Archive of Our Own

Chapter Text

Arthur stands in the wings watching the object of his affections do what he does best.

Well, no. That would probably be magic.

Then again, Merlin once told him saying he was good at magic was like saying he was good at breathing, so perhaps it’s more accurate to say Merlin is at his best when he’s on stage.

“He’s good, isn’t he?”

Freya’s voice cuts through Arthur’s thoughts.

He glances over to find her standing beside him near the curtain, eyes fixed entirely on Merlin as he commands Wembley Stadium like he was born beneath the lights.

“He’s more than good,” he answers. “He’s a born showman. He was meant to be on stage every bit as much as he was born to save humanity.”

Freya huffs a faint laugh.

“You’ll get no argument from me.”

Of course he won’t.

This woman lives and breathes Merlin.

If Kilgharrah is to be believed, Freya is just as trapped in this situation as Merlin is — not enchanted exactly, but tethered to him in some deep, ancient way she fundamentally misunderstood. Arthur still doesn’t entirely know what to do with that information. A Goddess? Really?

It sounds ridiculous even inside his own head.

And yet…

After seeing her house, after hearing Kilgharrah explain it, Arthur no longer believes Freya ever intended to hurt Merlin. Obsession? Absolutely. Confusion? Without question. But beneath all of that there is something undeniably genuine there too. Affection. Devotion. A desperate need to remain close to the one person who has always mattered to her even if she never fully understood why.

Regrettably, genuine affection does not make the situation any less of a nightmare.

Arthur returns his attention to the stage.

For the next hour and a half Merlin practically flies across it, acrodancing through elaborate choreography while singing his heart out beneath the stadium's lights. One moment he’s sprinting down the runway to scream lyrics with ninety thousand fans, the next he’s flipping over a riser then somehow still hitting every bloody note.

It’s absurd.

Arthur honestly has no idea how one human being possesses that much energy.

The concert is the final show of the tour, which means the crowd is especially electric tonight. Merlin feeds off every second of it, smiling wider, moving bigger, pushing harder. By the time the final song ends, curls cling damply to his forehead, and he looks incandescent beneath the lights.

They’ll probably do several encores.

Arthur decides not to linger around waiting for Merlin and Freya’s inevitable reunion after being separated for nearly three whole hours.

There’s an afterparty soon anyway.

Well. “Party” is probably generous.

Wembley provided one of their massive hospitality suites for the occasion, but after six straight months of touring, everyone is too exhausted for anything truly wild. Tradition dictates they do something after the final show, even if that something ultimately amounts to collapsing into expensive furniture while half-dead from physical exertion.

Honestly, Arthur can live with that.

After the show, the venue's hospitality suite feels strangely quiet compared to the deafening chaos of the stadium outside.

The private room is sprawling and softly lit, all warm ambient lighting, deep couches, clustered armchairs, and catering tables crowded with drinks and late-night food. Massive windows overlook portions of the illuminated grounds while a few attendants move quietly through the space making final preparations before everyone arrives.

Arthur wastes absolutely no time making use of the alcohol.

It’s likely the only thing that’s going to get him through tonight.

By the time he’s midway through his third pint, the suite doors finally swing open and the room floods with the band, dancers, crew members, and production staff still buzzing from post-show adrenaline.

The atmosphere shifts instantly.

Voices overlap from every direction. Jackets are tossed over furniture. Laminate passes and discarded earpieces litter tables beside freshly poured drinks as people begin settling wherever they can find space.

Despite the luxury of the suite, exhaustion hangs beneath the celebration unmistakably.

The strange, almost surreal calm after the storm.

The band, naturally, gets first priority for seating monopolizing a sectional, after the sheer physical punishment of the show. Percival practically collapses onto one of the corners while Gwaine immediately starts demanding someone bring him food before he dies dramatically in front of witnesses.

Arthur barely hears any of it.

Because Merlin just walked in.

Merlin — and, annoyingly, Freya — take open seats on the long stretch of the L-shaped sofa, each accepting two flutes of champagne from a passing attendant.

Next thing Arthur knows, Gwaine's hopping up onto the edge of the coffee table and raising his drink high above the room.

“Alright, listen up, you lot!”

The conversations scattered throughout the suite taper off beneath a chorus of groans and laughter.

“I’d just like to give a toast to everyone who made this tour happen. It’s definitely been one of the more memorable worldwide treks we’ve ever had.”

The room chuckles knowingly.

“But it’s also been the most fun.” Gwaine points his glass toward Merlin. “We acquired a new brother for our little family, and somehow it already feels like the idiot’s always been here.”

Merlin ducks his head with a helpless smile.

“So I’d like everyone to raise their drinks to the Dragonlord,” Gwaine declares, “and long live the King’s Legends!”

The suite erupts into cheers and raised glasses.

Gwaine hops back down from the table as everyone drinks.

Arthur drains the last of another pint.

At some point he should probably eat something or he'll regret it come morning.

Lancelot rises next, one hand slipping casually into his pocket.

“I’d also like to toast another successful tour,” he says warmly. “We couldn’t have done it without our newest addition. Merlin, you really do complete us. I think we’re all very glad Arthur went shopping that night.”

Warm laughter ripples through the room.

“To the King’s Legends,” Lancelot says, lifting his drink. “United again.”

“To the King’s Legends!”

Glasses clink again.

This time it’s Percival who pushes himself reluctantly to his feet, already looking vaguely uncomfortable about being the center of attention.

“I guess it’s my turn.” He rubs the back of his neck. “This tour has definitely been one wild ride. In Perth, that was unfortunately literal.”

The room laughs again.

“I know to everyone else he’s the Dragonlord, but to us he’ll always just be Merlin.”

Merlin’s eyes brighten faintly at that.

“Yeah, he may be all-powerful, but he’s also all-loving. You were meant to be here, mate. It wouldn’t be the same without you.” Percival lifts his drink toward him. “To Merlin.”

Merlin laughs quietly under his breath and raises his own glass in return.

Arthur, meanwhile, has stopped sipping entirely.

He’s outright gulping now.

Leon pushes himself up from the couch next.

“As the oldest, I suppose it’s only right that I say something too. This has hands down been the most adventurous tour we’ve ever been on. From São Paulo to Perth, to Merlin’s outing as the most powerful being on the planet.”

That earns another round of laughter.

“But funny enough, all of that somehow pales in comparison to the man himself.” Leon glances toward Merlin with a small smile. “We, as his friends and new family, have had the privilege of getting to know another side of him. The deeper, more human side.”

He pauses thoughtfully.

“Well. As human as a man can be capable of doing three backflips, singing, and playing an absolute wicked riff all within sixty seconds.”

Merlin snorts softly.

“But that’s the real magic, isn’t it?” Leon continues. “What he does on stage — that’s his heart.”

The room quiets slightly around the sincerity of it.

“And I should probably say something about the band as a whole too.” Leon gestures loosely around the suite. “The King’s Legends have never been better. From the sets, to the choreography, to the frankly concerning amount of new music we’ve somehow written over the last several months, we’ve never been more productive.”

The room laughs.

Leon raises his glass.

“To the King’s Legends. May this only be a taste of what’s still to come.”

“To the King’s Legends!”

The suite echoes the toast loudly before everyone drinks again.

Finally, Merlin rises to his feet.

“Well, I suppose it’s my turn.”

A few people laugh.

“It only seems fair I say something too. After all, despite what certain people seem to believe, this tour wasn’t actually all about me.”

That earns another round of laughter.

“The truth is, I didn’t just find a new career all those months ago. I found a family. And I mean that literally. My mum has adopted all of them, including Gwaine.”

More laughter sweeps through the room.

“But seriously... these men are my brothers.”

His gaze drifts briefly toward the band.

“When things got difficult, they were there. Every time. I don’t think there’s a single one of them who hasn’t dragged me through some sort of crisis over the last few months, and I honestly don’t know what I would’ve done without them.”

The humor softens.

“The support they gave me meant more than I can properly put into words. It got me through some very difficult days, and it’s something I’ll never forget.”

A brief silence settles over the room.

“Somewhere in the middle of all that, we also managed to play a few concerts.”

The room erupts into amused cheers.

“Apparently people liked them.”

More laughter follows.

“So, as far as I’m concerned, I’d call that a successful tour.”

Cheers ripple through the crowd.

Merlin smiles, then glances toward Arthur.

“There is one person I’d like to thank in particular.”

The room quiets.

“Arthur... thank you for taking a chance on me.”

For a moment, Merlin seems to search for the right words.

“When we first met, I genuinely thought you were insane for wanting me to audition.”

Laughter breaks out across the room.

“I was a country boy from a tiny village with a nursing degree. Becoming a professional musician wasn’t exactly part of the plan.”

More laughter.

“But you saw something in me anyway.”

His expression softens.

“You changed my life. Not just by giving me a job, but by giving me a place where I belong. And I just want you to know that I’m grateful. For all of it.”

For a moment Arthur doesn’t trust himself to speak.

He simply inclines his head.

Merlin smiles.

“So... with that being said, would everyone please raise their glass?”

Around the room, glasses lift into the air.

“To the King’s Legends. To Arthur. And to the first tour of many.”

He pauses.

“And if the next one could be just a little less eventful, I think we’d all appreciate it.”

Laughter ripples through the room.

“Cheers!”

“Cheers!”

Glasses clink throughout the crowded room as everyone drinks for what they believe will be the final toast of the evening.

“Wait!”

Or not.

The room quiets as Morgana cuts cleanly through the noise before the conversations can properly resume.

“I’d like to say a few words too.”

Several people groan immediately.

Merlin settles back into the sectional, next to Freya.

“As the band’s publicist,” Morgana says dryly, “I can confidently say I have never worked harder for any of you than I have on this tour. Possibly harder than every previous tour combined.”

The room laughs again.

“And I owe almost all of that to this man over here.”

She points towards Merlin, whose brows immediately furrow.

“And honestly?” Morgana’s expression softens. “I’ve never been happier.”

That quiets the room faster than the joke did.

“Yes, things have definitely been... interesting, to say the least.”

Light laughter spreads again.

“But it’s also been rewarding. More rewarding than I expected.” She looks directly at Merlin now. “It has been an absolute privilege defending this man from all the rubbish the last few months have thrown at him.”

Merlin’s expression softens immediately.

“He’s a good man,” Morgana says quietly. “One of the best I know. And worth every minute of it.” She lifts her glass. “We love you, Merlin. May you stick it out with us a little longer.”

“To Merlin!”

Merlin quickly wipes at one eye before raising his own drink again.

Then Morgana turns.

“Arthur? Do you want to say anything?”

Damn harpy.

Arthur has long since lost count of how much he’s had to drink and is in absolutely no state to be speaking publicly.

Unfortunately Morgana doesn’t know that.

“Hm?”

“You’re the band manager,” she says. “You should say a few words.”

Reluctantly, Arthur pushes himself to his feet, swaying only slightly.

“When I found Merlin at Waitrose,” he begins, “I knew I’d hit the jackpot. I knew we’d found our lead as certainly as I knew the sky is blue.”

Merlin smiles faintly into his champagne.

“And then he joined our little family and fit like the last piece of a puzzle.”

Arthur takes another swallow from his drink.

“And then he met Freya.”

Something shifts in the room.

Tiny.
Subtle.
But there.

Merlin’s smile disappears.

“And suddenly the rest of us became second rate.” Arthur laughs hollowly. “Obsolete in the wake of his newfound love.”

Morgana is already moving.

“Arthur,” she mutters under her breath as she catches his arm, “come on. You’re drunk.”

“No.” Arthur jerks lightly away from her grip. “You wanted me to speak. I’m speaking.”

“No, you’re embarrassing yourself.”

Arthur ignores her completely.

“I’m just saying what we’ve all been thinking since he met that bint.”

“Arthur!”

Merlin is on his feet instantly.

The room falls dead silent.

“Oh, there he is,” Arthur says bitterly. “Thought maybe you’d forgotten the rest of us existed.”

“That’s enough,” Merlin snaps.

“Is it?”

“Yes, actually.”

Arthur laughs sharply.

“You’ve barely spoken to any of us in weeks.”

“That is not true.”

“Oh really?” Arthur shoots back. “Name the last time you answered one of my texts before three in the morning.”

Merlin’s jaw tightens.

“I’ve been busy.”

“With her.”

“Yes, Arthur, with her!”

“Funny. Seems like the rest of us stopped existing the second she showed up.”

“That is not what this is about.”

“Isn’t it?”

“No, this is about you deciding nobody else is allowed to matter to me.”

The room goes perfectly still.

Leon rises immediately while Morgana tightens her grip on Arthur’s arm.

“That’s not what I said,” Arthur bites out.

“You didn’t have to.”

Merlin abruptly sets his champagne flute down onto the coffee table with enough force to rattle the glass.

“You’ve been acting insane for weeks,” Merlin continues. “Every time I spend time with Freya you sulk like a bloody child.”

Arthur jerks harder against Morgana’s hold.

“Hard not to notice when my best mate stopped acting like the rest of us matter.”

“That is complete rubbish.”

“Is it?”

“Yes!”

“You disappear for hours without telling anyone where you are!”

“I am not required to report my whereabouts to you!”

“No,” Arthur snaps, “apparently none of us are worth that anymore!”

“That is not fair!”

“Neither is vanishing every time your girlfriend snaps her fingers!”

Freya flinches beside Merlin.

Merlin notices immediately.

Arthur sees the exact second it happens.

Sees Merlin’s expression sharpen.

“You know what your problem is?” Merlin demands. “You cannot stand the fact I have someone in my life now that isn’t you.”

Several people choke on their drinks.

Arthur’s face flushes dark red.

“Oh, piss off.”

“No, seriously!” Merlin throws his hands out. “You’ve been sulking around like a jealous ex-wife for weeks!”

“Because you disappeared!”

“I did not disappear!”

“You absolutely did!”

“I am standing right here!”

“Physically, yes! But mentally you abandoned all of us the second you stepped foot off that stage!”

The words crack across the suite hard enough that several people visibly flinch.

Merlin stares at Arthur.

Something colder settles over his expression now.

“Right,” Merlin says quietly.

“No, Merlin—” Gwen starts carefully.

But Arthur suddenly jerks violently against Leon and Morgana’s hold.

“Maybe we were better off before you showed up!”

Silence.

Real silence.

Even Arthur looks shocked he said it.

Merlin goes completely still.

The room feels like it’s stopped breathing.

Then Merlin gives one short nod.

“Right then,” he says softly. “I wasn’t going to do this yet.”

Arthur’s stomach drops.

“But I’m also not going to stand here while someone insults the woman I love.”

Arthur suddenly goes very still.

Merlin turns toward Freya and the anger drains from his face almost instantly.

“Freya,” he says gently, holding out his hand. “Come with me, please.”

Freya stares at him for a moment before slowly placing her hand in his.

Merlin leads her a few steps away from the sectional and into the open space beside the seating area.

The room watches in growing disbelief.

“Freya,” Merlin says softly once they stop. “I know we haven’t known each other very long, but there was something about you from the moment we met.” He smiles faintly. “Call it fate. Call it destiny. Whatever you want. All I know is I feel it in every fibre of my being that we were meant to find each other.”

Freya’s eyes are already shining.

“And I don’t want the world thinking I’m available,” Merlin says with a nervous laugh, “so there’s a certain piece of jewellery I think I should probably be wearing.”

He reaches into his pocket and pulls out a small velvet ring box.

Arthur freezes.

Where the hell did he get that?

Merlin absolutely did not have that during the concert.

Which means he went back for it.

Which means he planned this.

Merlin lowers onto one knee.

“Oh, hell no.”

Arthur tears himself violently out of Leon and Morgana’s grip before either of them can stop him and storms across the room.

“Freya, will you—”

Arthur grabs Merlin by the bicep and yanks him bodily away from the proposal.

Merlin stumbles hard enough Arthur has to catch him upright again.

“Arthur! What the bloody—?!”

“Have you had the dreams?!” Arthur demands frantically.

“Wha -?”

“Castles, kingdoms — me a prince or king, you my manservant. Do you have them?”

Merlin stares at him.

Then the anger vanishes from his face in pure shock.

“How on Earth could you possibly know that?”

Kilgharrah was right.

Arthur feels something inside him explode into wild, impossible relief.

A grin breaks across his face so suddenly and brightly Merlin can only stare at him like he’s lost his mind.

“Because I’ve had them too.”

Merlin looks utterly blindsided.

“Arthur, what does—”

“This.”

Arthur kisses him.

Hard.
Desperate.
Certain.

Merlin goes rigid beneath the force of it.

Then the world splits open.

A castle.

Stone corridors lit by torchlight.

A ridiculous neckerchief.

A dragon’s voice curling through darkness.

Knights.
Battles.
Magic.

Arthur laughing beside a campfire.
Arthur in chainmail.
Arthur dying in his arms.

And then more.

The memories don’t stop.

Different centuries.
Different countries.
Different names.

A crowded Paris street.
A ship cutting through black water.
A smoky jazz club humming with brass music.
Rain against neon-lit windows.

And Arthur.

Always Arthur.

Merlin makes a broken sound against his mouth and kisses him back with equal desperation, clutching fistfuls of Arthur’s shirt hard enough to wrinkle the fabric.

Around them someone drops a glass.

Someone else swears loudly.

But Merlin barely hears any of it.

Fifteen hundred years of grief and love and waiting crash through him all at once.

When they finally separate, neither of them gets very far.

Their foreheads remain pressed together while Merlin cups Arthur’s cheek with a trembling hand.

“Clotpole.”

Arthur laughs breathlessly and grips Merlin’s wrist against his face.

“Idiot.” His grin somehow widens further. “You know, I was going to ask you out properly, but now I’m thinking I'll just ask you to marry me.”

Merlin lets out a startled laugh.

“Obviously.”

Then he turns toward the rest of the room.

The silence waiting for them is almost comical.

Everyone looks utterly poleaxed.

Conversations clearly need to be had.

“Everybody out,” Arthur announces. “Party’s over. Except for those who know who you are — everybody out.”

Nobody argues.

The room empties quickly.

Eventually only the band, Morgana, Nimueh, Gwen, Elena, Freya, and Elyan remain behind.

Silence settles heavily over the suite.

Then:

“Well,” Gwaine says at last, “that happened.”

Freya.

Freya stands exactly where Merlin left her, the unfinished proposal still lying between them like something from another life.

Her face has gone pale.

Merlin’s smile fades.

The memories are still moving through him. Not all at once now, but enough. Enough that when he looks at Freya, he doesn’t see only the woman from the tour bus or the person who enchanted him.

He sees water.

Moonlight.

A hand reaching from a lake.

A presence at the edge of every life, unseen by anyone else, waiting in the place between endings and beginnings.

His breath catches.

“Freya.”

She flinches at the sound of her name.

“I’m sorry,” she says immediately, voice cracking. “Merlin, I’m so sorry. I didn’t know. I swear I didn’t know.”

He moves to her before she can say more.

Not rushed.

Not dramatic.

Just inevitable.

He reaches her and takes both her hands in his.

The room watches.

Freya looks down at their joined hands like she doesn’t deserve to touch him now.

“I thought it was you,” she whispers. “I thought it had to be you. I dreamed of you for so long, and then I saw you, and I thought...” Her voice breaks. “I thought fate had finally brought me to you.”

Merlin closes his eyes.

Pain crosses his face so sharply Arthur feels it from where he stands.

Not betrayal.

Recognition.

The kind that hurts.

“Oh, Freya,” Merlin says softly.

That is all it takes.

She falls into him.

Merlin catches her instantly, arms closing around her as she grips his vest and breaks. Not prettily. Not softly. Like something held together for far too long has finally split open.

“I didn’t know what else it could be,” she says into his shoulder. “I couldn’t explain it. I couldn’t stop looking. I couldn’t stop needing to find you.”

Merlin holds her tighter.

And then his expression changes.

Slowly.

The grief remains, but something sharper rises beneath it.

Anger.

Not at her.

Never at her.

“At least I had memories in pieces,” he says, voice low. “Dreams. Instincts. Magic. People around me, even when I didn’t understand why they mattered.”

Freya trembles against him.

“You had nothing.”

The words settle over the room.

Arthur’s chest tightens.

Merlin looks down at her, one hand cradling the back of her head.

“They sent you here with a hole in your life shaped like me,” he says. “No name. No explanation. No memory of who you were. Just this pull you couldn’t silence and no way to know what it meant.”

Freya squeezes her eyes shut.

“I thought it meant I loved you.”

“You do love me,” Merlin says immediately.

Freya stills.

He pulls back just enough to look at her.

“You do. But not like that.”

Her eyes fill again.

“I know that now.”

Merlin’s jaw tightens.

“It should never have been your responsibility to figure that out alone.”

No one speaks.

No one even moves.

The room has changed somehow. The scandal, the proposal, the kiss — all of it remains, but beneath it something older has entered. Something far heavier than jealousy or romance.

Freya was not simply obsessed.

She had been searching for the only soul the mortal world had ever given her.

And none of them had understood what they were looking at.

“I hurt you,” Freya whispers.

Merlin swallows.

“Yes.”

She tries to pull back, but he doesn’t let her go.

“And Arthur,” she says, voice breaking harder. “And all of them.”

“Yes, but it wasn't your fault, not completely.”

Her face crumples.

“I’m sorry.”

“I know.” Merlin’s voice is firm now. “And you’re going to make it right.”

She nods quickly, desperately.

“But you are not evil. Know that, Freya. Please know that. You are not evil,” he reiterates.

Freya looks up at him.

Merlin’s eyes flash gold for the briefest second.

“And if anyone tries to turn you into the villain of this fiasco because the Fates dropped you into the world blind and let you bleed your way toward me, they’ll answer to me.”

The room feels that.

Every person in it.

Arthur does too.

There is no showmanship in Merlin’s voice now. No stagecraft. No Dragonlord performance.

Just power.

Sheer, raw, bare, and protective.

Freya stares at him as though she has no idea what to do with being defended.

Arthur steps closer, quietly.

Merlin looks at him, and for one second Arthur understands the question before Merlin asks it.

Is this alright?

Arthur’s answer comes just as silently.

Yes.

He reaches Freya’s other side and rests a hand gently against her shoulder.

She looks at him in shock.

Arthur gives her a small, crooked smile.

“Kilgharrah explained some of it,” he says. “Badly.”

Merlin huffs a wet laugh.

“That sounds like Kilgharrah.”

Arthur glances down at Freya.

“I thought I was supposed to save someone I saw as the enemy.” His expression softens. “I think I understand now.”

Freya’s face twists with fresh shame.

“Arthur, Merlin is yours. He always has been. I know that now.”

Arthur squeezes her shoulder once.

“I know.”

And he means it.

Because looking at them together now, he can finally see the difference.

What binds him to Merlin burns like home.

What binds Freya to Merlin feels like something older than language, but it does not compete with their relationship.

It never did.

It was simply misread by someone who had no translation for what she was feeling.

Nimueh steps forward slowly, her expression reverent in a way Arthur has rarely seen from her.

“Freya is the Lady of the Lake,” she says quietly. “Guardian and Goddess of Avalon.”

A ripple moves through the room.

Freya lowers her eyes, still leaning into Merlin as though standing alone is suddenly too much.

“You never met her before,” Nimueh continues, “because she did not walk among us. She reached the mortal world through Merlin.”

Merlin nods slowly.

“I was her tether,” he says. “Her point of contact. The one soul she knew here.”

Gwaine looks between them, visibly processing.

“So when she came here without memories...”

“She followed the only thing in her that still felt true,” Gwen finishes quietly.

Freya lets out a broken laugh.

“And made an absolute disaster of it.”

“That,” Gwaine says carefully, “is also true.”

Merlin shoots him a warning look.

Gwaine immediately lifts his hands.

“But, you know, understandable disaster. Contextually.”

Despite herself, Freya gives a tiny, watery smile.

It does something to the room.

A release.

Small, but real.

Morgana exhales slowly, then straightens, already piecing the larger implications together.

“That begs the question,” she says. “Why is Freya here this lifetime?”

“And why do we all have our original names?” Percival adds. “I haven’t been Percival in fifteen hundred years.”

“It must have something to do with why we’ve been brought back now,” Leon says.

“Usually we work in the shadows,” Lancelot says. “This time everyone knows our faces.”

“Maybe that’s the point,” Gwen says. “Maybe this time we’re supposed to be seen.”

“Hiding in plain sight,” Elena murmurs.

Arthur keeps one arm around Merlin while Merlin keeps one arm around Freya, the three of them standing together in a shape none of them would have understood an hour ago.

“Whatever’s coming,” Arthur says quietly, “it was enough for the Fates to send Freya into the world.”

Merlin’s hand tightens protectively at Freya’s back.

“Then they’d better have a damn good reason.”

Before anyone can answer, phones begin chiming across the room.

One after another.

Morgana pulls out her mobile first.

“Oh no.”

Merlin groans.

“What?”

Morgana scans the screen, and her expression darkens.

“Someone at the party got a picture of you proposing to Freya.” She winces. “And another one of you snogging Arthur less than five minutes later.”

Silence.

“Bloody hell,” Merlin mutters, taking the phone from her.

His face falls as he reads.

“I just can’t win.”

“We’ll tell them you were enchanted,” Leon says immediately. “That you and Arthur had something before Freya came along.”

“No.”

Everyone looks at Merlin.

He hands the phone back to Morgana.

“No,” he repeats. “I am not saving my reputation by handing the world someone else to hate.”

Freya’s eyes lower.

Merlin pulls her closer.

“If they vilify her for this, they’ll have to go through me first.”

“Not if we say she was enchanted too,” Elena says thoughtfully. “Like the changeling in our first life.”

Morgana pauses.

“That might work.”

“We don’t need to say who enchanted you,” Gwen adds. “Just that you were both under magical influence.”

“And how exactly do we present that?” Merlin asks tiredly. “Another Kilgharrah interview? I can’t go on Late Night with Mithian after proposing to one person and kissing another. The audience will crucify me.”

“Not if we tell the public there will be an interview first,” Gwen says.

Morgana’s focus sharpens immediately.

“She’s right. We do a controlled social campaign leading up to the interview. Same approach as when the world found out about Merlin’s magic.” She’s already typing. “I’ll contact Mithian tonight. She has her memories back now too. She’ll believe us, and she’ll help.”

Merlin exhales.

“This time,” Morgana says, “the interview includes the full band, Freya, and Arthur.”

Arthur blinks.

“What? Me?”

“Yes, you.” Morgana doesn’t even look up from her phone. “You’re the one to whom he got his hand caught in the cookie jar, so to speak.”

“He was the cookie,” Gwaine mutters.

Most of the room hears it.

Morgana ignores him.

“The world needs to see you and Freya together. They need to understand there are no hard feelings.”

Arthur looks at Freya.

She gives him a small, embarrassed smile.

“Okay,” Arthur says.

Then he wraps his arm around Merlin’s waist and pulls him firmly against his side.

“Now, if you’ll excuse us, my fiancé and I would very much like to go home and get properly reacquainted.”

“Fiancé?” Gwaine asks, eyebrows shooting up. “Already?”

Arthur gives him a look.

“We’ve been together for twelve lifetimes. Married in every way available to us in several of them.” His grip around Merlin tightens. “We finally live in a century where I can walk down the street holding his hand. Hell yeah, I’m putting a ring on it.”

The room softens.

Even Gwaine shuts up.

Mostly.

“Come on, Freya,” Morgana says, collecting her bag. “You can stay with me until we sort somewhere more permanent.”

Freya hesitates, looking back toward Merlin and Arthur.

“I really am sorry,” she says quietly.

Merlin’s expression gentles instantly.

“All forgiven, Frey.”

Her eyes fill again.

“With everything that happened to you,” Merlin says, “anyone would have been lost.”

Freya nods, then hurries after Morgana before she can start crying again.

Merlin watches her go, shoulders heavy.

Arthur leans in close.

“You alright?”

Merlin exhales.

“I hate what happened to her.”

“I know.”

“I’m not letting anyone hurt her.”

“I know that too.”

Merlin finally turns toward him fully.

For a moment they simply look at each other.

No spell.

No Freya between them.

No almost.

No waiting.

Just recognition.

Arthur's smile softens.

"Merlin, about what happened with Edwin..."

He doesn't need to finish.

Merlin already knows.

"I'm alright," he says quietly. "And if I'm not... we'll figure it out together."

Arthur studies him for a long moment, then gives a single nod.

"Together."

Only then does he smile again.

“And now,” Arthur says softly, “I think it’s time to go home.”

“Your home or mine?”

Arthur smiles.

“Does it matter?”

Merlin’s answering grin is small but beautiful. He wraps both arms around Arthur’s neck.

“No.” He leans in, brushing their noses together. “Home is wherever you are.”

“Damn straight,” Arthur murmurs.

Then he kisses him

—

Finch - @eyes4birds
You think you know a guy. I thought the dragonlord would be better than that. That poor girl.
#shameondragon
@robinsegg
@dawningdove
7:26 AM - 25 May 2026 - via Twitter

Florence - @jazzysings
How could he do such a thing? Would never have thought. We love you, Freya! We're here for you!
#there4freya #freyafan
2:36 PM - 25 May 2026 - via Twitter

Green Gwaines - @irishlover
Don't vilify him yet, guys. You don't know the whole story.
#givehimabreak #benefitofdoubt
5:27 PM - 25 May 2026 - via Twitter

Belle - @southernb
Who proposes to his girlfriend then goes and makes out with some guy afterwards? Now that's messed up.
#howcouldyoudragon
8:42 PM - 25 May 2026 - via Twitter

Percy - @gentlegiant
It's not what you think. Please, fans, we're asking you to wait to judge until you have all the facts.
#giveustime #storysoon
9:36 AM - 26 May 2026 - via Twitter

Mpendragon - @klpublicist
Exclusive expose with Mithian Nemeth and the King's Legends scheduled for Friday 29th at 8:00 PM (GMT). Events of the after party on the 24th will be discussed. Stay tuned.
10:04 AM - 26 May 2026 - via Twitter

Oscar - @guitarr1ff
I don't know what the legends could possibly say to make this one okay. I think they're just trying to save one of their own from his own stupidity.
@sonford
@bluerider
2:22 PM - 26 May 2026 -via Twitter

Freya - @ladyoflake
I am Freya, the woman Merlin supposedly betrayed. Please, you don't understand. Wait for the interview, and you'll see. Mithian Nemeth 8:00 PM. WATCH IT!
#dragoninnocent #gooddragon #gotyourbackm
@emrysm
6:32 PM - 26 May 2026 - via Twitter

Lance - @lancalots
I've said it once and I'll say it again—Merlin is the best man I know. What you think you know you're wrong. Watch the Mithian interview and see for yourself.
1:07 PM - 27 May 2026 - via Twitter

Sienna - @royaldessert
I'm still here, Dragonlord. I can't explain the photos from the 24th after party, but I know what they're saying about you isn't true. You're a good man. They'll see.
4:11 PM - 27 May - via Twitter

Leo Lion - @firstknight
Thank you, Sienna, for your kind words. Merlin could use that right now. All will be explained in a couple of days. You won't be disappointed. ;)
@royaldessert
4:13 PM - 27 May 2026 - via Twitter

Greenthumb - @plantguru
I'm willing to let the guy have a chance to explain. With the way the Legends have been rallying including the girl in question, it's clear we're missing something.
#listen2dragon #hearhimout #whatdoyousay
@daisychain
3:15 PM - 28 May 2026 - via Twitter

Leodegrance - @soundman
You all don't even know half of what you're talking about. There's more to this than meets the eye. The interview's tomorrow. Be patient.
#justuwait #answerscoming
7:29 PM - 28 May 2026 - via Twitter

Gwen - @guinevere
Freya said herself to hear Merlin out. If even the woman he so called strayed from is saying to wait and listen. Doesn't that tell you something?
8:51 PM - 28 May 2026 - via Twitter

Alfie - @pinecone
THE DAY OF THE KING'S LEGENDS INTERVIEW! FINALLY WE'LL GET SOME ANSWERS!
#abouttime #fasterplease
@geocacher
@songbird
10:38 AM - 29 May 2026 - via Twitter

Gana - @queenwitch
Yes you will.
@pinecone
10:40 AM - 29 May 2026 - via Twitter

Arthur - @kingpen
Merlin will be cleared of any wrongdoing. I promise you that.
5:11 PM - 29 May 2026 - via Twitter

—

“Okay, we’ve got seating set up over here for the rest of you to watch the interview,” Mithian says, guiding the non-band members toward a set of stadium risers positioned well away from the cameras. Morgana, Nimueh, Gwen, Elena, Elyan, and Kilgharrah make their way over while crew members continue final adjustments around the set.

Gaius, sadly, was unable to attend, having been struck ill the night before. He's there in spirit, however.

The interview space itself is designed to resemble an elegant sitting room rather than a television studio. A fireplace stretches along the back wall with Mithian’s wingback chair positioned before it, centered between two full sofas facing one another with a long rectangular coffee table between them.

It’s similar to Merlin’s previous exposé interview, only expanded this time to accommodate everyone.

“So,” Mithian says, turning toward Merlin while the last microphones are adjusted. “You were enchanted.”

“I was.”

“And you, Freya—you’re the Goddess of Avalon. You came here for Merlin, but without your memories. You didn’t know who you were or why you needed him so badly, so you assumed it was romantic. That the two of you were fated to be together.”

“Yes.”

“But we’re not telling the public that part, Mithian.”

“No, of course not,” she says dryly. “I’m also not planning to mention that we’re reincarnated figures from the actual Arthurian legends sent back to save the world. Though apparently this incarnation requires a talk show host.”

“And a journalist,” Merlin says, nodding toward Kilgharrah. “Don’t forget him. Apparently we need both of you to help shape public opinion.”

“Then I suppose we should clean up this latest debacle,” Mithian says. “I’ll start alone, then bring the rest of you out afterward.”

Merlin and Freya nod.

A few moments later the band appears in typical rocker fashion—torn denim, leather, layered jewelry, boots, rings, and carefully cultivated stage presence.

Merlin’s still unmistakably the center of it all in strategically ripped black jeans and a sleeveless band shirt beneath a black beanie. His chunky dragon ring catches beneath the lights alongside ornate silver bangles stacked over one wrist while his humanity alarm cuff circles the other.

Arthur stands in complete contrast beside them in a sharply tailored grey suit and charcoal tie, hair styled neatly despite the chaos surrounding him.

Mithian’s lilac pantsuit sans the jacket leaves only the satin blouse visible beneath softly curled chestnut hair, gold necklace and wedding ring glinting subtly beneath the studio lights.

And Freya, quietly beside Merlin, looks almost deceptively harmless in a floral sundress and white cardigan, ebony hair falling halfway down her back with soft fringe framing dark eyes.

Together they look like a collision of mythology, celebrity, and disaster management.

When the stage runner finally signals, Mithian heads for the set while the others remain waiting just out of sight.

Then the cameras roll.

“Good evening, folks. I’m Mithian Nemeth, and tonight we’re doing a special exposé with none other than world-renowned band King’s Legends along with a couple of guests directly connected to the situation currently dominating headlines worldwide.

“I know this interview has been highly anticipated, and many of you are hoping for answers. Well—they’re here tonight to set the record straight.”

She gestures toward the entrance.

“Please welcome Sir Leon Bishop, Sir Gwaine Green, Sir Lancelot Dulac, Sir Percival Armstrong, and publicly named Dragonlord Merlin Emrys. Joining them tonight are Freya Lake and band manager Arthur Pendragon.”

The group steps onto the set.

Merlin settles closest to Mithian onto one sofa with Freya beside him. Arthur takes the seat on Freya’s other side while Gwaine drops comfortably onto the far end. Across from them sit Leon closest to Mithian, then Lancelot, then Percival.

“Well,” Mithian says once everyone’s settled, “you’ve certainly had an eventful tour. Especially you, Merlin. There was the club fight in São Paulo, the near-death experience in Perth, your public reveal as arguably the most powerful magic user on the planet after Auckland, and now this—which I understand began in Madrid. Is that correct?”

“That is,” Merlin answers.

“I don’t know about you, but I think I’d stop leaving the house altogether.”

Merlin huffs a quiet laugh. “Sometimes I feel that way. But then I’d miss the boys. And of course there are my... other obligations.”

“Well, let’s start with Madrid.”

“Certainly.” Merlin loosely folds his hands together. “Bottom line—I was enchanted. And before the public decides to vilify Freya, understand she was enchanted too. Everyone already knows we met when I cured her of a curse. What we later discovered is that while she was cursed, she was also charmed. The spell made her obsessively compelled to bewitch me. We believe the perpetrator wanted me ensorcelled but couldn't do it themselves, so they needed a powerful magic user like Freya who tests at an eight on the Hext Scale. The curse existed specifically so I’d have to touch her in order to remove it, and thus then the spell created had to be transferred through skin contact. The second I took her hand...” He exhales softly. “I was gone.”

“My, my,” Mithian says. “Why would someone enchant you to fall in love?”

"It's not about me being enchanted to fall in love. It's about taking away my self-control. When someone is enthralled their autonomy is compromised and therefore they lose the ability to control themselves. I was no exception. Apparently my behavior changed significantly while under the spell.”

“Why would anyone want to do that?”

“A lot of people aren’t exactly thrilled about my power. Some think I should be exiled from public life altogether. Forced back into the shadows.” He shrugs lightly. "Maybe it was that."

“And knights,” Mithian says, turning toward the others, “did his behavior really change that much?”

“Oh my God, yes,” Gwaine says immediately. “Outside the stage, he became completely obsessed with Freya, and he grew more short tempered.”

“She was possessive of any time he spent with people who weren’t her,” Percival adds.

“We became estranged very quickly,” Lancelot says. “Which is impressive considering we were all living together on a tour bus.”

“How did Freya end up joining the tour?”

“I’m a graphic artist,” Freya explains quietly. “Merlin convinced them to let me handle logos and album art.”

“We knew Merlin would lose his mind if we said no,” Gwaine says. “So Arthur made her official band artist.”

“And honestly,” Leon cuts in, “the strangest part wasn’t even Freya. It was how Merlin treated Arthur.”

“Why was that the strangest thing?”

“Because before Freya, those two were inseparable,” Lancelot says.

“Like peanut butter and jelly,” Percival supplies.

“A genuine bromance,” Leon says solemnly.

“And very nearly something more,” Percival adds.

Gwaine points across the sofa. “So you can see why Merlin suddenly becoming obsessed with Freya made absolutely no sense.”

“It was Arthur who realized he was enchanted,” Leon says.

Mithian turns toward him. “Oh? How?”

Arthur remains composed, though Merlin can sense the tension sitting quietly beneath the surface.

“He kept forgetting anything remotely romantic involving me,” Arthur says. “He didn’t remember me asking him out. Didn’t remember conversations about taking things further. Didn’t remember people telling him I fancied him. Anything connected to us potentially becoming more than friends would simply... disappear within only a few hours.”

“And that’s when you knew?”

“That’s when we knew something supernatural was happening.”

“So what did you do?”

Arthur chooses his words carefully, deliberately avoiding details that might further vilify Freya.

“I went to Freya’s house and found the enchantment. Then I took it to experts to determine whether there was a cure.”

“And there was?”

“There was. The problem was that if I chose incorrectly, the spell would become permanent.” His jaw tightens slightly. “And we’d lose Merlin for good.”

The room quiets.

“What was the cure?”

Arthur glances briefly toward Mithian. “Think Disney. What’s the cure for enchantments?”

Recognition dawns immediately. “Oh. Ohhh. True love’s kiss.”

“Exactly.”

“And that explains the photograph of you kissing immediately after the proposal.”

“It wasn’t after the proposal,” Arthur corrects. “I interrupted the proposal.” A beat. “But essentially, yes.”

“And for the public watching,” Mithian says, “that means Merlin kissing you was not cheating on Freya.”

“No,” Arthur says. “It was him being cured.”

“And in doing so,” Freya says softly, calmly rising to her feet, “he cured me as well.”

She steps past Arthur and trades places with him so he can sit beside Merlin instead.

Arthur settles into the newly vacated seat immediately, one hand reaching automatically for Merlin’s while the other stretches casually along the back of the sofa behind him.

“Merlin,” Mithian says carefully, “does this mean you’re gay, and the enchantment temporarily made you straight?”

“I’m bi.”

Mithian places a hand dramatically over her heart. “So both sexes across the globe are mourning tonight. I’m assuming true love’s kiss means you’re officially unavailable?”

Merlin glances sideways toward Arthur, the smile that breaks across his face softer than anything he’s shown the audience so far.

“Definitely.”

“Agh,” Gwaine groans dramatically.

Laughter ripples quietly through the studio.

“I do have one question viewers may find concerning,” Mithian says once things calm slightly. “During your last interview, you stated there was no danger of you suddenly losing control. But doesn’t this situation prove you can be magically manipulated?”

Merlin shakes his head immediately. “No. I actually can’t be enchanted. My magic rejects spells and charms automatically. It’s simply not possible.”

“I can confirm that,” Freya says. “When I was enchanted and trying to enchant him, his magic completely overwhelmed mine.”

“Then how did it happen?”

“She enchanted my magic,” Merlin explains. “The spell latched onto my power, and then my own magic turned around and enchanted me. Which is why the charm became nearly impossible to break.”

“Nearly?”

“There’s one power stronger than my magic.” Merlin’s eyes flick briefly toward Arthur. “Love.”

Mithian blinks. “Love is magic?”

“Absolutely,” Merlin says. “This entire situation proves it.”

“So what stops your magic from being enchanted again?”

Merlin chuckles softly. “My magic’s learned its lesson. It was vulnerable because it was arrogant. It won’t make that mistake twice.”

“I’ve noticed,” Mithian says, “that you speak about your magic as though it’s sentient.”

“Sometimes it feels that way.” Merlin laughs, then looks toward Arthur. “Honestly, my magic has loved him since the moment we met. I’ve literally had to stop it from hugging him before. Or rubbing his back. It’s rather an odd feeling.”

The room laughs quietly.

“It was absolutely furious when I rejected him,” Merlin continues. “If my magic were fully sentient, it would’ve burned me alive.”

Arthur looks unbearably smug.

“I actually had to stop time to let it vent once. And do you know what it did? Right there in the locker room it f—” Merlin cuts himself off abruptly. “Oh, f— oh, shit.”

The entire room erupts.

Merlin drops forward into his own hands. “Mithian, I am so sorry.”

Then he twists toward the nearest camera.

“Kids, don’t talk like me. I’m bad. Very bad.”

That sends another wave of laughter through the room.

Even Merlin loses the battle and starts laughing too.

Eventually he manages to straighten slightly. “Should I continue?”

Arthur barely looks at him. “I don’t know, Merlin. You’re bad. Very bad.”

Fresh laughter rolls through the set.

Merlin smacks Arthur’s chest with the back of his hand. “Shut up.”

Several people outright lose composure at that.

By the time the room finally settles again, more than one person is wiping tears from their eyes.

“Aaanyway,” Merlin says loudly, dragging the conversation back under control, “before I ruined my own interview, I was trying to say my magic turned the locker room into an actual forest. Trees, flowers, woodland creatures—the works. There was a bloody bear.”

Arthur leans back slightly, entirely too satisfied with himself. “See? Even your magic knew I was right for you.”

“Oh, shut up, you insufferable bastard.”

That earns another smaller burst of laughter.

“And before anyone asks,” Merlin continues, “I relocated all the animals safely into a forest in Ireland before time restarted. No magical wildlife was harmed in the making of my emotional breakdown.”

“Of course not,” Arthur says.

Merlin cuts him a long look from the corner of his eye.

Mithian laughs softly. “So, bottom line—you can’t be enchanted, your magic can’t be enchanted, and this is the only Merlin the public’s ever getting.”

Merlin leans slightly toward Arthur. “That sounded insulting. Was that insulting?”

“It wasn’t insulting,” Mithian says quickly. “I just meant... what you see is what you get.”

“Still not helping,” Merlin informs her.

Arthur finally intervenes. “I think she means people have nothing to fear.”

“Exactly,” Mithian says gratefully. “So, boys—what has this tour been like for all of you?”

“She’s changing the subject,” Merlin whispers toward Arthur.

“Shut up and listen,” Arthur murmurs back.

Both of them finally turn their attention toward the others.

“Definitely the most interesting tour we’ve ever had,” Leon says.

“I think Perth was one of the worst experiences of my life,” Lancelot admits. “Especially with my girlfriend there. Protective instincts and all that.”

“I was terrified,” Gwaine says. “Little did we know Merlin apparently had the entire situation handled.”

“Were you scared at all, Merlin?” Mithian asks.

“Not of the storm,” Merlin says. “Of being discovered.”

“Yes,” Mithian says. “We learned quite a bit about that during your last interview. So how did the rest of you feel learning the truth about Merlin?”

“We understood why he didn’t tell us. It wasn’t about trust. It was about us looking at him differently,” Percival says.

“And do you?” Mithian asks. “Do any of you look at him differently now?”

“We did for about an afternoon,” Leon says dryly. “Then it just became another thing about Merlin. Like secretly building model airplanes or something.”

“Yeah, walking deity or not, the man still leaves dirty laundry everywhere and drinks from the milk carton,” Gwaine says.

Mithian gasps theatrically. “Merlin, you drink from the milk carton? For shame.”

Laughter breaks softly across the set.

“Honestly,” Leon says, “him randomly disappearing now that we know he can stop time is basically like him taking a trip to the loo. It’s just part of life.”

“And have you had to disappear often?” Mithian asks Merlin gently.

“A few times.”

“Have you ever had to say no?”

The shift in Merlin is immediate.

His expression doesn’t fully fall, but something behind his eyes dims so suddenly the entire room feels it.

“Twice.”

The lightness drains from the set.

Lancelot quietly steps in before Mithian can accidentally push further. “He doesn’t like talking about those times.”

Mithian’s entire demeanor softens. She reaches over, resting a careful hand against Merlin’s arm.

“Understandable. I won’t ask you to.” Her expression turns genuinely sad. “That must be devastating. I honestly don’t know how you continue functioning afterward, let alone performing. Merlin, I swear sometimes you’re a saint.”

Merlin immediately grimaces. “No, please don’t say that. I’m already trying to convince magic users to stop bowing to me.”

That earns a startled blink from Mithian.

“Oh dear. That has to feel incredibly strange.”

“I’m used to autographs and selfies,” Merlin says. “The worship is a bit much.”

“I should imagine.” Mithian looks toward the others. “Have any of you actually witnessed that happening?”

Percival and Gwaine both raise their hands.

“It happened in Italy,” Percival says. “About a week after Merlin came out publicly. I think people were still adjusting to... well. Him existing.”

“That had to be awkward.”

“Oh, extremely,” Gwaine says immediately. “Two complete strangers walked up, bowed to him, and called him milord.”

Mithian presses a hand to her chest. “You’re joking.”

“I wish,” Gwaine says. “But at least we got to bully him afterward, so there’s that.”

Merlin points accusingly across the sofa. “They didn’t stop for three days!”

“As we shouldn’t have,” Leon says teasingly.

Mithian laughs softly, shaking her head. “I think I understand now. You’ve all managed to humanize him. To you he’s not some terrifying magical figure. He’s just...” She gestures vaguely toward Merlin. “An unusually powerful rockstar with questionable hygiene choices.”

“Exactly,” Leon says.

“Well,” Mithian says with a smile, glancing toward the cameras, “I think that’s about all the time we have tonight. I want to thank all of you for being here.”

“Thank you for having us,” Arthur says. “It’s nice knowing people actually approve of our relationship now. Being able to walk around holding his hand without causing an international incident will be refreshing.”

Merlin snorts quietly beside him.

“You’re very welcome,” Mithian says warmly. “And this is Mithian Nemeth for a special edition of Late Night with Mithian. Goodnight, everyone.”

The red recording light finally clicks off.

“And... we’re clear,” the producer calls from somewhere behind the cameras.

The atmosphere shifts almost instantly.

Tension bleeds out of the room in waves as people exhale, stretch, laugh quietly amongst themselves.

“I think that went rather well,” Mithian says, relaxing back into her chair.

Arthur immediately moves behind Merlin’s spot on the sofa, wrapping both arms around his waist and dropping his chin onto his shoulder.

Merlin leans back into him automatically.

“So,” Gwaine says, pushing himself upright, “what’s next?”

“What’s next,” Arthur says, “is getting your lazy arses back into the studio so we can finally make the next album.”

A chorus of groans answers him.

“Is that food?” Gwaine asks suddenly, eyeing the catering tables off to the side of the set.

Everyone turns.

None of them are entirely certain the buffet had been there five minutes ago.

Mithian follows their gaze and laughs. “Oh yes, of course we’re feeding our honored guests. You lot alone have accounted for more than half our ratings this year.”

“Leave it to Gwaine to think with his stomach,” Percival says.

“Oh, come on,” Gwaine protests. “Lunch was at noon. It’s nine o’clock now.”

Almost on cue, several stomachs growl.

Gwaine immediately looks unbearably smug.

“Shut up, Gwaine,” Arthur says, pushing himself up from the sofa while offering Merlin a hand.

Merlin takes it automatically.

The rest of the group drifts toward the catering tables while Morgana, Gwen, Elena, Elyan, Nimueh, and Kilgharrah finally descend from the risers to join them.

The studio has arranged a full spread of catered dinner trays and drinks. Nothing overly fancy, but enough to satisfy fourteen exhausted people who’d spent the evening under hot studio lights answering invasive questions about magic, trauma, and accidental engagements.

Plates are collected. Various meats and salads are assembled. Pasta is served. Drinks are claimed.

Two picnic tables have been set up nearby.

Lancelot and Gwen are the first to sit, Lancelot carrying both their plates despite Gwen repeatedly insisting she’s perfectly capable of transporting a burger herself. Merlin drops into the seat beside her with Arthur settling immediately at his side. Morgana claims the spot across from Arthur while Freya, as always, gravitates instinctively toward Merlin. Kilgharrah takes the end seat with similar determination not to stray too far from his Dragonlord.

The remaining group spills naturally across the second table, conversations already overlapping before everyone’s fully seated.

“Hey,” Gwen says suddenly, pulling her mobile from her purse after setting down her burger, “want to see what the public’s saying?”

That gets everyone’s attention immediately.

She opens the app and scrolls.

“Alright, first one, @coolbeans says: ‘Never doubted you, Dragonlord. Knew there was more to the story.’”

Gwen smiles warmly as she reads it, reaching over to squeeze the back of Merlin’s neck.

Merlin ducks his head slightly, sheepish.

“Ooo, here’s another. @partyplane says: ‘See? Told you all he was a good guy but nobody listens to me.’”

Morgana rolls her eyes.

“If we’re only reading compliments about Merlin, I’m leaving.”

“Oh, wait.” Gwen snorts suddenly. “Here’s one from @dragonrider. ‘Dragonlord, what's —’ Well. That’s wildly inappropriate.”

Morgana immediately snatches the mobile from her hand.

A slow, wicked grin spreads across her face.

“‘Dragonlord, what's the most orgasms Arthur's ever given you in one night?’”

Merlin goes scarlet.

“Morgana!”

She looks up innocently.

“Well?”

Arthur hums thoughtfully.

“I know the answer.”

“Arthur, don't you dare.”

Arthur grins.

“I've signed enough NDAs to know when to keep classified information classified.”

Merlin buries his face in his hands.

“I hate all of you.”

“Oh, no you don't,” Morgana says between laughs.

“No,” Arthur agrees, slipping an arm around Merlin's shoulders. “He definitely doesn't.”

The table erupts.

By the time the laughter dies down, nearly everyone has their own mobile out, collectively descending into the chaos that is public opinion.

“I’ve got one,” Gwaine announces from the second table. “@popscorn says: ‘Dragonlord, can I have your dragon eggs?’”

Kilgharrah looks genuinely thoughtful. “That’s actually not inappropriate at all if they understood dragon reproduction.”

“They do not care about dragon reproduction, Kilgharrah.”

“I suspect you are correct.”

Merlin points around the tables with his fork. “Surely people have posted about someone besides me.”

“Oooh, me!” Elena calls excitedly. “I found one about Freya.”

Freya looks up in alarm.

Elena clears her throat dramatically.

“@moonwalker says: ‘Freya’s single, eh? Cute, soft, and sweet. I’m tall, dark, and handsome. DM me sometime.’”

Freya blushes immediately.

Under the table Merlin nudges her lightly with his foot.

“He calls himself moonwalker,” Elena says thoughtfully. “He could be an astronaut.”

“Or a Michael Jackson fan,” Morgana replies.

“These are dull,” she continues, scrolling aggressively. “Does nobody thirst after anyone except Merlin?”

“I’ve got one about Merlin and Arthur,” Elyan says.

Arthur sighs deeply. “Excellent.”

Elyan grins and reads anyway.

“‘Arthur Pendragon standing there in a four-thousand-pound suit looking like he personally denies people loans for fun while Dragonlord Merlin looks one inconvenience away from setting a village on fire for him. Soulmates your honor.’”

“Aww,” Gwen says immediately. “That’s actually kind of sweet.”

“I found one about Percival,” Nimueh says.

Percival visibly braces himself.

“‘The fact that Sir Percival Armstrong looks like he could break down castle walls but probably apologizes to furniture after bumping into it is ruining my life.’”

Percival points his fork vaguely through the air. “I do, actually.”

Everyone turns toward him.

“Apologize to furniture,” he clarifies while spearing lettuce from his Caesar salad.

“I have one as well.”

Merlin looks over in surprise. “Kilgharrah?”

“What?” the older man says defensively. “I was under the impression we were sharing interesting posts.”

“We didn’t think you’d even have Twitter,” Elena says.

“I’m an entertainment journalist. Of course I have Twitter.”

He adjusts his glasses slightly before reading in the driest voice imaginable:

“‘Merlin Emrys really said “I’m the most powerful magic user alive” and then immediately followed it with “kids don’t swear :)” like someone’s exhausted bisexual uncle.’”

Silence settles over both tables.

Kilgharrah looks around expectantly.

“Well? That was humorous.”

“Ahem,” Gwen says carefully. “Yes. Very funny, Kilgharrah.”

“Oh! Here’s one about Lance.” Merlin glances down at his screen. “‘I just know Sir Lancelot Dulac smells expensive. No evidence. Just vibes.’”

Merlin looks genuinely baffled. “What does expensive smell like?”

“Money,” Arthur answers immediately.

Then he glances at his own screen.

“Oh, this one’s good. ‘Mithian Nemeth interviewing rockstars King’s Legends while somehow still giving disappointed aunt energy over Merlin drinking from the milk carton is peak journalism.’”

Mithian beams proudly.

Arthur tosses his napkin at Merlin.

“And for the record, stop drinking from the milk carton, you animal.”

“This one’s about Merlin and Arthur again,” Lancelot says. “And Gwen would murder me if I saw it and didn’t read it aloud.”

Gwen points at him immediately. “Correct.”

Lancelot clears his throat.

“‘The way Merlin looked at Arthur after saying “definitely”??? Oh they are DISGUSTINGLY in love. Like ancient tragic poetry levels of in love.’”

There’s a brief pause.

Then everyone slowly looks toward Merlin and Arthur.

Arthur looks entirely too satisfied with himself.

Merlin throws a chip at Lancelot.

“I have one about us,” Leon says, lifting his mobile slightly toward Percival and Lancelot. “‘Leon, Lancelot, and Percival sitting there discussing Merlin like exhausted parents whose son just happens to be an immortal magic cryptid.’”

“I’m not immortal.”

“Not anymore,” Kilgharrah corrects calmly.

Merlin points accusingly at him. “You enjoy reminding people you’re ancient.”

“Because I earned it.”

“Exactly. And don’t pretend you don’t love being the smartest person in every room.”

Kilgharrah takes a slow sip of his drink. “I was that before you gave me immortality, young warlock.”

“Moving on,” Gwaine says loudly. “I found one about me. ‘Sir Gwaine Green accusing Merlin of drinking from the milk carton with the confidence of a man who has absolutely committed worse crimes.’”

“Oh, unquestionably,” Percival says.

“Honestly,” Gwaine continues, “drinking from the carton barely qualifies as a crime.”

“It’s still disgusting,” Arthur mutters.

Percival glances down at his screen next.

“Here’s another one. ‘The way all the knights talk about Merlin like he’s simultaneously the most powerful being alive and their emotionally unstable roommate is sending me.’”

Elena frowns. “Sending them where?”

“No idea,” Leon admits.

“I’ve got one about Leon,” Morgana says in a singsong voice. “‘The fact that Sir Leon Bishop can say literally anything in that calm voice and somehow sound like everyone’s disappointed father and hottest professor simultaneously is a public safety issue.’”

Leon closes his eyes briefly. “Wonderful.”

“Should we tell them you’re ace?” Morgana asks sweetly.

“Shut up, Morgana.”

Leon immediately points toward Lancelot instead. “Here. ‘Sir Lancelot Dulac sitting there looking like he walked out of a cologne advertisement while calmly discussing magical trauma is genuinely unfair to the rest of humanity.’”

Lancelot looks delighted.

“You hear that? I’m apparently disrupting the balance of nature.”

“Careful,” Leon says dryly. “We’ll have to sic Merlin on you.”

Merlin looks offended. “I am not a dog.”

Conversation continues long after the food itself disappears.

More tweets are read. More laughter spills across the tables. The exhaustion from the interview slowly gives way to something softer, warmer—something almost normal.

For a little while, they simply exist together.

Friends.

Family.

Eventually the plates are empty and everyone leans back with full stomachs and heavy limbs.

“Well,” Gwaine announces, “I’m stuffed. Mithian, my compliments to the chef.”

“I’ll pass that along to the caterer.”

People begin gathering discarded napkins and empty bottles while conversations overlap lazily around the tables.

Arthur nudges Merlin lightly with his shoulder.

“Come on. I’m ready for bed.”

Merlin exhales tiredly. “Me too. Right behind you.”

As everyone starts filing toward the exit, Merlin suddenly doubles over as though he'd been punched straight through the stomach.

“Oooh—”

The sound tears out of him rough and strangled, one hand flying to his midsection as nausea crashes through him in a violent wave.

“Merlin!”

He can't answer.

Not immediately.

Pain ripples beneath his skin, hot and electric, stealing his breath. When it eases enough for him to think, he braces both hands against his knees and drags in slow breaths through clenched teeth.

In. Out. In. Out.

Arthur's voice reaches him through the ringing in his ears, distorted and distant, like someone shouting underwater.

“I'm alright,” Merlin manages hoarsely. “Just... give me a minute.”

He still hasn't fully straightened when he finally looks up.

Freya is gripping Percival's forearm so tightly the skin around her fingers has gone white. Kilgharrah has one arm slung heavily across Gwaine's shoulders and the other over Elyan's, using both men for support. Nearby, Nimueh and Morgana have nearly collapsed into one another.

Then Morgana lifts her head.

Gold flashes in her eyes.

Nimueh's follows suit.

Merlin closes his eyes briefly.

Shit.

Slowly, carefully, he forces himself upright.

“Merlin?! Merlin, bloody hell, I thought you were dying!”

Arthur immediately moves toward him, clearly intending to catch him before he topples over entirely, but Merlin raises a hand and stops him short.

Right now even his clothes feel unbearable against his skin. Another person touching him would probably feel like molten iron.

“I'm alright, Arthur.”

“Like hell you are! You're not the only one that's been affected.” Arthur gestures wildly toward the others. “What's happening?”

Merlin exhales slowly.

“Arthur... I don't think we'll be sleeping tonight.” His gaze drifts around the room. “Honestly, I don't think any of us are going to get much rest for a very long time.”

“We have to sleep, Merlin.”

“Sleep feels slightly clinical at the moment.”

That finally earns Kilgharrah's full attention.

The older man's face has gone utterly still.

And the expression settling across it is enough to send a chill down Arthur's spine.

“You know what this means, young warlock.”

Merlin doesn't answer right away.

For a moment he simply stands there, looking from Kilgharrah to Morgana and Nimueh, their golden eyes confirming what he already suspects.

Then he nods.

“Yes.”

Arthur looks between them.

“What? What are you talking about?”

By now everyone in the room is watching.

Merlin can feel it.

The attention.

The expectation.

The weight of a question none of them have been able to answer since their memories returned.

Then understanding settles fully into place.

Merlin lifts his head.

“I know why we're here.”

Silence falls across the studio.

“Well?” Arthur demands after too long waiting for an explanation.

“The ley lines have burst,” Merlin announces without feeling.

All the color drains from Freya's face.

Beside her, Nimueh has gone equally pale.

Silence settles across the studio.

Arthur is the first to recover.

“And what does that mean?”

As though the universe itself decides to answer the question, fire suddenly erupts across the back of the set.

Mithian screams.

The remaining crew members stumble backward as flames race up the decorative curtains surrounding the fireplace. Heat washes through the studio in a suffocating blast.

Morgana stares in horror.

Merlin reacts.

A single sharp movement of his hand, and the fire vanishes.

Not extinguished.

Gone.

The black scorch marks crawl backward across the walls. Burned fabric restores itself. Charred wood becomes whole again. Within seconds the set stands exactly as it had moments before, pristine and untouched save for the faint curls of smoke still drifting through the air.

Nobody moves.

Nobody speaks.

Merlin lowers his hand.

“That,” he says, indicating the restored set, “is what it means.”

The silence somehow deepens.

“The ley lines are channels of magic running beneath the earth,” Merlin explains. “For centuries they've also acted as a containment system.”

Percival's expression tightens.

“Contained what?”

“Dark magic.”

Gwaine frowns. “I thought dark magic already existed. Freya's curse—”

“It does,” Merlin says. “But the ley lines suppressed it. Weakened it. Kept light magic dominant.”

“And now?” Gwen asks carefully.

“Now there's nothing holding it back.”

The room stills again.

“Dark magic is dangerous because it's ruthless,” Merlin continues. “Light magic has restraint. Conscience. Balance. Dark magic doesn't care about consequences.”

“Is it stronger than you?” Gwen asks quietly.

Merlin shakes his head.

“No. Nothing is stronger than me in terms of raw capability.” He pauses briefly. “But I'm restrained by fate itself. I maintain equilibrium. Dark magic has no such compulsion.”

His eyes drift toward the repaired set.

“If it wanted to stop the storm in Perth, it would've done so instantly without caring what happened afterward. It wouldn't have saved those people out of compassion.” His voice grows grim. “It would've saved them to preserve itself.”

Understanding begins settling across several faces.

“One thing we don't have to worry about,” Merlin says, “is darkness overwhelming the balance entirely. The universe compensates for itself.” A humorless smile flickers across his face. “Apparently that's my job.”

Nobody looks particularly reassured.

“If all of dark magic came after me directly, I'd win. Unfortunately, that's not how dark magic works. It spreads. Corrupts. Infects. And I can't be everywhere.”

The weight of that settles heavily over the room.

An entire hidden force suddenly unleashed.

“And that's not all,” Merlin says.

Nobody likes the sound of that.

“The ley lines were also containing some of the world's more violent magical creatures.”

Lancelot visibly stiffens.

“The griffin,” Merlin says, his eyes briefly finding him.

Lancelot remembers black feathers, talons, and the beast's dying scream echoing through the forest.

Merlin's gaze shifts to Nimueh.

“The cockatrice.”

Nimueh closes her eyes briefly.

She remembers the creature's glowing eyes in the darkness, Arthur marching willingly toward it, and her certainty that he would never return.

Finally Merlin looks toward Arthur.

“And the Questing Beast.”

Arthur's stomach drops.

He remembers the battle, Excalibur flashing through the darkness, then a sudden white-hot pain tearing through his side as the beast's fangs found their mark.

After that, everything became a blur.

A chill ripples through the studio.

Arthur drags a hand through his hair.

“And Morgana setting the bloody set on fire?”

Merlin looks toward Morgana and Nimueh.

“The ley lines also suppressed the magic of dark practitioners.”

Elena blinks.

“Okay, so let me make sure I've got this right. Dark magic isn't being suppressed anymore, murderous magical creatures are running loose, and a bunch of former dark sorcerers just got their power back?”

A pause.

“That's... not ideal.”

Despite everything, a few strained smiles appear.

“Well,” Merlin says, “in Morgana and Nimueh's case they've rather moved past the dark sorcerer stage.”

“Thank you,” Morgana mutters.

“But yes,” Merlin says. “Former practitioners of dark magic will have their power restored.”

Silence settles over the group again as the reality of it begins taking shape.

Dark magic.

Violent magical creatures.

Dark sorcerers.

An entire hidden world suddenly awake again.

Nobody seems eager to be the first person to speak.

“That's why Freya came back,” Merlin says at last. “We're going to need her.”

Freya looks startled by the certainty in his voice.

“And Morgana and Nimueh having their magic again is a good thing. We're going to need them too.”

Morgana immediately shakes her head.

“But I don't have control, Merlin.”

“You will.”

The answer comes without hesitation.

“The fates didn't return your magic just so you could spend months relearning how to use it. It'll come back naturally.” A faint smile tugs at the corner of his mouth. “Like riding a bike.”

Morgana still looks unconvinced.

Merlin softens slightly.

“And as long as neither of you goes full evil witch on me”—he points between Morgana and Nimueh—“I'll allow you to keep it.”

That finally earns a ripple of laughter from the room.

“You can trust us,” Nimueh says quietly.

Merlin doesn't hesitate.

“I know.”

And he does.

Without Uther poisoning the world around them, both women had proven who they truly were long ago.

“What about the rest of us?” Leon asks carefully.

Elyan nods toward Merlin. “Half those creatures can only be killed with magic, right?”

A grim understanding settles across Merlin's face, then his eyes light with inspiration.

“Don't worry, I think I have a solution.”

Before anyone can ask what he means, Freya suddenly crosses the room toward a decorative ceramic pitcher abandoned beside the catering table.

Percival watches her curiously.

“Freya?”

She doesn't answer.

Kneeling beside the table, she pours the water onto the floor, sets the pitcher back where she found it, then calmly rolls up her sleeve and reaches into the puddle.

Everyone freezes.

Her arm disappears nearly to the shoulder into what should only be a thin layer of water.

Then she draws a sword from it.

The weapon is old and beautiful, silver catching the studio lights as she rises and carries it back to the group.

Without hesitation, she places it into Arthur's waiting hands.

“Excalibur.”

The moment Arthur's fingers close around the hilt, something settles into place inside him.

Recognition.

Memory.

Home.

“My old friend,” he murmurs.

He turns the sword once in his hand with effortless familiarity.

The intricate engravings catch the light as ancient runes etched along the fuller reveal themselves.

Take me up. Cast me away.

Arthur's thumb brushes the words.

A faint smile touches his face.

Beside him, Gwaine blinks.

“Right. Brilliant for Arthur.” He points at the legendary weapon. “King gets Excalibur. Makes sense. What exactly are the rest of us supposed to use?”

A plain arming sword abruptly appears in his hands.

Gwaine jumps.

The room waits.

He studies the sword.

Then studies Excalibur.

Then looks back at his sword.

“Well... that's mildly insulting.”

Merlin snorts.

“Stop whining and hand it over.”

Gwaine reluctantly obeys.

Merlin takes the sword and turns toward Kilgharrah.

Immediately the older man stills.

“Merlin,” he says quietly. “No.”

“Kilgharrah—”

“You know what you're asking.”

“I do.”

The hesitation is immediate.

Because this is different.

Dragonfire doesn’t simply enchant a weapon.

It transforms it.

Changes what it is.

“Please,” Merlin says. “I'll bind them to their owners, just as I did Arthur's. No one else will ever wield them.” His eyes flick briefly toward the knights. “And you know they're worthy.”

Kilgharrah studies each of them in turn.

Arthur.

Leon.

Lancelot.

Percival.

Gwaine.

Elyan.

Slowly, the old dragon straightens.

“There are none more worthy than the Knights of the Round Table.”

Merlin smiles faintly.

“Then help me.”

After a long moment, Kilgharrah nods.

“I will.”

Merlin lifts the sword between them.

Kilgharrah inhales.

Then breathes.

Flame erupts from him in a brilliant torrent of gold and white.

The remaining crew members scream.

The fire engulfs Merlin completely.

The knights don't even flinch.

Years ago they learned that dragonfire cannot harm a Dragonlord.

Still, watching Merlin stand untouched within a column of living flame remains deeply unsettling.

When the fire finally dies away, the weapon glows molten gold in Merlin's hands.

The plain steel is gone.

In its place stands something extraordinary.

Intricate designs wind along the length of the sword and hilt. Ancient script gleams faintly within the metal itself.

Merlin steps toward Gwaine.

“Valtoris,” he says. “For strength.”

The sword passes into Gwaine's waiting hands.

Immediately his posture changes.

The joking ease vanishes.

The weapon feels perfect.

Balanced.

Familiar.

As though it had always belonged there.

Then his eyes catch the inscription.

Mock the darkness. Outlast the dawn.

Gwaine reads it twice.

Then a third time.

“What does that even mean?”

“No idea,” Merlin admits.

“Helpful.”

“Very.”

A faint smile tugs at Kilgharrah's mouth.

“The old blades never choose their words lightly.”

That silences everyone.

Merlin turns toward Percival.

Another sword appears.

Dragonfire.

Gold.

Transformation.

Then Merlin places it into Percival's hands.

“Seralyth. For compassion.”

Percival lowers his eyes to the inscription.

Bend the oak. Rest the sparrow.

His thumb brushes the words.

The gentle giant says nothing, but something softens in his expression.

Next comes Elyan.

“Thandor. For honor.”

The sword seems to hold a quiet warmth all its own. Gold runes shimmer faintly beneath the polished steel.

Elyan studies the inscription.

Light the lantern. Walk the dark.

For once, even he appears at a loss for words.

Then Lancelot.

“Eldaro. For nobility.”

The weapon is elegant, understated, and impossibly refined.

Lancelot reads the ancient words etched into the steel.

Give the light. Guard the flame.

A thoughtful look settles across his face.

Finally Merlin approaches Leon.

“Caerwyn. For loyalty.”

The last sword passes into his hands.

Leon studies the runes.

Trust the silence. Answer the storm.

His brow furrows slightly.

“Interesting.”

“That is one word for it,” Gwaine says.

Soon all five knights stand holding their weapons.

No two swords are alike.

Each bears its own intricate designs, its own balance, its own identity.

Each feels less like a weapon and more like a promise.

The studio falls silent.

Even the crew seems to understand they are witnessing something sacred.

Arthur glances from Excalibur to the newly forged swords surrounding him.

His knights.

Their weapons.

The old symbols returned to life.

For a brief moment it feels as though a thousand years have disappeared.

Merlin looks between them all.

“They're yours now. Guard them carefully. Nobody else will be able to wield them, but they can still be lost.”

His gaze sweeps across the six swords.

“And they'll kill creatures ordinary weapons can't.”

“The undead,” Morgana says quietly. “Like the wraiths and skeletons from our first life.”

“Magical creatures,” Elyan adds, giving Thandor an experimental swing. “Like the griffin, the cockatrice, and the Questing Beast.”

“Immortals too,” Nimueh says softly. “Sidhe. Manticores.”

“Exactly,” Merlin says.

Arthur looks down at Excalibur.

“The Knights of the Round Table.”

The words settle over the group, not as a memory, but as a fact.

“What about modern weapons?” Leon asks. “Surely the natural world has stronger firepower than swords these days.”

“Not against magic,” Merlin says. “You could unload a fifty-caliber Browning into some of these things and accomplish roughly the same amount of damage as throwing sand.”

Several expressions fall.

“Well, that’s mildly terrifying,” Elena mutters.

“Make no mistake,” Merlin says, looking between them all. “We’re here to save the world.”

Nobody laughs.

The reality settles heavily across the room.

Dark magic. Violent magical creatures. Dark sorcerers.

Three threats, all loose at the same time.

“Merlin, if you can stop time, couldn't you just dispose of these monsters while they're frozen?” Elyan asks.

Merlin sighs. He wishes.

“Magical creatures live on a different plane outside time. Stopping it won't stop them. However, I can release you all of the spell so we could all fight them in a frozen world. We'll all work outside time together.”

For several moments nobody says anything.

Then Gwaine lifts Valtoris and squints at the inscription again.

“Still haven’t got a clue what this means.”

“Which part?” Elyan asks.

“Any of it.” Gwaine points at the blade. “Mock the darkness. Outlast the dawn. What am I supposed to do with that?”

“Mocking things has never been a problem for you,” Leon says.

“Fair.”

“Outlasting things hasn’t either,” Percival adds.

“Also fair.”

Gwaine beams.

“See? My sword gets me.”

Across the room, Percival studies Seralyth again, thumb brushing over the carved words.

Bend the oak. Rest the sparrow.

“You’ve got a tree and a bird,” Gwaine says.

“Thank you for that insightful analysis.”

“You’re welcome.”

Elyan glances down at Thandor.

Light the lantern. Walk the dark.

“Maybe it means do the right thing even when no one else will?” Morgana suggests.

Elyan considers that.

“Maybe.”

“Or maybe it means something completely different,” Leon says.

“Exactly,” Kilgharrah rumbles.

The room quiets.

“Don’t limit yourselves to a single translation. The wisdom of dragons has many layers.”

The knights exchange looks.

That somehow makes the inscriptions even more mysterious.

Nearby, Lancelot turns Eldaro over in his hands.

Give the light. Guard the flame.

“I suppose that’s the point,” he says thoughtfully. “If the meaning were obvious, there’d be little value in engraving it.”

“And what about yours?” Elena asks Leon.

Leon glances down at Caerwyn.

Trust the silence. Answer the storm.

Elena tilts her head.

“Maybe it’s because you spend half your life listening to everyone else panic before calmly fixing the problem.”

“Maybe,” Leon says.

“Or maybe it’s because you’re secretly a weather forecaster.”

Leon stares at her.

“That’s definitely it.”

The argument continues for several minutes. The swords pass from hand to hand. The inscriptions are debated, theories are offered, and most of them are terrible.

Gwaine’s are especially terrible.

Eventually Arthur gives Excalibur an experimental swing through the air.

The blade cuts cleanly through empty space with almost unsettling precision.

That catches everyone’s attention.

Arthur swings again.

Then once more.

“Show off,” Morgana says.

“I’m literally standing still.”

“Arrogantly.”

A laugh ripples through the room.

Soon the others begin testing their own weapons. Not because they’ve forgotten how to fight, but because they’ve never held anything quite like these before.

The balance is extraordinary. The responsiveness almost unnerving. Every movement feels effortless, as though the weapons anticipate the hands holding them.

One by one the knights drift toward the open warehouse floor.

Arthur and Leon are first, beginning with a cautious exchange that sends the ring of steel echoing through the studio.

Lancelot joins moments later.

Then Elyan.

Eventually even Percival relents after enduring several increasingly dramatic challenges from Gwaine.

The warehouse slowly transforms into something between a training yard and a playground.

Thrust. Parry. Counter. Feint.

The rhythm builds naturally.

Not warriors relearning old skills.

Warriors learning extraordinary new weapons.

Watching from the sidelines, Mithian can only shake her head.

“Two hours ago I was hosting a television interview.”

“And now?” Gwen asks.

Mithian watches Arthur sparring with Excalibur while Merlin critiques everyone’s footwork simultaneously.

“Now I’m apparently watching a king and his magical knights prepare to save the world.”

“That sounds about right.”

Freya drifts over to stand beside Merlin.

Neither comments on it.

She simply ends up there, watching the sparring unfold while the others rediscover the simple joy of having something useful to hit.

Laughter drifts through the warehouse.

For the first time since the ley lines burst, the atmosphere begins to feel almost normal again.

Almost.

Merlin watches the sparring for several minutes before noticing the blinking light on his cuff.

His expression changes immediately.

“Everyone gather up.”

The sparring continues for another few seconds before the command fully registers. Steel lowers, conversations stop, and the group converges around him.

Merlin raises his wrist.

The blinking light reflects faintly from polished steel.

“Well,” he says, exhaling through his nose, “looks like we already have a job.”

“We?” Arthur asks.

Merlin gives him an incredulous look.

“You honestly think I’m facing the magical apocalypse by myself?”

Arthur grins immediately.

“Good.”

“Nimueh. Morgana. Your choice whether you come.”

“I want to,” Morgana says before Nimueh can answer. “If my magic’s really back, maybe this is exactly what I need.”

Nimueh nods.

“I agree.”

“Alright then.”

Merlin drops onto the edge of the repaired set and pulls out his phone.

Everyone crowds around as he opens the Humanity app.

““This is exciting,” Elyan says. “Our first mission defending the world this lifetime.”

“We should commemorate it with a pint,” Gwaine says.

“Gwaine,” Percival replies patiently, “you’d commemorate going to the dentist with a pint.”

“He’s not wrong,” Leon admits. “We should probably do something.”

“Party?” Morgana suggests hopefully.

“You always want a party.”

Before Morgana can defend herself, Merlin ascends to his feet.

“Shanghai.”

Everyone looks up.

“Shanghai?” Arthur repeats.

“That’s where we’re going.”

Lancelot immediately pales.

“Hold on. We haven’t teleported in ages and we just ate.”

“Relax,” Merlin says. “I’ve got a motion sickness spell.”

That does seem to reassure everyone slightly.

Merlin glances back down at the screen.

“Looks like multiple disappearances over the last hour. Witnesses reported something with wings.”

The mood shifts instantly.

“Wings?” Arthur asks.

Merlin nods.

“Which means we need to move.”

Before anyone can argue, Merlin waves a hand.

A pulse of gold sweeps across the room.

Everyone looks down.

Designer jackets, concert attiire, expensive suits, and smart clothes dissolve into matching black uniforms reinforced with faintly glowing runic armor woven directly into the fabric. Leather sword belts settle comfortably at their waists, complete with fitted scabbards for their new weapons.

For a moment nobody speaks.

Then Gwaine looks down at himself.

“Oh, now this is nice.”

Arthur runs a hand across his sleeve. The uniform somehow manages to look tailored despite appearing from thin air.

“Practical,” Leon observes.

“Protected,” Merlin corrects. “The armor is enchanted.”

Arthur raises an eyebrow.

“How enchanted?”

“Very.”

“That is not a measurement.”

“It is when I’m doing the enchanting.”

Arthur looks unconvinced.

“Can I be stabbed?”

“Technically?”

“Merlin.”

“Fine. Probably not.”

“Probably?”

“Would you prefer definitely?”

“Yes.”

“So would I.”

The conversation does absolutely nothing to reassure anyone.

One by one they begin noticing the embroidered patches over their hearts.

Arthur’s bears a crown.

Merlin’s a dragon.

Gwaine’s a wolf.

Percival’s an oak.

Leon’s a compass.

Lancelot’s a torch.

Elyan’s an anvil.

Morgana’s a black rose.

Nimueh’s a chalice.

Freya’s a phoenix.

For a moment they simply stare.

Then Gwaine points dramatically at his chest.

“I knew it.”

“Knew what?” Leon asks.

“I have the coolest one.”

“You have a wolf.”

“Exactly.”

“You realize Merlin has a dragon?”

Gwaine squints at Merlin.

“Alright. Second coolest.”

A quiet voice speaks up.

“I think mine’s lovely.”

Everyone looks toward Freya.

She’s tracing the edge of the phoenix with one fingertip.

Merlin smiles.

“Seemed appropriate.”

Freya smiles back.

Gwaine points at her immediately.

“Right. Third coolest.”

“Third?” Morgana says. “Mine’s a black rose.”

“Which is admittedly excellent.”

“Thank you.”

“But hers is literally on fire.”

Freya laughs softly.

The sound surprises almost everyone.

Arthur becomes distracted by Excalibur sliding perfectly into the newly conjured scabbard. The sword settles into place with a satisfying click.

The others quickly follow suit.

For the first time all evening, they actually look ready.

Not like musicians.

Not like television guests.

Like a team.

Or perhaps something older than that.

Something legendary.

Freya drifts back toward Merlin almost without realizing it while the others adjust belts and test scabbards.

Neither comments on it.

“Right,” Merlin says. “Everyone grab—”

“Hold on.”

Merlin closes his eyes slowly.

“Who?”

“Me,” Gwaine says unapologetically.

“You just ate.”

“Exactly.”

Several hands go up.

Merlin stares.

Percival.

Gwaine.

Lancelot.

Even Elyan.

“You’re all unbelievable.”

“It’s a long flight,” Gwaine says.

“We’re teleporting.”

“Still.”

For a moment Merlin genuinely looks as though he’s considering leaving them behind.

Then he points toward the hallway.

“Two minutes.”

The men immediately disappear.

“Three,” Gwaine calls over his shoulder.

“Two!”

The sound of retreating laughter echoes down the corridor.

The remaining group settles into an odd little pocket of silence.

“Well,” Morgana says, “this is considerably less dramatic than I imagined our first quest would be.”

“You expected destiny,” Nimueh says.

“I expected less bladder management.”

Freya laughs again.

Arthur studies Merlin for a moment.

“You’ve got that look.”

Merlin glances up from the phone.

“What look?”

“The one that means you’ve worked something out and the rest of us are about five minutes away from feeling stupid.”

A smile tugs at the corner of Merlin’s mouth.

“That’s a very specific look.”

“You get it a lot.”

Merlin shakes his head, but he doesn’t argue.

His eyes return to the screen.

“Whatever’s in Shanghai, the app escalated it fast. Multiple disappearances. Witnesses seeing wings. No bodies. No obvious magical signature.”

“That’s bad,” Morgana says.

“It’s different,” Merlin corrects.

Arthur folds his arms.

“That’s your version of bad.”

Merlin doesn’t deny it.

A moment later the others return.

“Ready?” Merlin asks.

“Almost.”

Arthur’s voice stops everyone.

For a moment he simply looks around the room.

At his knights.

At Morgana.

At Nimueh.

At Freya.

At Merlin.

At the weapons hanging from every belt.

Something settles quietly over the group.

Not tension.

Not fear.

Purpose.

Arthur clears his throat.

“Right.”

Everyone looks at him.

“No dying.”

A beat.

“I mean it.”

Gwaine snorts.

“That’s the speech?”

“Yes.”

“Bit short.”

Arthur ignores him.

“I’m serious.”

Something in his voice causes the room to settle.

“We don’t know what we’re walking into.”

“We’ve got Merlin,” Elyan points out.

“Dragonfire weapons,” Leon adds.

“Two former High Priestesses,” Morgana says.

Gwaine gestures toward Freya.

“An immortal Goddess.”

Everyone’s eyes immediately shift toward Freya.

Freya freezes.

A faint blush creeps into her cheeks.

“That still sounds strange when people say it.”

“That’s because it is strange,” Morgana says.

Freya considers that.

“Fair.”

Arthur shakes his head.

“You’re all missing the point.”

The room quiets.

His gaze moves around the group.

To Leon.

Lancelot.

Percival.

Elyan.

Gwaine.

Morgana.

Nimueh.

Freya.

Finally Merlin.

The humor softens.

“Look after each other.”

His voice is quieter now.

“We all come home.”

For a moment nobody says anything.

Then Leon nods.

“Agreed.”

Lancelot nods.

Then Percival.

Then Elyan.

One by one the others follow.

Even Morgana.

Even Nimueh.

Finally Freya.

And somehow those simple nods feel more binding than any oath.

“Right then,” Gwaine says. “Now can we go save the world?”

A thick rope materializes in Merlin’s hands.

“Everyone grab on. Don’t let go.”

One by one they obey.

Freya takes her place beside Merlin.

The atmosphere inside the studio has changed completely.

Two hours ago it had been a television interview.

Now it feels like the beginning of an adventure.

Merlin glances back toward Mithian, Gwen, Elena, and Kilgharrah.

“See you soon.”

Gwaine adjusts his grip on the rope and flashes a grin.

“Let’s go, Camelot.”

—

Finley - @DJing
I saw them! I swear! It was all the Legends and some other people I've never seen before. Few of them had magic, but the rest had HONEST TO GOD SWORDS!
#swordfight #legendarysword
@bowt1e
2:32 PM - 30 May 2026 - via Twitter

Yogi - @alwaysstretch
Can you believe the Legends are all helping the Dragonlord now? That's so cool!
#legendsaid
4:29 PM - 4 June 2026 - via Twitter

Henry - @gameman
King's Legends were called away during the concert last night. Their agent came out and explained everything. They returned safe and sound only a few minutes later, all in one peace. :)
#safelegends
8:53 AM - 21 June 2026 - via Twitter

Code - @megabyte
King's Legends pass out complimentary SIGNED BAND T-SHIRTS through stadium vendors anytime they have to leave for a few minutes during a concert! Now, you almost wish they'd have to leave.
#generouskl #freetshirts
@cutter
@findcenter
@georgian
3:46 PM - 21 June 2026 - via Twitter

Docu -@realmovie
THEY'RE DOING IT! THERE'S THIS MONSTER BIRD THING, AND THE LEGENDS ARE ACTUALLY FIGHTING IT! BE SAFE LEGENDS! YOUTUBE VIDEO TO COME.
#protectlegends #savetheband #letsgocamelot
2:25 PM - 7 JULY 2026 - via Twitter

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