," Arthur blurt out, without really thinking anything beyond repairing the rapidly deteriorating situation, and found himself stumbling backwards as Merlin's magic reacted.

"You don't say anything," the warlock hissed, his eyes fading rapidly back to blue from gold.

Gwen cut in. "Merlin, it isn't what it looks like. We just didn't want to make you choose before you'd healed-."

"You were using me."

"No, never," Gwen looked horrified.

"What if she came tomorrow? Would you have told me then or would you have just thrown me into battle and hoped my instincts would kick in? Were you going to kill me after, or were you hoping the strain would do the job for you?" His voice was losing its power, his shoulders drooping. "She'll... kill me, you know. Like this. And I-" he coughed. "And I would let her. I would. I can feel it. I hate you, all of you-" his voice cracked, and it occurred to Arthur that he'd never heard Merlin use the word hate, "but Camelot is… bigger. Than me. Albion is bigger than me. Destiny… it's all bigger than me. It always has been. And I would-" he looked at Gwen. "I just wish-"

"Merlin," Gaius said, taken aback. Merlin had never spoken about destiny in front of Arthur or Gwen, and it only proved that he wasn't fully in the proper state of mind. That, or he was too distraught to care. If he truly thought they were planning on killing him when he was no longer needed, what damage could talking about destiny possibly do? "Whatever you saw, I assure you that none of us want you dead."

Merlin laughed. "Maybe not yet-"

"At all." Gwen insisted. "You're allowed to say no."

"No, I'm not. I'm really not."

"You are," Arthur said cautiously. "And don't you remember? I tried to tell you, with the collar. You thought I wanted information about Morgana, but in reality, I was-"

"Is that why you went through all the trouble of releasing me? To save yourself? To save Camelot?"

"No, Merlin. I was-"

"Because I don't remember any of it," Merlin muttered. "You all keep whispering about this grand spell to release me from that collar, but I don't remember any of it. And honestly? I don't think I want to."

Everybody fell silent. Gwen and Gaius had guessed that the details were blurry, considering his lack of discussion on the matter, but they'd certainly thought he'd remembered something from the spell. From the descriptions Arthur had given, the entire experience seemed like an important step towards Merlin's recovery. But then, it must have also been deeply traumatic; even Arthur hadn't given full details, only vague descriptions to Iseldir to make sure everything had gone the way it was supposed to. What were they supposed to do with this information?

"I know there was a collar and a cell," Merlin whispered. "I know Arthur came to get me. I know that I woke up in this room," he motioned vaguely to where the wall used to be, "and I know that the collar was confiscated at some point between then and now." He was crying. "But I don't remember any of it," he spat, "Or- most of it. I remember Owain. I remember Leon's face. I remember a scribe and some guards and some other…" he swallowed. "...other things. But that's all. I don't remember a spell. I have a vague understanding that time passed, that Arthur knows more than I remember telling him, but I don't remember speaking, to Arthur or anybody else, and I certainly don't remember any conversation about Morgana, aside from the questions I got from Owain." He stopped then, coughing and gulping air, obviously too worked up to continue. There was sweat on his brow and chest.

Gaius stepped in then, pushing Arthur gently to the side, bypassing Gwen before kneeling in front of Merlin. He put a wrinkled hand on Merlin's knee, but it went unnoticed by the warlock, who was trying to catch his breath. He was hyperventilating, tears running down his face. Gaius couldn't tell if this was a reaction to a fever or if Merlin was actually this distrustful of the three of them, but it appeared to be a little bit of both.

Only four things were certain: One, Merlin was, not surprisingly, distrustful of everybody close to him. Two, Merlin's magic was reacting to Merlin's emotions (and had, presumably, just reduced Gaius's wall to bits). Three, Merlin now knew of Morgana's imminent approach and his role in the defense, through either subconscious recall or a vision of some sort. And four, Merlin didn't remember what had happened between him and Arthur in the collar spell, aside from the fact that it happened.

On the bright side, Gaius thought, at least he was speaking about the past. He was never going to recover mentally if he avoided it.

"Merlin," Gaius said quietly, and Merlin shook his head.

"No," he said, "Just leave me alone."

"Do you want to know what happened or not?"

Merlin's laugh was wet. "When? While I was locked away? Or when I was in the Druids' spell?"

"That's your choice."

"No, I don't want to know."

Gaius rose an eyebrow. Merlin looked away. "Gaius…" his voice was strained, almost whining.

"You'll keep rushing to conclusions otherwise," Gaius warned. "And I don't need another disappearing wall in my rooms."

Merlin looked at Gaius. His eyes were bloodshot, swollen. His nose was running. Quietly, he nodded.

"Arthur," a voice said from the other side of the room, and everybody turned, startled, to see Iseldir. "Show him the document."

Arthur paled. "It isn't done yet," he said, "and besides, I can't walk all the way to my chambers."

"I think you will find that you can." He nodded towards Merlin. "If Emrys's magic is showing this much recovery-" he looked at the wall.

Arthur looked down at his own feet. In the excitement, he'd forgotten all about the magic damage, and Iseldir was right- the aching had stopped. He was standing on his own, had walked over wreckage, and hadn't felt a thing.

Nodding numbly, Arthur turned and exited Gaius's chambers.

Merlin watched him go with wary eyes.

"Now," Iseldir looked at the remaining three occupants. "What happened?"

Chapter Text

Gaius's explanation was brief. Merlin had seen Morgana in a dream, a wall had been destroyed, they all needed to talk. Merlin remained silent the entire explanation, which was uncharacteristic of Merlin before, but was more Merlin's style since he'd woken up. It took too much energy to say things more than once, and Gaius was fairly certain Merlin was running on borrowed energy right now. He should have been asleep. There was a sleeping draught and plethora of pain draughts in him right now, although they might be wearing off soon.

Explanation completed, Gaius got up to get Merlin another pain draught, leaving Gwen and Iseldir with the skittish Merlin, waiting for Arthur to return from his chambers. Nobody had moved. Iseldir had remained on the outskirts of the ruined room, Gwen was somewhere a little farther in, and Merlin was up against the far wall near the window.

Merlin's eyes kept darting towards the place Arthur had been. His breathing was shallow, his movements twitchy.

Arthur's heart was pounding faster than it ever had before as he walked through the halls. The last time he'd been this nervous was when he'd been carrying Merlin to Gaius's quarters, and that had been a different kind of panic. Then it had been a race against time. Now it was paranoia.

Arthur's eyes had pretty much returned to normal, he was almost certain. Only little flickers of gold remained, and Arthur could feel the flare-ups as heat behind his eyelids.

But it was the middle of the night, and the halls were dim, and the knights believed he was injured, and if they saw his eyes flash gold…

He took a deep breath. And he was carrying a document that legalized magic in his fist. If someone caught him, the results would be disastrous. He could hear the news in his mind: "The king has been possessed!" "Manservant found to be still alive and harbored by the physician!" "King under the influence of the Druids!"

It would be chaos, and Arthur only felt worse when he thought about what it must have been like for Merlin to live in the castle walls with his own magic. No wonder he always seemed so distracted. The walls loomed with silent threat, every corner hiding a potential witness. He must have dealt with this anxiety every day for years; most of his life, even, living so close to the Camelot border. And Arthur had confirmed it all almost two months ago.

But not now. Now, Arthur had already decided, he was going to make things right. He was going to show Merlin the legalization document, work hard and then harder to bring it to fruition, to assure that such a mistake was never made again.

If only he could get to Gaius's chambers faster.

He turned another corner. Still clear. He was almost there.

"Sire?"

Arthur's heart dropped. Behind him, footsteps sped up. Arthur felt his eyes flash, and he closed them quickly.

"Are you alright?" the voice came again. Arthur had yet to turn around.

"Yes," he said, "just retrieving something from my chambers."

He took a deep breath, and the heat behind his eyes died down. Merlin must have had incredible self-control; everything seemed to set the magic swirling about. Plastering on a friendly smile, Arthur turned towards the knight.

"Ah, Owain," he said, relief flooding him. "It's you."

Owain gave him a peculiar look. Glancing down the hallway, he dropped his voice. "How's the kid?" he whispered. "Are you going to see him?"

Arthur nodded. Owain's eyes softened.

"Don't tell anyone you saw me," Arthur said, though he needn't have said it.

"Of course." Owain's relief mirrored Arthur's. Merlin was still alive; Owain's actions hadn't killed him yet.

"He's doing much better," Arthur whispered. "But I do need to go now."

Owain took a step back. "Have a good night, sire."

Arthur gave him a curt nod, and the guard turned to go. "Oh," Arthur said suddenly, "Sir Owain."

"Yes, sire?"

"I'm… sorry. I am so sorry. For everything that I made you do. And everything you had to see."

Owain stiffened. His eyes were hollow. "Thank you, sire."

"I mean it. You shouldn't blame yourself for the decisions I made."

The guard's smile was forced, and he didn't say another word as he walked away. Arthur watched his retreating back for another moment before going on his way, as well.

Merlin was eventually moved to the main chambers of Gaius's quarters in anticipation of Arthur's return. A glass of water sat on the table in front of him, untouched.

"I'm sorry," he'd whispered when Iseldir had helped him get settled at the table. His cheeks were flushed with a mixture of shame and embarrassment. There was a blanket on his shoulders, one of the thin ones that Gaius reserved for people with fever-chills. He didn't look cold, but he was clutching the blanket around his shoulders with a tight grip, his fingers and shoulders shaking.

Not that anybody knew which factor was causing Merlin to tremble, and not that anybody would ask, anyway. They didn't even know what he was apologizing for- for needing help to sit down? For destroying the wall? For accusing them of using him? His eyes were a strange mix of fear and anger, his movements stiff with both disuse and a lack of cooperation. Nobody had told him where Arthur was going, and Merlin was looking at all of them with hackles raised around barely-concealed contempt.

Iseldir thought it was a good thing that Merlin looked vaguely pissed off- it was much better than looking as terrified as he had before, and worlds better than that glassy-eyed stare he so often wore. He could work with anger. He could work with frustration. There was a passion behind those emotions that Iseldir hoped would carry Merlin through the following weeks, months, and years of healing. Nothing killed men faster than hopelessness, and Iseldir was afraid that was a slope on which Merlin would slip.

The warlock shifted in his seat a little, glaring at the cup of water. "Where is she now?" he murmured, deadpan. It was obvious he was avoiding the topic of Arthur's sudden, mysterious departure. He leveled his eyes on Iseldir, raising his voice. "Morgana. I know you know."

Iseldir matched Merlin's stare. "Her armies have been delayed by the rain."

"That wasn't the question."

Iseldir could feel the hairs on his arms stand up as Merlin's magic filled the room. The balance between emotion and power was delicate, and Merlin had great restraint- but this wasn't one of those times. Iseldir knew that if Merlin snapped, there was no telling what supernatural force would emerge. One castle wall was the least of their worries.

At least he was asking questions.

"We're not sure where Morgana is," Iseldir continued. "Our Scryer can only see her on occasion, when she lets her cloaking charm slip."

"She's close," Merlin ground out.

"We do not know that," Iseldir cut in. "We only know her armies are a few days'-"

"No, I know that." He was fidgeting with the blanket. He whipped his head towards the door. "You might not know, but I do. And where in God's name is Arthur?"

Iseldir ignored the question. "You are no Scryer, Emrys."

"I'm damn well aware." He narrowed his eyes. "But I saw her."

A silence fell in the room, the implication of that statement clear: Merlin had gained some sort of supernatural understanding of the situation, and nobody could quite explain why.

Yet he could not remember the collar spell. Interesting. Perhaps it was his mind's last effort to preserve him. Perhaps it was the nature of the spell. Either way, nobody knew what to say next.

If Morgana was closer than they suspected- if Merlin was right, and as the prophesied Greatest Sorcerer to Walk the Earth, that seemed likely- then their timeline was even shorter than they had initially thought. Merlin had only taken his first wobbling steps towards healing, and their only advantage at the moment was that Morgana was unaware that Merlin still breathed.

The silence in the room was oppressive. Merlin glanced from Gwen to Iseldir, then settled his gaze on the door that Arthur had left through.

The moment his vision rested on the entrance, there was a knock on the door.

Unbeknownst to them, Arthur was shaking just as much as Merlin was as he approached Gaius's chambers with the bundle of papers in his hands.

Unlike Merlin, however, he could pinpoint exactly why his hands wouldn't stop trembling.

This was it.

Standing outside the door, Arthur was struck with the implications of his actions. The moment he knocked on that door, he would shatter the foundation on which he was raised- on which the entirety of the kingdom was raised.

Oddly enough, he didn't feel like he had cold feet, per se. It was more a weight in his chest. He could only hope that by opening the door, the weight would be lifted, and not crush him instead.

There was no turning back.

Arthur was afraid, but he didn't want to go back anyway, even if there was an option. This wasn't just a proclamation- it was an apology. It was a reparation. He had been fighting on the wrong side of a war and now he needed to fix that mistake.

He couldn't take back what he had done, but he could make sure it never happened again.

He knocked on the door.

Iseldir felt Merlin's magic pull taught like a bowstring at the sound of the knock. He had a brief thought- that perhaps Emrys was at his battle-magic prime in this moment, on edge and ready to react between one heartbeat and the next- but then the moment was gone, because Merlin was physically exhausted and in no shape to even move unaided, and even if his magic was its own supernatural force, it was also contained within a broken vessel. It could shatter him.

Gwen fetched the door. It was Arthur, looking as pale as a sheet and shaking fit to fly apart. Still, he was here, and there was a stack of papers clutched in his fist.

"Here," Arthur said breathlessly. His eyes darted to Merlin for a fraction of a second before they fell to his own feet. He was only too aware of Merlin's gaze on him.

He stretched out a trembling hand, and Gwen accepted the bundle of papers gingerly.

Merlin, for his part, was acting strangely calm about the whole situation, despite the fact that he had no idea what was going on, and Arthur was in the room, and there was a mysterious exchange of papers going on at the front, and everybody looked nervous, and- well, basically everything looked incredibly incriminating at the moment. Yet Merlin was sitting very still at the table, looking vaguely pissed off, with his magic pulled around him.

Iseldir thought the calmness was a facade—that Merlin's magic was the thing betraying his emotions, that Merlin's body was the shield between himself and the events around him. Still, a small part of Iseldir had the eerie feeling that Merlin knew everything that was going on- maybe not the specifics, but the motivations, the movements- there was so much magic in the air, all active, poised, full of potential, and it must have been doing something.

Perhaps a single misstep would set him off, and the whole of the kingdom would collapse, Iseldir thought. The Druid's concern was far from this situation, despite his physical presence. These were the moments when destiny stepped in, when Iseldir could do nothing but watch as things unfolded and do his best to participate in it all. He was similar to Merlin in this sense. In this moment, with this much magic saturating the air, he felt outside of his body, somehow. It was almost intoxicating.

Before him, Gwen had opened the sheaf of papers, her fingers shaking. She turned to Gaius, then with his nod, to Merlin.

"Merlin," she said quietly. Merlin's eyes had fallen from Arthur to the papers, and at her voice, they only fell on her for the briefest of moments before returning to them again. "Before you jump to conclusions-" she continued, shaking the papers. "This is good news."

Although Iseldir had thought it impossible, Merlin's magic wound tighter. Surely, everybody in the room could feel it at this point, although they might not know what it was they were feeling. Iseldir could see the hairs on Gaius's arms standing up, at the very least.

"Um-" Gwen glanced at Arthur, obviously torn. "Do you want to-?"

"Oh, for Heavens' sake, just tell the boy," Gaius interrupted. "Can't you see he's nervous enough?"

The physician was looking at Arthur, who suddenly brought himself out of the trembling stupor he was in and began to speak.

"I've-" he cleared his throat. "I've decided to legalize magic," he said quietly.

There was a beat. Merlin's eyes widened. His breathing had picked up, and Arthur looked unsure if he should continue. Merlin swallowed, and his expression neutralized again. His face looked a little gray.

Arthur glanced at Gwen, but kept speaking. "Those are the documents detailing the decree and its details. There are a couple of papers I need to finish, some that I need to write in order to repeal the ban before I can put the legalization through, but- that's most of it." He paused, bit the inside of his cheek. "If- If you want to look through them-I mean, if you would like to-" He looked at the floor. "I can't make what I did to you okay. But I can make sure that it will not happen again."

Gwen laid the papers on the table in front of Merlin, who was staring dutifully at moment the papers touched the table, he risked a small glance at them and then at Arthur, as if he was afraid one of them would leap up and bite him.

When that didn't happen, he leaned forward and took the documents gently in his fingers. Everybody in the room was holding their breath. Merlin's magic had not calmed.

He flipped through the papers slowly, squinting at some of the smudged writing, reading every word. It was a lifetime ago, but he had, at one point, read many legal documents- knew the tricks, the loopholes, the fine print. He'd written Arthur's speeches, once upon a time, and had proofread his decrees.

Nobody dared to move as Merlin looked over everything. Gaius shifted once, wondering whether Merlin was in sound enough mind to fully understand what he was reading, but then decided that his only option was to trust that he was. Merlin's eyes were moving expertly over the pages, his mouth set in a slight frown, and perhaps this wasn't as climactic as Iseldir had imagined this moment- but then, things generally weren't as he expected, as far as prophecies were involved.

Some of the biggest events in magical history felt small when they happened. A lot of Scryers' prophetic dreams went unwritten down- the destiny of Emrys himself was scrawled in a rush the first time it was seen, years and decades before anybody realized its significance. It was only fitting that this moment was quiet and tense and surrounded by magic-filled air.

With each turn of paper, Merlin's magic roiled more violently. It was like a herd of horses, chomping at their bits and stamping the ground, and Merlin's face looked more tight at the effort it took to keep it all in check. His fingers were shaking, and he dropped the papers on the table as if they'd burned him. His hands went to grip the edge of the table as he breathed deeply, his chest rising and falling in the silence.

Nobody else was breathing.

When he finally looked up, his eyes were shiny and a little dazed, his teeth worrying his already-split lip.

"I… would like to be alone," he said quietly. His voice was shaking. He fingered the papers' edges. Gaius moved to help him up, but he pulled back. "No, no-" he leaned into the table. "I don't want anybody to touch me, can you- can all of you just- leave?" His cheeks flushed. "Just... give me a moment. Please."

Gwen opened her mouth, but Merlin cut her off. "I just want to be alone. Just for a minute- can't you leave me alone for a minute? Just —" he drummed his fingers against the table, then winced when he was reminded that they were still healing. "Dammit- just- I don't want to be carried away somewhere. I just want to think-I just want to-" his voice dropped as if he was talking to himself. The wince had reopened the gash on his face, and a thin line blood leaked down his cheek. "I can't even bloody walk to my own damn room-" He reached up and touched the blood on his face, staining the bandages on his fingers bright crimson. He looked at them, then at Iseldir. His magic was writhing.

There was a sudden shift in his eyes. Fear and desperation. They focused. "Please get out," he said gasped. Now even Gwen could feel the shift in the air. The tension had hit its limit. Merlin was holding it back expertly, like he had since he was young, but Iseldir didn't want to test the limits of Emrys's self-control. "I'm not angry,' Merlin said quickly, his eyes still level with Iseldir's. "I just- need- you- to- go."

Everybody had already begun to move towards the door. The pots on Gaius's shelves were trembling.

"We'll be right outside," Gaius said breathlessly.

"Yes, fine," Merlin bit out, breaking eye contact in order to lean more heavily into the table. He left tiny bloody fingerprints on the wood. He was breathing hard.

Iseldir was the last to join the group huddled in the hallway, closing the door behind him.

Inside, they heard an anguished groan, the sound of ripping fabric and shattered glass, and then nothing.

In the deafening silence that followed, they heard soft crying.

This was not how it was supposed to happen.

Merlin's fingers wouldn't stop shaking. Nothing ever stopped shaking. Even his vision shook, all the time, always blurry- he'd needed to squint to see the words on the pages and now they were blurred on the table in front of him, from tears or magic or both, and dammit he just wanted everything to stop, just for a second- he wanted to-

He felt sick. His throat was raw. Had he made any noise? He couldn't hear anything. There was only the roar of the power that barely seemed to be his anymore. The world was narrowed to the words on the pages in front of him. He hoped everybody had gone. He was already pathetic and helpless and weak, he didn't want them to see what happened when he couldn't even control whatever amount of magic he had left.

Was this an apology? Was this what an apology looked like? Official documents? Decrees and repeals and clauses? Was this what a bribe looked like? Was it a little of both? Was this what he wanted?

He'd imagined this moment so many times.

And this is what destiny handed to him? This- moment. This situation where everybody was looking at him, and his fingers ached, and he couldn't stand or walk away or breathe-

He'd never wanted to be Emrys. Never asked, never offered, and now-

Did he matter now? What was next? All that he was designed to do was laying on the table in front of him, and it was real, and there were people outside who maybe cared for him or maybe cared for his magic, and he hoped it was him but he didn't know anything, not really. He didn't know what to feel anymore, his emotions were raw all the time, and his skin itched all the time, and his magic was either too strong or not there at all, and Morgana was somewhere close by and he was supposed to save everybody but he couldn't even escape a  damned dungeon.

And destiny had known all of this before, had handed it to him with a pretty title of "Prophecy."

He blinked.

And now that prophecy was over, wasn't it?

The moment that this decree went through, it was over, all of it. He didn't have to protect Arthur anymore, he didn't have to hide, he wasn't tied to Camelot morally or fatefully. His job would be finished. And then-

Was he free? From everything?

If magic was legalized and Arthur no longer needed to be protected from Morgana or any renegade sorcerers bent on revenge, then maybe, just maybe… Merlin would learn how to be just Merlin .

Just Merlin, who happens to have magic.

The thought terrified him. He would drop Emrys, servant, warlock, sorcerer, physician's apprentice, and Druid. He could drop destiny and prophecies. His roles would be done, and he would be able to just live like everybody else did. He could leave Camelot and everything in it behind him; he could go back to Ealdor and help his mom with the farm; he could get up and go wherever he wanted, whenever he wanted, for as long as he wanted, and nobody would need to know who he was or what he had done or what had been done to him.

The whole situation was frightening. Overwhelming. Too big and far way for him to wrap his mind around.

And yet it all sounded so… nice.

What would it be like? To be just-Merlin-who-happened-to-have-magic?

He was still crying. His magic was a great monster looming over his shoulder, breathing down the back of his neck, slithering around his arms and wrists. It leaked from the stinging wound on his face. He felt nauseous with the weight of it, had felt more nauseous with every passing moment that he'd shoved it behind them. But now-

There were tears falling onto the blanket wrapped around his shoulders and he realized that his magic had lashed out and broken—something. There was glass on the floor. Had everybody left? Had they seen it? Were they afraid of him and the monster on his back? Could they hear it roaring?

Merlin had never been afraid of his magic- but then it had never been his, exactly. It had been something leant to him by destiny, something in his instincts, something that was around him as well as inside of him- but if he was just Merlin- if his destiny was over-

He'd been afraid in the dungeon. He'd been afraid of the guards. He'd been afraid of the walls and the chair and whenever something moved to hurt him.

He was afraid of looking at himself now, at his bones under his skin and the bandages. He closed his eyes when Gaius changed them, couldn't entirely remember where all of it had come from. He could just remember the fear and the pain that lingered in the air with his bruised magic, which was still breathing down the back of his neck as the papers stared up at him.

What was he supposed to say? Everybody expected him to say something, but he didn't have any words.

He pressed his forehead against the table, ignoring the protest of his ribs and spine and hips.

"Don't make me say it," he whispered into his lap. He didn't know who he was talking to. His magic, maybe, or his conscience, or the people outside the door. "Don't make me look them in the eye and say thank-you."

Nobody answered him. The room was empty and quiet. Merlin was alone.

Outside, Gwen was chewing on her lip and Arthur was clenching his jaw and Iseldir was standing by the door in case someone tried to enter. Merlin knew all of this. He knew things and he couldn't understand how he knew them, except that he could occasionally feel Arthur like some kind of phantom limb, and maybe that was why he knew that Arthur was now pacing, and Gaius was somewhere to Arthur's right in the narrow hallway and—

It was a sensory overload, all of the time, and somewhere in the mess of oh a bird just landed on the roof of the stables and Arthur just punched a wall and there's a rat below the floorboards, Merlin's magic knew where Morgana was, and that she was closer than her armies made her seem. But every passing moment since he'd woken up, Merlin could sense more than he ever could before, and he still didn't know how to process any of it. He didn't know how to find that bit of information about Morgana's location, didn't know how to sift through everything.

He'd tried- he'd sat very still and retreated back into his own head, had climbed through the mess of his own mind and thoughts, but it was a maze that was hard to climb out of, and it felt raw- like probing the space a tooth had been with his tongue over and over until it bled and ached. And it frightened him, and he was tired, and he was having horrible dreams, and Gaius said he needed to heal, that he needed to sleep-

There was always work to do.

"Emrys?"

Merlin's magic reacted before Merlin did, sending the hairs on Iseldir's arms on-end. Iseldir felt his heart break a little as he took in the scene in front of him.

There was broken glass littered across the floor, mixed with the medicines that had once been in the vials. Some of the curtains had been ripped outward. The herbs that had been hanging above them were now on the ground, crushed amongst the glass.

And Merlin was in the middle of it all, very small and looking smaller, slumped against the table, tremors running up and down his spine. He was crying softly, his fingers still holding the edge in front of him. His dark hair was hanging over his face, and the blanket did nothing to hide the knobs of his spine and shoulder blades, pressed further from his skin by the slumped way he was holding himself.

Iseldir felt like he was intruding on a private moment. The most powerful warlock to ever walk the earth was breaking down, and he was so small and frail and young.

At the sound of Iseldir's voice, Merlin's crying stopped. He took a second to breathe before dragging his face up to look at Iseldir. His hand went to wipe his tears, but only served to smear his cheek with old and new blood.

His lips moved to form words, but nothing came out.

Iseldir took a few long strides before kneeling beside him. He couldn't make out what Merlin was saying, so he rested a hand on his shoulder.

"I am sorry," he said, "that this was put on your shoulders."

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut. He bit down on his lip, then tried to speak again.

"I can't do this," he finally managed, but before Iseldir could say But you must, Merlin continued, "I don't know what to say to them."

Iseldir, at that moment, realized this was about the legalization, not the imminent battle with Morgana.

"You do not need to say a word," Iseldir said.

Merlin just shrugged before leaning his forehead against the table again, signalling the end of the conversation. Iseldir took the hint, exiting the room and closing the door behind him.

In the hallway, Arthur was pacing as Gaius and Gwen watched. At Iseldir's entrance, everybody's attention shifted.

"I believe Emrys needs time to process everything," Iseldir said. "This is his destiny coming to fruition, after all."

"Should we go in?" Gwen asked, glancing at the door. Her hand had gone to rub at the collar of her dress.

"I think we need to give him some time alone."

Arthur went back to pacing, running his fingers through his hair. Gaius closed his eyes, leaning against the wall for support. Gwen nodded and said, "Of course," although the thought of leaving her friend alone after so long in the dungeons made her stomach roll. She hadn't left his side for days, and being without him made her nervous. She'd neglected her duties as queen to keep him safe, had neglected her own sleep and health, just as she was sure Merlin would have done for her.

A scrap of memory flashed through her mind; of kissing Arthur's cheek before closing the door behind him, of watching his horse disappear into the forest. There had been a time when being without Arthur had caused the same anxiety, when the thought of him going into battle had kept her awake. There had been a time when she would have fought by his side, when she had fought by his side.

Would she fight for him now? More importantly, would Merlin? The answer to the second was yes; but the first?

She supposed she would.

The world had tilted, and she glanced at the king she had once, and maybe still, loved. She couldn't forgive him for the things he'd done until Merlin could, but she could stand behind the man he was trying to be.

She would fight for the Arthur of today. She would be there with a sword when Morgana came; she'd stand beside Merlin and Gaius and the Knights and yes, even Arthur, who would without a doubt be fighting all kinds of demons, both literal and metaphorical.

The prophecies had called him the Once and Future King, and Gwen now understood the title: He had once been the king she loved, before all of this, and would again be, eventually, if things went correctly.

But right now things seem far less grand, and destiny seemed like an inelegant, messy thing that Merlin had spent years trying to tame on his own.

Gwen was glad that now, at least, they were all carrying it together. She just wished she could have helped sooner, or could help more.

But for now, all she could do was sit in the hallway and wait for Merlin to let her in.

Chapter Text

Nobody knew how long to wait. Iseldir mentioned something about Merlin being able to tell him through mind-speak, which was something that Arthur decided to ask about later. Gaius was worried that Merlin would pass out or fall asleep before he could let them know it was okay to come back in. Gwen knew that if it was up to her, she would walk in right then and there. Arthur didn't feel comfortable weighing in on the conversation.

So they remained in the hallway, listening through the wooden door.

Inside, there were some hiccupy breaths, the creak of wood, some shifting of broken glass and the rustling of papers. There were some low groans.

Ten minutes passed.

Gwaine showed up to visit Merlin and, after being briefed on the events that had just occurred, wound up standing in the hallway with the rest. Percival came a few minutes after.

After twenty minutes, the noises in Gaius's quarters had stopped, and Gwen decided that it had been quite long enough, thank you, and somebody had to check on Merlin, because standing in the hallway for this long was ridiculous.

Iseldir offered to go back in, but was cut off by Gwen saying, "I think Gaius should go in," and because he was the closest thing Merlin had to a father, and he'd known about Merlin's magic the longest, and it was his room, anyway, everybody seemed to agree with that sentiment, even Iseldir. So Gaius hiked up his robes and went in before anybody could change their mind.

Upon entering the room, Gaius had to admit that he was glad the wall to Merlin's room was gone, because it meant he could immediately spot Merlin amongst the wreckage.

The main room looked about the way Gaius had expected it to. There were bits of shattered glass and scattered bits of paper. Some vials had broken and were oozing their contents onto the floor. Some of the herbs dangling from the ceiling had re-bloomed; some had shriveled up. At this rate, he thought, I'm going to have to restock the entire room.

But there was no Merlin.

Gaius could only guess, from the trail of smeared blood on the table and floor, that the poor man had crawled into his own room.

He was in there now, sitting amongst the dust and debris on his bed, with Arthur's papers in his lap. There was a thin line of dried blood running from the reopened and re-scabbed gash near his temple. There was blood on the bandages on his fingers, too.

"Merlin," Gaius said, hobbling towards the warlock. He knew Merlin was aware of his presence—he was always wound tight, always jumpy and ready to fight or flee. Even so, he didn't respond, only continued to flip through the pages slowly. His lips moved as he read to himself.

Gaius stepped over the remains of the wall, entering the room officially and moving to the foot of Merlin's bed. Merlin's eyes were red-rimmed and shiny. He bit his lip. As Gaius got closer, he saw that he had a quill and inkwell balanced on one of his bony knees. Every couple of sentences, his hand would twitch towards it. There were drops of black ink on his trousers and bandages, and even more on the documents.

"What are you doing, my boy?" Gaius asked.

Merlin frowned. He lifted the quill awkwardly, balancing it between his heavily splinted fingers, and dipped it into the inkwell. With a trembling hand, he scratched out a couple of words on the document. He wrote something in the margin before speaking.

"I'm working," he said.

Gaius frowned. "But your fingers—" he began, then stopped. Merlin had already crossed something else out, dripping more ink onto his knees and sheets. His brow was creased with determination and sweat. This was the closest to himself that Merlin had acted since waking up.

"Damn my fingers. If this is going to happen, it's going to happen now," Merlin grunted. He coughed into his arm. "Morgana's coming. I don't have time."

Gaius pressed his lips together. That was the reality of it all. Merlin should have been sleeping. He should have been making plans to travel home when he was ready, to see his mother, to recover somewhere quiet and safe. Instead, he was preparing for war. And the worst part was that he was right.

Instead of demanding he lay down and take a sleeping draught, Gaius sat gingerly on the edge of the bed. "What is it you're writing?"

"I'm editing," he said shortly. "You know… things need to be worded properly."

Gaius could hear the edge in Merlin's voice. This was a momentous occasion. This was all that Merlin had ever fought for. This was not only his own pardon, but the fate of thousands of Camelot's citizens. It would ensure that what had been done to him would never be done to anyone else, ever again.

Gaius just wished it hadn't taken such a harsh sacrifice.

"I do," he said, and then, "You know where Morgana is, don't you?"

Merlin didn't look up. "No," he said. He winced. "Maybe. I don't know." He caught Gaius's eyes. "There's… a lot going on in my head. I don't—" He squeezed his eyes shut. "I don't know what to do with all of it. Since—-" he paused, his expression darkening. His eyes opened. "There's just a lot of information. And my magic can't sort it. I can't sort it. It's never been like this before, Gaius."

His cheeks reddened in embarrassment. His magic had never been perfect, but this was worse than ever before.

"Do you want to know what happened while you were asleep?"

There was no point in waiting to ask. Merlin needed to know, and soon.

"If you think that'll help me sort my magic out, then don't bother. I know it's because of Arthur." Merlin motioned towards his own eyes with his left hand. "It's in his eyes. The magic. My magic. Don't think I didn't notice. And besides that, I can feel it."

"But you already knew that Arthur cast a spell."

"That's what people keep telling me," he bit out, not looking up.

"Do you not want to know how you came to be here, instead of the dungeons?"

Merlin remained silent. He looked a little green. Gaius took that as a cue to continue.

"He felt bad," Gaius said. Merlin scoffed in response.

"He couldn't have felt bad earlier?"

"You should have seen him, Merlin. He came running in with you in his arms and I have never seen him look so frightened."

Merlin just scowled. His jaw twitched in anger. He didn't speak.

"We all thought you were dead. That is why none of us came to get you."

"I know," Merlin muttered. "You've said."

Gaius sighed. "Do you want to hear the story or not?"

Merlin continued to glare, but put the quill down without a word.

Gaius took a deep breath. It wasn't necessarily his story to tell- it was Arthur's. But Gaius didn't think Arthur would be able to get through the story without breaking down, and he knew Merlin wouldn't stand to listen to Arthur talk for too long without lashing out.

"It began with a walk in the woods, and a visit by Iseldir," Gaius began. He carefully left out the part about why Arthur had taken a walk in the first place. He wasn't trying to defend Arthur, but he was afraid the knowledge would upset Merlin further. Merlin's face had softened a little, and Gaius felt a bit like a father telling a child a story. He wished the story was less dark, though, and Merlin was no child.

Gaius went on to explain the events leading up to Merlin's pardon and arrival to Gaius's chambers. By the time he was finishing up, Merlin's face was expressionless. He'd set the papers down in lieu of staring into space while listening, and Gaius was afraid he'd slipped into one of his catatonic states again.

"Saving you in order to defend Camelot was never the goal," Gaius added at the end.

Merlin's face slipped into a bitter smile, his eyes still staring into space. "Really?" He laughed a little, his eyes adjusting and focusing on Gaius. "Because that seems to be the only reason for any of this," he motioned towards the papers. "This whole thing started because Arthur thought that I was working with Morgana," his voice wobbled a little, and Gaius saw his eyes grow glassy in memory. He blinked a couple of times. "And it seems like he released me because he thought I could save everyone." His voice picked up speed. "And it feels like the only thing people are interested in now is how well I'll be by the time Morgana gets here, or if I'll be well, or if I know where she is- and honestly, even my magic seems focused on her!"

"Arthur freed you because he felt guilty and realized he was wrong," Gaius cut in. He lowered his voice. "But I would be lying if I said you weren't Camelot's last hope."

Merlin clenched his jaw.

"I don't want to be."

"Trust me, I wouldn't wish the burden on you, either. But it is yours to carry, and that will not be changed."

Merlin's eyes were cold. Determined. "I know," he said slowly, and then he went back to the paperwork.

It seemed that the conversation was over.

Gaius watched him with sadness in his eyes. He didn't know if there had truly been a point to the conversation-he wanted Merlin to trust him, to trust Gwen and the knights, but he wasn't sure if the story had changed anything. And beside the point, Gaius also knew there was a part of him that desperately wanted Merlin back to normal as quickly as possible, and that wasn't the physician in him speaking- it was the desperate thoughts of a very-human father who just wanted his son back.

And right now, Gaius wasn't entirely sure how to move forward, or if there was even anything he could do to move forward. Usually, this part of recovery was a waiting game. The fits of silence and paranoia and fever and fear were all part of the process, all things to tackle and work through slowly and with time. Trust had to be re-built slowly.

But their schedule was too short now. Morgana's plans had stolen Merlin's ability to recover. Instead of being rescued and cared for, he was being dragged into health in order to save the very kingdom that had betrayed him. Instead of being able to ride out the waves of recovery and relapse, everybody was waiting in anticipation of Morgana's attack. There was no pushing forward- only breath-holding.

"I need a place to practice," Merlin said suddenly. It was quiet. Unsure.

Gaius snapped out of his thoughts to look at the warlock. "Practice for what?"

Merlin was chewing on his lip thoughtfully. "My magic," he said.

"Your magic hasn't recovered."

"It's not going to get any better if I don't start trying to use it again, though."

"You need to rest."

"I don't have time to rest. I don't have time to wait, either. What if Morgana comes tonight? Or tomorrow? My body can't heal in that time, but it's possible that my magic can."

Gaius hesitated. Merlin pushed on.

"And don't go about saying that Arthur'll deny my request for it. He's either all-in or all-out. He'll chop off my head whether I ask for a little or a lot if just asking is too much. Either way, Morgana attacks."

Merlin was getting worked up again. He sounded more like he was reassuring himself of the decision than he was Gaius. Gaius once again worried about the state of Merlin's mind— was his magic returning really the safest approach? What about his fits of delirium? His moments of catatonia? What would those be like with the support of magic? Would they improve? Would they get worse? Gaius pictured how dangerous a feverish Merlin would be.

Then he pictured how dangerous a helpless Merlin would be.

And then he pictured Morgana, priestess of the high religion, standing before Merlin, and decided that medical advice needed to be thrown out the window.

It pained him to admit it, but desperate times called for desperate measures.

"Do you want me to ask him for you?" Gaius asked, and Merlin looked surprised at his willingness. He must have understood the gravity of the decision.

Merlin took a moment to think about the answer. "I think—" he began, then stopped and reconsidered. "I think... that I will ask."

He took a deep breath, gazed at the papers in his lap for a long moment, and then gave Gaius a sort of half-smile.

"Yeah," he said quietly, tentatively. His eyes were shining, this time with something other than fever. "I will ask. This is it, Gaius," he was speaking about the documents in his lap. His voice had gotten louder. "This is what we've been waiting for."

He wrote something else in the margin, flipped the page over, and set the quill down. Then Merlin looked at Gaius and said something he never thought he would hear Merlin say again:

"Can you send Arthur in?"

Chapter Text

Arthur stood very still as Gaius shut the door behind them and took up a position in the corner of the room, watching. Merlin was sitting on his bed, the crumbled bits of wall between them. His eyes were dark and shadowed and calculating, his brow furrowed. He was reading Arthur like a book, and Arthur could feel him turning the pages.

Arthur felt very small and cornered; like a child cowering before the monster under his bed. Except Merlin looked nothing like a monster, and Arthur had to remind himself that if there was a monster in the room, it wouldn't be Merlin.

(He refused to think about how only weeks ago, he would have seen Merlin's small frame and golden eyes and declared him something less than human.)

The wood of the door felt solid against Arthur's back when everything else felt like it was falling out from beneath him.

Give it back, Merlin wanted to demand the moment Arthur walked into the room, dragging Merlin's own magic behind him. It wasn't Arthur's to carry. It wasn't Arthur's at all. To Merlin it seemed like an infection, the way the magic surrounded Arthur. Like a foreign contaminant. Like Arthur was a splinter. There was a time when Merlin would have seen it as beautiful, the way Arthur's eyes flashed with gold, the way he felt like an extension of Merlin's limbs, the way he could feel Arthur breathing. It might have, once upon a time, felt like a comfort.

But not now.

Now, all Merlin could feel was the ache of his lungs. All he could hear was the whistle of his own breaths as he tried to slow them down. He refused to feel anything else; not the way Arthur's own feelings tapped at the back of his mind like an itch he couldn't scratch, not the way his magic settled in his own shoulder blades.

Give it back.

Arthur felt the words in a way that felt like his own thoughts. Not a voice in his head, nor a feeling, but something that came to him as knowledge.

But he already knew the magic wasn't his. He already knew it was a borrowed thing.

I don't know how, Arthur wanted to respond.

He didn't.

Merlin's gaze was full of hate. Arthur was reminded of his father during a sorcerer's trial- something hot and uncontained and disgusted behind his eyes. Something barely bitten back. He could barely hear Merlin where he was, but he was too afraid to move further into the room.

At least Gaius seemed ready and eager to jump in at any moment and lead Arthur out.

Merlin cleared his throat again, a deliberate, grating sound, and then looked directly into Arthur's eyes as he spoke to Gaius:

"Can you give us a moment?"

Gaius looked nervous. He glanced at Arthur, then Merlin, then Arthur again.

"Merlin…"

Merlin cut him off before the question could even be spoken. "I am sure, Gaius," he said, not breaking eye contact with Arthur.

Gaius hesitated for another moment. Finally, he moved to the door, and Arthur was forced to take a few steps into the room in order to accommodate Gaius's shuffle out.

The silence he left behind was long and thick and stifling.

"...How dare you?"

It wasn't what Merlin had meant to say; he'd meant to demand, in a clear voice, "Give me a space to practice my magic." But that thought had gone out the window the second Merlin had opened his mouth, and now all Merlin could see was before:

Arthur's face through the bars, his carefully neutral gaze peering down at him. All Merlin could feel was the nausea in his stomach, the burn and itch of the collar, the panic of dear lord, he knows, paired with the panic of Arthur, please don't leave me down here-

And Arthur's face. His face, saying:

You can't leave, but I am not going to kill you.

I'll come back.

I'll come back, I promise, just hold on.

"Y-You," Merlin started again, his face contorted with something between rage and grief, something that filled his eyes with tears and made his voice shake and deepen in his chest until it was barely a whisper. It was something that should have been shouted but was too sticky and heavy to make much noise at all.

Arthur was forced to take a few more long, halting steps into the room.

Merlin's finger jabbed at the bed. He put the documents to the side and rose up onto his knees. "You did this," he managed, voice breaking.

He looked like a king above a ruined kingdom: debris scattered in a wide arc before him, blood and ink on his face, righteousness in his shaking limbs.

He was a man who had lost everything.

Arthur could feel Merlin's magic pick up just as surely as he could feel his own breathing pick up, and he'd nearly forgotten they were still connected in that way- could Merlin feel Arthur's breathing? Did Merlin know how much shame Arthur felt in every one of his bones?

Did Arthur know how much shame Merlin felt in his?

"I'll come back," Merlin was saying, spitting Arthur's own words at him. Arthur could almost hear himself say them, could feel the way his mouth had felt when they'd been said- he was in the dungeons again, too.

His voice was full of venom. "I promise. Do you remember?" He was making full eye contact with Arthur. "You promised. Y-You said-" he took a shaky breath, "you can't leave, but I am not going to kill you."

A few stray tears rolled down Merlin's cheeks. He did not blink. He was not sad- he was furious. "And you didn't break those promises," he hissed. He pointed at Arthur with a trembling, unhealed finger. "But you damn well tried, didn't you?"

No, Arthur wanted to say, because he'd never thought, during Merlin's captivity, about what he'd do if Merlin had actually died- but he nearly had, hadn't he? And he would have. Arthur would have killed him, would have had him tortured to death. Had planned on it, even- even if it wasn't consciously. How long had Arthur planned on Merlin surviving anyway?

It made Arthur too sick to think about. Maybe it would have made him sick back then, too, and that was why it had never occurred to him.

Not that it mattered. When Arthur had freed Merlin, he'd already been dying. It had been pure luck that he wasn't already dead when he'd carried him to Gaius. It was pure luck that he was alive now, and conscious enough to point a shaking finger at Arthur and demand reparation.

Merlin's jaw was clenched as he studied Arthur's face. "Yeah," he said when Arthur came up speechless. "That's what I thought."

"I'm sorry," Arthur finally managed out. It sounded pathetic and small and utterly baseless. He'd said it before. He'd say it again. It didn't change anything, but there was nothing else to say.

"Me too," Merlin mocked. He gave him a twisted little half-smile. "Me too."

Arthur suddenly wished that Merlin could remember the strange dreamscape of the collar, wished he didn't need to have this conversation all at once- he wished Merlin realized he'd already had it, in pieces, in shambles, in scatters between different Merlins- but that wasn't fair.

Merlin deserved this. Merlin deserved more than this, had always deserved more than this.

Merlin took a deep breath and threw his legs over the edge of the bed, wincing."I was born with magic but I'm sure somebody has told you that already," he said in that breath. He was focusing on his knees, like the words were coming out unbidden and un-thought-out. "I was given it for you, and I believed in you, and I used it for you-" he flexed his toes, coated in wall-dust. He took another deep breath, then looked at Arthur. "And I was given promises. Not just by you." He pushed himself up off the bed and held onto the edge of it to keep himself standing. "I was told a lot of things would happen. And apparently, I wasn't told about a lot of things that would happen."

He released the bed, standing on his own. He wanted to be standing. He hated the way he looked in his own mind's eye- small and broken and scared and weak, something that everybody had used, that everybody had relied on, had lied to. He hated the thing that destiny had made him. He hated the thing that Arthur had made him. Whenever he looked down at his own chest he saw a creature, a monster, something scarred and misshapen.

He'd lost himself in that dungeon, had huddled on the floor and forgotten things, had become a prisoner without a name. There were some things he was never going to get back.

His pride, though- he could get that back, maybe, if he could just stand and face this, face Arthur, face the thing that had stared at him in his nightmares, the thing that had opened and closed his cell door, had asked him questions, had made him forget how to be just Merlin.

"But you could have been one of the good things," Merlin said, his voice getting louder. He took a step towards Arthur, and this time the anger wasn't strong enough to hide the tears. "You didn't have to be the worst part of my destiny. You were supposed to be the reward! You were supposed to be the greatest. You were supposed to be-" He took another stumbling step, and Arthur made a half-aborted move to help him from across the room. He only made it a half-step before Merlin flinched away. "No!" he hissed, his magic pressing the word into Arthur's skull, pressing Arthur back towards the door. Arthur stumbled back, caught his footing, straightened. Merlin was already down the stairs. He stopped when he was only a step in front of Arthur. He could feel Merlin's magic buzzing in his own hands and eyes.

"You ruined everything," Merlin said, "and I hate you for it." His knees buckled, and he grabbed Arthur's shoulders, his face inches from away, his breath sharp and hot. Arthur could see the yellowing bruises, the fresh blood, the greasy hair. "Do you understand?" He was shouting. His fingers dug into Arthur's shoulders, heedless of the splints that bound them. Arthur had to fight to not pull away or close his eyes. Merlin stopped, breathing hard.

His voice switched to a whisper. "I hate you," he said, "and I will not help you."

He let go of Arthur's shoulders. He went to push him away, but didn't quite muster the strength. Instead, we found himself sinking towards the floor, and Arthur instinctively reached towards his waist to keep him from falling-

...And they stood like that, frozen, for a moment: Merlin's head bowed, his chest heaving, hands falling to clutch Arthur's forearms for stability. Arthur tried and failed to catch his eyes. He needed to see them, to see if the hatred was real, if there was any forgiveness there.

-But then the moment passed, and Merlin snarled and shoved him away. There was no power behind the push, not physically, but something in Arthur's gut forced him back. There was a weight in his chest, in his throat. There was nothing for him to hold onto to keep his mind from spinning with the words on Merlin's lips and in his own head.

Merlin's legs were trembling as he turned and grabbed the edge of Gaius's examination table. He looked at it instead of Arthur, taking slow breaths.

"I will face Morgana," he said slowly. His voice was cold. "But it will not be for you. And it will not be for destiny. And- " his face crumpled. "-it will not be for Camelot." He motioned behind him. "It will be for me. It will be so those bloody documents can be passed. It will be to protect myself from you- to protect people like me from people like you and Morgana."

Merlin sat heavily at the table. Arthur was frozen to the spot, caught between saying thank you and I'm sorry, between feeling the awful realization that Merlin didn't forgive him- that he'd been compared to Morgana- and the relief that there was hope for the kingdom.

Merlin squeezed his eyes shut, took a deep breath, pressed a hand to his temple. He didn't look at Arthur.

"Give me a place to practice magic," he said finally, all in one breath, and it didn't come out as commanding or clear; he just sounded exhausted.

"What?"

"A place. To practice."

"Of course," Arthur said, before even considering where that place would be, "of course- I will find... I will find a place." His mind was still reeling.

Merlin looked up from the table with a strange look on his face. "You will," he said, and it didn't sound like a question, but it didn't sound like a statement, either.

Arthur nodded. "Yes."

"And there will be no guards."

"No," Arthur said, utterly perplexed. "There would- there would be no need for that."

"No," Merlin said, more to himself, "there wouldn't be." His eyes were focused on something far away.

"Um- You can have the armory," Arthur said, just to say something. "Or the- the throne room-" he paused. He had no idea what kind of room was needed to practice magic. Did Merlin need to be outside? His magic seemed pretty much exclusively focused on nature. "Or- the courtyard?"

Merlin smirked a little. It was pained; there was no mirth or maliciousness. It was like a memory, an impulse. "The throne room will be fine," he said, but his eyes were still searching for something far away. Arthur shifted his weight. The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. His fingers itched.

Merlin nodded once to himself, as if he'd made a decision.

"Don't you want to see it?" he asked. He gave Arthur a sideways glance as his voice went up at the end. He still sounded exhausted, but he was nervous, too. Nervous and...angry?

"Um-" This was a test, Arthur could feel it. He just didn't know what the right answer was. Was there a right one?

"You've given me the throne room," Merlin said, "and you don't want to see it?"

Merlin had already looked away and raised his hands, his wrists resting on the edge of the table, his fingers trembling. Apparently, he wasn't expecting an answer. He looked hard at the space in front of him. Merlin shot Arthur a look of trepidation just for a moment, and then he began to speak, his hands shaking harder:

"Gewyrcan blóstmá lif."

Arthur was startled by how natural the foreign words sounded coming from Merlin's lips. There was knowledge there, a depth to Merlin that Arthur had never known existed. Arthur wondered if he needed to study, or if the language simply came to him. He thought about how the same voice who wrote his speeches for him also spoke magic like a mother tongue.

"Upastige."

The hair on Arthur's arms stood up, but if anything else happened, he couldn't see it. Merlin frowned and focused harder on his hands. "Upastige lif," he said, with more force. "Blóstmá."

There was a popping of pressure in Arthur's ears, and Merlin's eyes flashed a warm shade of gold, so different than that of Morgana and even of Emrys in that dreamscape- and yet, somehow, exactly the same. He supposed it was because they were all different people wielding the same thing. What did Arthur's eyes look like when he cast?

Merlin glanced at Arthur again, sheepishly, as his eyes faded back to blue. It was almost like he was daring Arthur to get angry, like he wanted to see how Arthur reacted to the change in his eyes and the foreign taste of gold in the air.

This is all a test, he thought again, and suddenly knew the correct answer.

Merlin had cupped his hands together, and his eyes were full of anticipation as he opened them now, slowly, still trembling. He saw the contents first, and his eyes lit up with something between relief and bliss. Arthur craned his neck, still a meter away from the table.

Merlin tilted his hands towards him, tears forming in his eyes. He was cradling the shape of a tiny rose, as red as the cloaks of Camelot.

Arthur let out a breath. The rose was small and fragile and its petals trembled with Merlin's hands.

Merlin was the most powerful warlock to walk the earth; this was the first time he was allowed to do magic in front of his king.

And… it was this.

A tiny, delicate blossom, blood-red and wilting already.

"It's beautiful," Arthur finally said. And he wasn't talking about the rose, not exclusively.

He was talking about all of it- the magic, the way Merlin cradled it like a child, the way the rose was as delicate as Merlin was now and as bold as he was before, as bold as Camelot's army. He meant the way Merlin's voice grew soft and powerful and his eyes flashed gold, as if that was what he was meant to sound like, to look like. Something a little bit more than human.

Merlin was still staring at it, watching the petals as they curled and browned. It was a short-lived spell and it was even shorter now, with his magic the way it was.

"Yes," Merlin said finally, laying the flower on the wood of the table. "It can be."

He wiped at his tears, sniffed once, and suddenly he was cold again, although his voice was softer. He looked at Arthur.

"When will the throne room be ready?"

Arthur did his best to shift back into neutrality, but for once in his life, wasn't as good at it as Merlin was. (But then, Merlin was actually perfectly capable of hiding and lying and remaining calm, wasn't he? Just in a way Arthur had never needed to understand.)

"I'll… just need the documents," Arthur said. He motioned towards the bed.

"Take them."

Arthur did.

"And…" Merlin hesitated. "...leave," he finished, just as Arthur crossed the threshold of his room, picked up the papers, pen, and inkwell, and turned around.

Arthur nodded silently, but realized Merlin had returned to looking at his rose. It was already brown.

"Do you do that spell often?" He asked in the silence.

Merlin smiled bitterly, still staring at the dead flower. "No," he said, and there was grief there. "Only once."

Arthur walked back to the table, trying to catch Merlin's eye. He wondered when Merlin had time to summon roses; why he'd done it only once. He knew Merlin had cast some powerful spells for Camelot, but who did Merlin cast the delicate spells for? He tried to think of a scenario where Merlin would summon roses. Who did he trust that deeply? Not Arthur. Not Gwen. Not the knights. He doubted it was for Gaius.

The thought made Arthur profoundly sad.

He grabbed a piece of blank parchment from Gaius's desk and laid the papers down in front of Merlin.

"There's something else I need you to sign," he said, writing something on the blank piece.

"Fine," Merlin tried to sound bored, but his tone did nothing to hide the sadness in his eyes. Arthur turned the paper around, sliding it across the table towards Merlin. Merlin pulled it towards him and read it silently.

The position of Court Sorcerer and Magickal Advisor is thereby offered

to the Warlock Merlin,

whose bravery, loyalty, and knowledge of royal and magickal affairs

have been  invaluable to the King of Camelot

for upwards of five years and some months.

Merlin touched the words with his fingers, as if that would somehow help him comprehend it better.

"Just an offer," Arthur said quickly. "Not an order."

"Right," he said finally. "I shall let you know, then. Later." Merlin folded the paper in half carefully.

Arthur stood there for another moment, feeling as though there was more to say but unsure what that was. When nothing was forthcoming, he turned and left the room, Merlin's silence clinging to his back. He didn't think Merlin looked up from the paper once.

As he pulled the door shut, Merlin spoke:

"Are your feet burned?" he asked. Arthur blanched.

"Uh—" he looked down at them, startled. He realized he'd been barefoot the entire time, only the bandages protecting him from the ground. Had he really walked through the castle like that? "Not anymore," he said quickly. He was unsure if he should go into detail or leave it at that, but Merlin didn't ask for any more information. He went back to staring into space, chewing on his lip. He was frowning.

Arthur closed the door. Did Merlin know why his feet were burned? He wasn't sure what Merlin had and had not been told. He decided that was a thought for later.

What had just happened?

Arthur decided that was a thought for later, too.

The hallway was very quiet. Arthur blinked a few times, waiting for everything to come into focus. In front of him, the worried faces of a half-dozen druids, Gwaine, Percival, Gwen, Iseldir, and Gaius were looking at him expectantly.

Arthur held up the documents, covered in Merlin's handwriting. There was something caught in his throat. The privacy of the conversation stuck his tongue to the roof of his mouth. He thought of roses and golden eyes. He said nothing.

They must have seen something in his face, though, because without a word, they parted to make way for him.

"I need Gaius and the Druids to follow me," he finally managed, not turning around. He was heading towards the throne room.

He was still barefoot, but he didn't care.

He had a magic training room to set up, and he had absolutely no idea where to start.

Chapter Text

As it turned out, setting up a training room for magic required little more than pushing the furniture towards the walls and removing anything breakable or highly valuable. Arthur had expected to need jewels or minerals or runes etched into something, but Iseldir assured him otherwise.

"A sorcerer needs only his magic to practice," he'd said. "And space to move around."

The removal of the breakable objects was just in case Merlin's magic came out more destructive than intended. It made everybody feel better to pretend that the safe storage of some goblets and crowns was all they needed to worry about.

(Nobody mentioned that Merlin could probably crumble the entire castle if something went wrong.)

When they were done, the room looked more like a ballroom, with a halo of chairs around the outer edge and the round table pulled into the corner beside the thrones—which, bolted into the ground like they were, remained in place.

Arthur took a deep breath, Merlin's documents burning a hole in his jacket pocket, and announced that he would like to retire to his rooms.

"Don't you want to show Emrys?" One of the Druids piped up.

"Later," Arthur said. His hand went to his pocket. "I have some business I need to attend to."

Back at Gaius's chambers, Gwen had sat herself across the table from Merlin.

It was odd to be in such mundane positions. If someone were to walk in, they would think the two of them were having dinner with quiet conversation. Perhaps they were lovers or friends discussing a difficult topic.

Except then it would become obvious that there was no talking at all; that the man was heavily bandaged and clearly exhausted, with rusty blood seeping through his gauze coverings and staining his face. That he wore a pair of peasant's trousers and was barefoot.

And the woman was dressed in garments of deep purple and silver silk; a dress the cut of a queen, and that she was at a loss for words. Her hands clasped and unclasped on the table between then as she began to speak and thought better of it, over and over again.

And then it would be obvious that this was not dinner, nor light conversation.

Merlin was thinking hard. Despite the logical side of Gwen's brain telling her that there was really no harm in him thinking, she was worried he'd somehow hurt himself anyway. He looked like maybe a strong breeze would hurt him, and the way his brows furrowed and his hands gripped the edge of the table made her nervous.

Gwen couldn't think of a single thing to say. She wanted to reassure him that she could be trusted. She wanted to ask him if he needed anything, if he was alright, what he was thinking about. She wanted to tell him how much she'd missed him over and over.

But the words escaped her.

"Merlin," she started, and he looked up at her with distant eyes. He was obviously thinking about something else, and not really listening to her at all. She supposed that was good, in a sense, because it meant he trusted her enough to not be on guard. But she wished she could talk to him like they used to.

Merlin cleared his throat. "Arthur's feet were burned," He said. He still looked deep in thought.

Gwen's eyebrows rose. "Yes," she said quickly.

Merlin nodded slowly, frowning. His eyes focused on Gwen's for a split second, then dropped again. "From the spell?"

Gwen heard the tentativeness in his voice as he asked the question. She took a deep breath through her nose. "Yes."

The frown deepened. He hummed a little.

"I don't—" He hesitated. Cleared his throat again. "I don't think I'm supposed to remember."

Gwen was afraid that if she spoke, Merlin would stop. He hadn't really opened up to her in a long time—even before the imprisonment, they'd been growing apart.

"I've thought about it a lot. Nothing makes sense. Since the spell, my magic—" he gave her a quick look, as if asking for permission to talk about it. Gwen nodded in encouragement. Merlin looked relieved. "My magic has been throwing information at me without any organization, yet it still reacts to my emotions—which is, um, normal—it normally reacts to my emotions," he clarified. "But— it's injured, yet it took down a wall? So it's not as if it's weak—it's just disorganized. And it feels intentional. I can't explain it, but I feel like it's trying to distract me. Like it doesn't want me to remember."

His eyes slid sideways. "I don't think it would be a good thing to remember." He absently touched one of the bandages on his forearms, and Gwen had a sudden flashback—of orange blossoms and arching backs and screaming— and wondered if she would want him to remember anything, either. He was already dealing with the memories of his imprisonment—did he really need the ones of his recovery, too?

"I don't know what happened during the spell. And I'm not sure what the spell was, either—nobody has told me the name, Gaius has only mentioned that damn metaphor about the bloody coin—" he paused, breathed, started again. "But it involved some trials, right? Because Arthur's feet are burned. And he doesn't want to talk about it. And if it does have something to do with that—with the coin, the destiny—" again he looked at Gwen for permission, shooting her a sideways glance threw his lashes, and again, Gwen nodded in encouragement, "then I'm not sure that what happened in the spell was for me. I mean, the rescue bit was, but maybe not the rest. Maybe not the trials, whatever they were. Because we carry the same magic, but it allows him to remember, and not me."

Gwen was looking at him with sympathetic eyes. None of what he'd said had occurred to her, but it sounded like he was onto something— hadn't Iseldir spoken about Arthur being the part of Merlin that wasn't trapped?

"It doesn't matter, really." He frowned. "Probably. Maybe it does. But I would appreciate it if people stopped waiting for me to remember. I don't think I'm supposed to." He paused, "Maybe it matters to destiny or something. But I don't want to. I don't want to know. Maybe not ever. Those were for Arthur, because Arthur deserved those trials. Not me." His eyes had gone distant in memory again. "I didn't deserve- I didn't deserve any of this, Gwen." His eyes found hers, and he was crying again. "Or maybe. Maybe I did. I don't- I don't know. But-" He took a shaky breath. "Did I?" he winced, looking away. "No, don't answer that. I don't want to-"

"Merlin," Gwen said, instinctively reaching to grab his hand.

Merlin pulled away before she could, and her hand remained hovering in the air between them.

"I'm sorry," they both said at the same time.

There was silence for a moment.

"I shouldn't have touched you," Gwen said, pulling her hand back.

Merlin blinked a few times, his eyes falling to the table. He swallowed.

Gwen cleared her throat. She looked at the wall as she spoke. "I don't know much about magic," she began. "But for what it's worth, I think you could be right."

She risked looking at him. He was staring at her already. His bloodshot blue eyes looked a little clearer, a little relieved.

"I mean— Arthur has obviously not told me a lot about the spell," she said. "Or anyone, actually. But it is plain for everyone to see that he was shaken by it."

Merlin was nodding. She continued.

"And if the two of you—and the magic—really are part of some grand destiny together, then it would make sense that the spell would test you and Arthur. Before the spell, Iseldir said that Arthur is the part of your magic that isn't bound. That you are two parts of the same whole. So maybe in order for you and all of your magic to truly be free, Arthur had to free himself, too."

She sighed.

"And it was hard," she said. She looked at Merlin and let out a tiny, tentative laugh. "I mean, that is an understatement if there ever was one, but—"

She stopped. Merlin had a little half-smile on his face, a real one.

"What?" She asked.

"Nothing," he said. "This is just the first time you've spoken to me like I'm not going to break."

She froze for a moment, processing. Then she smiled back. "That doesn't mean you aren't going to," she teased.

His smile broadened, showing his teeth, and Gwen felt a rush of relief that the joke hadn't fallen flat.

"I still might," he said, after a long, tentative pause, but he was still smiling.

"Well if you do, you can't blame me. Or this conversation."

"Fine, it's a deal," he stated, and the banter didn't sound forced the way it had when he talked to Gaius.

Gwen held her hand out as if to shake it, then stopped.

Merlin saw the aborted move, however, and after a moment, held his hand up, too.

"Right?" He said, his hand in the air above the table.

Gwen gave him a long look, then reached and gently shook his bandaged hand.

"Deal," she said.

They dropped their hands, and Merlin's smile fell with them.

"What is it?" Gwen asked.

Merlin let out a long breath. His voice got serious again.

"I missed you," he said finally. His eyes were shiny. Gwen felt tears prick the backs of her own eyes, and she swallowed, trying to force them away.

She was almost successful.

"I missed you, too, Merlin," she said quietly. "And I don't think you deserved any of it."

He nodded silently, biting his cheek, breathing through his stuffed-up nose. He hadn't missed the mourning cloths on the windows. He knew they'd thought he was dead. But he hadn't given himself the time to think about the implications of that. He wasn't sure he could take it.

But he could see it now, in Gwen's eyes. The grief buried there. She'd missed him. She'd missed him in a way without hope. Even after she knew about the magic, even after she knew what he'd done and what he was.

And that mattered. That mattered so damn much.

Chapter Text

"Forbaernan!"

Somewhere to the left of Gaius's head, a tapestry burst into flame. Gaius gasped, dodged to the side, seized a bucket of water from the long line of buckets against the wall, and tossed the contents onto the flames. They hissed and crackled and went out.

Gaius turned to look at Merlin, who was standing with his weight leaning heavily on the back of a chair. His breaths were loud and shallow, his hand still extended in front of him. His eyes were wide with surprise and desperation.

He lowered his hand.

"I'm sorry, Gaius," he said between breaths. Gaius placed the now-empty bucket on the floor— beside an ever-growing pile of empty buckets— and took a few deep breaths of his own. In hindsight, maybe a fire-spell hadn't been the best practice choice.

The throne room's walls and floors were littered with scorch-marks. Some were small and inconsequential, like on the tapestry, while others were large— there was one man-sized spot near the center of the throne room where the floorboards had not only been blackened, but had actually warped and crumbled, spewing tufts of white ash into the air. That one was still steaming with the water thrown on it. Gaius suspected it would remain hot to the touch for another few hours, at the very least.

The only thing untouched was the target— a torch placed in a bucket of water in the middle of the floor.

"It is quite alright, my boy," Gaius murmured, shuffling over to him. He placed a gentle hand on Merlin's shoulder. "But perhaps it is time to take a break."

Merlin allowed himself to be guided into the chair, but his eyes were fixed on the smoldering tapestry. "It's like it's having a goddamn temper tantrum," he muttered as he sat down. He pressed his face into his hands. "This is going to take ages."

Gaius dragged a (marginally less burnt) chair over from the pile of chairs in the corner of the room and sat down, too.

"This is only your first day, Merlin. You need to give yourself some time."

"I don't have time, Gaius!" Merlin snapped. His shoulders slumped. "I'm sorry."

Gaius sighed, looking around the throne room. Merlin had wanted to start practicing right away- the moment Gaius had returned from preparing the throne room- but Gaius had insisted that he wait until the next day before doing anything. He could barely stand, for goodness' sake, and there'd been enough excitement already.

Merlin didn't have a good argument.

And Gaius had been right, of course; once the Druids had helped sweep the wall debris into a neat pile and Gaius had cleared off the beds (with Merlin watching, hands twitching with the want to help) Merlin had gone to bed and stayed asleep not only throughout the night, but until the following evening. He only awoke when Gwen and Gaius had manhandled him into fresh bandages and virtually force-fed him some soup, and then he'd promptly fallen asleep again.

"I suppose fulfilling your destiny is exhausting enough on its own," Gwen had said to Gaius as they watched him deep in sleep, "even without the added injuries."

Gaius had nodded silently, reveling in the fact that Merlin was sleeping peacefully for the first time.

Arthur had not come out of his rooms that entire day, although he'd called a meeting of his advisors in his chambers. Gaius didn't tell Merlin of the meeting, on account of him being dead-asleep and also in order to keep the poor boy from fretting himself to death.

But the following morning Merlin had awoken just after the rising sun and stumbled out of bed, limped down the stairs on his bandaged feet, and stated that he would be practicing magic that day whether Gaius liked it or not. He'd even managed to pull a shirt over his head, although the blue fabric made him look even more pale. Gaius made a mental note to get him another shirt. He had a good feeling Merlin's red one was long gone, and the boy was not known for his large wardrobe.

Although outwardly upset that Merlin was out of bed, Gaius couldn't help the thrill of joy in his chest at seeing Merlin, dressed, demanding something without an apology attached. He pushed away the feeling that Merlin was throwing himself into something he wasn't ready to do for the sake of finding normalcy, or finding distraction.

"Fine," Gaius had said, trying to sound stern, "But only if you swear to stop when you get tired."

"Of course," Merlin had said, and there was that tiny hint of cheekiness there, an almost-exasperated edge to his tone that made Gaius think of the old Merlin, and again, he refused to think too deeply about the whole thing.

The problem arose when it came time to get Merlin to the throne room. He couldn't very well walk there, and Gaius couldn't carry him. And on top of that, the kingdom didn't yet know that Merlin was alive, and it was best kept that way in order to, at the very least, keep Morgana in the dark, and at worst, keep Merlin himself safe from any magic-hating villagers.

So they'd waited for Gwen to stop in for a visit, and then they'd wrangled Gwaine into helping, and Percival had come along, too, and they'd had Merlin lie on a litter with a sheet over him. And then they'd carried him to the throne room, Percival at the front and Gwaine at the back, with Gwen and Gaius walking behind with worried faces, and they hadn't run into anybody at all.

(Which made the entire process feel like overkill.)

And now Gaius and Merlin were sitting in the throne room, surrounded by the smell of burnt stone and smoldering tapestries, unsure of how to proceed. Outside, Gwaine and Percival stood watch at the door while Gwen went about catching up on the royal duties she'd been neglecting that week.

The thing was, Merlin had never been given so much space to practice his magic. In the rare moments when he had practiced spells, it had been in hushed, hurried tones in his room—and more often than that, he'd simply not practiced at all. The learning curve would've been steep without the given circumstances— what did his magic do when given so much space? —but it was made even steeper by its apparent unpredictability. On top of that, Merlin didn't really understand the concept of speaking spells, especially when it came to shouting them.

He kept pulling back. Halfway through saying something he'd falter, and Gaius could see the way uncertainty filled his eyes. He'd spent his whole life hiding his magic. Fearing its discovery. It was a hard habit to break.

The last time he'd yelled a spell, he'd been imprisoned for five weeks.

"Gaius…" he moaned through his fingers. His voice was apologetic. Muffled. He peaked up at the physician. His eyes slid to the tapestry before landing on the melted bit of floor. That particular burn had been made by a roaring inferno large enough to bring Gwaine and Percival rushing in to help, although Merlin hadn't been able to cast until they'd left the room again.

Now, though, the edges of Merlin's eyes were rimmed with red above the dark circles. He rubbed his fingers over his face, wiped his nose with his sleeve.

"What am I going to do?"

"I know you're short on time, Merlin, but maybe this is enough for today," Gaius said gently.

Merlin sniffed once. Twice. Gaius could see the beginnings of unshed tears in the corners of his eyes.

Merlin's voice cracked. "I've done nothing today, Gaius."

Gaius sighed. "You got dressed," he said, "and you got out of my chambers. And you cast some spells, whether they went the way you wanted them to or not."

"Oh, and that's great, isn't it?" Merlin's voice was sharp.

"After all that you have been through…" Gaius began, but the floodgates had opened. Merlin's control of his emotions was about as tenuous as his control over his magic, and the loss of both was too much for him to take.

"I put a shirt on, like a bloody child," he muttered. It was more to himself than to Gaius. He ran his hands through his hair, making it stick up in long, uneven patches. He slammed his hands into his lap, making Gaius wince- although Merlin didn't seem to notice the pain.

"I did a bit of a walk and I dressed myself, what an accomplishment!"

His voice had reached a higher, rapid pitch. "Maybe tomorrow I'll feed myself, hmm? Maybe I'll even stay awake for half the day! Maybe I'll make my bloody bed and hold the spoon all by my goddamn self. Maybe that'll be enough for the day!"

Gaius heard, rather than saw, the tapestry behind him burst into flames again. He raised his voice, keeping it steady but firm.

"Merlin, you need to calm down."

"I don't want to calm down. What I want is my magic to work the way it's supposed to. I want to cast a spell and have it go at my say-so. I want to be able to light a bloody fire without melting the floor."

He threw a hand out, gesturing forcefully towards the hole in the floorboards behind him.

Behind Gaius, the tapestry beside the door billowed with renewed flame, licking at the walls. Merlin's eyes darted towards the fire, his brows furrowing even deeper.

"Belūce," he snarled, his voice coming from deep within his diaphragm. Gaius could feel it in his own chest.

The fire roared back, a great column of black smoke and sparks spitting themselves onto the floor and into the air, pieces of flaming thread fluttering across the ground.

Outside, Gaius heard Gwaine and Percival shouting something.

"My dear boy, I think you're putting too much pressure on yourself."

"I'm putting pressure on myself? Gaius, if I don't get my magic working in time, the whole kingdom is doomed."

The shouting was getting louder - an argument. A third voice had joined the knights, softer but insistent.

"Belūce," Merlin repeated. His voice was breathless. With each utterance of the spell, the fire crept higher, and he sounded more desperate. He didn't appear to notice the voices, he was too busy trying to coax the fire out with sheer force. Gaius's heart skipped a beat.

"We need to go, Merlin," Gaius hissed. His voice was urgent. He hobbled over to Merlin and seized his extended arm, dragging it down to his side. Merlin ripped his arm back, Gaius's voice lost to him.

The fire had reached the next tapestry over, engulfing the unlit torch on the wall and warping its sconce. It licked at the door frame.

There was a thud against the door. Gaius seized Merlin's shoulder and pulled him back, away from it, desperately glancing for a place to hide. Merlin was still focused on the fire, still trying to put it out.

"Leave it be!" Gaius scolded, "We need to get you hidden!"

Merlin heard Gaius's words too late. In one instant, he dropped his arm and looked at the physician, suddenly registering the shouts outside, the look of desperation in Gaius's eyes.

In the next, the throne room doors were thrown open.

Gwaine and Percival fell through them, mid-scuffle with a uniformed guard.

"Stay out!" Gwaine was yelling, "King's orders!"

Merlin felt the world tilt around him as the flames roared once again, catching the hem of Percival's tunic and setting it alight. The momentary distraction was enough for the guard to break out of Gwaine's grip, take a few frantic steps into the room, and freeze, wide-eyed.

Owain.

"No-"

Merlin's voice was strangled. Gaius wasn't sure if he was aware he'd even said anything. Breaking his shoulder free from Gaius's grip, he stumbled backwards, landing hard on his tailbone. His feet scrabbled desperately as he backed away, slipped, forced himself up. He was shaking his head, raw panic in his eyes.

"No- No, no, not again, no-"

"Kid-" The guard said quietly, leather-gloved hands fluttering anxiously in front of him. But Merlin was beyond hearing words now, and as Gaius moved to calm him down, Gwaine moved to tackle the guard once again.

Only one was successful.

As Owain and Gwaine crashed to the ground, Merlin whirled on his heel, unaware of the tearing of bandages, and made a break for the other side of the throne room.

"Merlin, wait-!" Gaius shouted, hobbling across the tiles. Percival finished putting his shirt out and turned towards Gaius's shouts. He was just in time to see Merlin falter, hit the ground, scramble back up, and slip through the servants' entrance to the left of the thrones.

Percival took off immediately as Gwaine shoved Owain back the way they'd come from, sending him stumbling.

"Haven't you done enough?" He hissed, already turning to follow Merlin, Gaius, and Percival through the doorway.

By the time they'd reached the doorway, however, Merlin had already disappeared into the labyrinth of servants' passages.

Chapter Text

Chapter Text