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Chapter Text

If Morgause and Morgana didn't manage to kill Arthur, Merlin most certainly would. He bolted back down the passageway after the prince, cursing rather vehemently in his head. Gwen and her brother were safe…or at least should be, if Gwen followed directions better than Merlin.

Which pretty much anyone did, so it was safe to assume she'd led her brother out to the horses and they were making their escape.

And that stupid, idiotic, noble, PRAT went running off to save Morgana from her own sister and Cenred when the spoiled princess would've been just fine being left behind.

I wonder if there are spells that could knock some sense into the man?

Merlin skidded to a halt outside the chamber where he could hear Arthur and Morgause. He poked his head around the side of the wall, gauging whether or not Arthur needed his help just yet. Morgause had managed to defeat him with a sword before…maybe she would opt for the same weapon?

Merlin cursed again under his breath when he saw what she conjured instead.

"Or a bloody tornado of fire. That's not the least bit of overkill," Merlin muttered to himself. He raised his hand, contemplating whether or not he should do something before Arthur managed to get himself cooked. Admittedly, he was a little curious how the prince thought he was going to take out a magical whirlwind of flame with a sword, but who was he to question Arthur's 'years of combat experience'?

Arthur didn't look like he was going to save himself, and Merlin muttered the spell under his breath. It was just supposed to snuff out the flames. Instead, like most of his spells seemed to, it blew it completely out of proportion and made half the room explode and come raining down on its occupants.

Speaking of overkill…

Merlin didn't much care if the rubble hit Morgana or Morgause, but he inwardly cringed when he saw Arthur go flying back several feet and hit the wall. Oops. He was beginning to strongly suspect his magic was just plain not compatible with spells. They either did nothing or exploded in his face. Or Arthur's, in this case.

As the dust was settling, Merlin bolted into the collapsed room, skidding to a halt beside Arthur.

"Come on, no time for a nap," Merlin snapped. "Castle collapsing. Let's go!" he hooked one arm underneath the prince, who was starting to rouse, but not quickly enough and helped him to his feet.

Morgause and Morgana were beginning to come around too, and Cenred groaned as he tried to sit up.

"I bring a roof down on them, and they're out of for less than a minute," Merlin grumbled. "Some help."

"What did you say?" Arthur slurred, trying to gather his feet under him, but failing miserably. Judging from the speech, he'd used his head to break his fall…again. Hopefully it wasn't too serious.

"I said you're not being much help," Merlin said, trying to get Arthur out the door before Morgause recovered enough to try and cast another spell. Hopefuly something less dramatic than a firestorm, but he doubted it.

"No!" Arthur said, suddenly pulling back. "Morgana!"

"I'll come back for her in a second!" Merlin lied frantically, pulling against Arthur's weight.

"No, get her first!" Arthur insisted, stubborn and noble as usual.

"No, you first, Arthur. Crown prince trumps King's ward. Let's go," Merlin insisted, yanking on Arthur's arm. They'd almost made it to the doorway when Morgause's chilling voice rung out through the destroyed room.

It wasn't a spell he immediately recognized, but then, all he had was a book passed down from a healer, and Morgause was taught by a High Priestess for most of her life. He recognized the effects though. He was frozen in place, and he felt Arthur's half-assed struggles cease. Great. Both of them were caught.

"I don't know what the hells that was, Prince, but if that was your best shot, this is almost insultingly easy," Morgause said haughtily.

Insulting? Try having a royal prat of a prince given credit for your distraction, Merlin thought furiously. It may not have been good magic, but it was at least his.

"Cenred, get up. Take these two back to the dungeons. We still have what we wanted," Morgause said, walking (with a slight limp, Merlin noticed with grim satisfaction) around in front of the two so she could see them face to face.

"Merlin, is it?" Morgause said disdainfully. "You've been causing problems for us for some time, boy. I should kill you now, just for the aggravation you've caused me."

The blonde witch stepped closer, barely six inches from Merlin, who glared balefully back, wanting nothing more than to strangle the life out of the woman with his bare hands.

"Trouble I caused you?" Merlin snapped. "Try the other way around."

"Ooo, a feisty one. I think I've changed my mind. Breaking you should be an…adequate diversion," Morgause smiled demurely.

Out of the corner of his eye Merlin could see Cenred finally getting off the ground, brushing the debris from his leathers as he also limped over.

"Cenred, take them back to their cells. This time, make sure they can't move." The witch turned back to Merlin, a smirk on her lips. "I'll be down shortly, once I've changed into something more…appropriate."

Merlin quickly squelched the line of thought that phrase brought to mind.

"GUARDS!" Cenred bellowed, making Merlin cringe.

Several men in suits of armor came rushing in, and Merlin vaguely wondered where the hell they'd been the last few minutes. Good help was harder to find than he thought.

Cenred repeated Morgause's orders as the blonde waved her hand, muttering the counter spell.

Merlin almost dropped Arthur's now dead weight to the ground under the sudden ability to move again. Apparently Arthur hit his head pretty bad. Hopefully it wasn't too damaging, Merlin thought. The Prince had scant few brains as it was. He could ill afford to lose any more.

And just because he couldn't help it, he added, "Well I guess we know who wears the pants in this relationship."

He had just enough time to think to himself I really must learn when to shut up before the fist collided with the side of his face, and the world went black.

Chapter Text

Merlin was cold. No, scratch that. He was freezing. But the side of his face that pressed against the apparent slab of ice he was lying on felt much better than he thought it should.

Merlin cracked one eye open. One eye only, because the other one was puffy and swollen mostly shut and it hurt more to try and force it than it did to just leave it shut. When he saw his surroundings, he gave serious thought to going back to unconsciousness.

They were in a dungeon. No windows, a barely flickering torch in the corner outside the cell for light, and the smell of dark and dank that was going to take several good scrubbings to get out of his clothing.

At least he and Arthur were in the same cell.

Merlin pushed himself to a sitting position, his entire body protesting the movement. He must've been out for a while if he'd gotten stiff enough lying in the floor to reconsider any and all future movement. No windows meant no way to judge time.

Merlin went to stand before getting about halfway up and deciding that was the worst decision he'd made in his entire life. The whole world decided it didn't want to be horizontal anymore and stubbornly turned completely vertical, making Merlin stumble sideways until he crashed back to the ground.

"Note to self – no standing for the forseeable future," he muttered, waiting for the extreme vertigo to go away and leave him before he threw up anything he might've eaten in the last year. Head injuries were horrible, he decided. Next time he was kidnapped or held prisoner, he would aim for a sprained ankle…or maybe something more masculine, like a stabbing.

It occurred to him his mind was rambling the way his mouth usually did and promptly stopped all thinking. Well, most thinking.

If he couldn't walk to Arthur's side, then he most certainly could drag himself over without ever needing to stand.

And most fortunately, the cell was small.

Merlin leaned over the still unconscious prince and bit his lip in concern. Arthur didn't look good at all. Normally flushed from activity, Arthur's face was bloodless and drawn, a few bruises from the accidental cave in having shown up across his cheek and one hell of one on his neck. The cold wasn't doing him any good, and neither was his armor and chain mail.

It took a few minutes, but Merlin managed to prop the prince up well enough to start peeling off the layers of armor until he just had his heavy shirt he normally wore underneath. As he worked, Merlin checked the blonde for any injuries the metal might have concealed, but fortunately, other than the head wound Merlin himself had given him (whoops), Arthur seemed relatively unhurt.

"Just had to go and be the the hero, didn't you, you prat?" Merlin grumbled. He tapped Arthur's face gently, but the prince remained oblivious. Naturally.

"Of course you're going to be hard to wake up. When are you ever not? And now you have me talking to myself. Out loud. Now I look like I'm crazy, all thanks you to," Merlin grumbled, allowing himself to sit against the wall he propped Arthur on, shoulders touching just in case he started to slide.

"Oh, I think you managed that all on your own, Merlin," a familiar, sultry voice said, echoing in the gloom.

Merlin almost hit his head against the stone, but thought better of it. One concussion a day, that was his motto.

"Yes, you would know all about madness, wouldn't you, Morgause?" Merlin said.

The sorceress rounded the corner of the cells, dressed in more familiar armor such as Morgana normally wore, instead of opulent gowns and jewels. "You have a rather insolent tongue for someone who works for the royal family," Morgause said.

"Where do you think I learned it?" Merlin asked. Prudence said he should mind his tongue.

Too bad he was never prudent.

"How's the prince doing?" Morgause asked, switching topics as one delicate eyebrow raised disdainfully.

"Alive," Merlin said, not about to give any more information. "Which, if you were smart, you would like to keep it that way."

"Dictating to your captors now?" the sorceress said. Her tone took on a rather amused note to it.

"Not dictating. Suggesting. I know you want to see your sister Morgana on the throne, but I'd really prefer it if you didn't kill Arthur to assure it."

That caught Morgause by surprise. "You know of our relation?" she asked. "How?"

"I know a lot of things that would surprise you," Merlin replied, unable to hide the slight smirk at the words.

At the sudden smile that graced the woman's face, Merlin realized he should've kept his mouth shut. The one time he should play dumb, he decides to be smart. Just brilliant.

"Yes, that you do. How is that, Merlin? A humble household servant who seems to know something about everything. You seem to be everywhere at once, and yet no one seems to know half of what you do. Or where you go. No one is even all that sure of where your true loyalty lies."

"I'm not that mysterious. Really. People talk around servants. And look at my ears. Hard to miss a thing with these, really," Merlin said, smiling through his nervousness.

"Hmm," was all Morgause said.

"Where's your sister?" Merlin asked, hoping to change the subject.

"She's recovering from the collapse. How exactly did that happen, anyway? It seems like the prince is remarkably lucky when it comes to narrow escapes. And you're never to far away."

"I'm his servant. Of course I'm never to far away. You know how royalty is. Can barely find their arse with both hands."

"Yet you're the clumsiest person I've ever met. You can hardly walk in a straight line without tripping over something."

"Part of the charm."

"We'll see about that." Morgause nodded her head to someone out of Merlin's line of sight. "Get him out of there."

"But I like it in here!" Merlin protested. "It's so toasty and accomodating!"

Two guards entered the cell, grabbing an unprotesting Merlin by the arms and hauling him to his feet, none too gently. The sudden movement of the body propping him up finally seemed to prompt Arthur to waking.

With a miserable groan, the prince's eyes fluttered open just as his servant was dragged out of the cell, the iron bars slammed shut behind them.

"What the hell is going on?" Arthur slurred, trying to rub the blurriness from his eyes.

"Oh, now you wake up. Two minutes earlier to fight off the guards was apparently too much to ask for, was it?" Merlin quipped. The two guards slammed him unceremoniously into a chair, promtly tying down his arms and legs to those of the chair.

"Seriously, is there like a bad guy guide to how to stock a lair? What furniture and whatnot to keep? You all seem to have the same stuff."

Morgause raised her hand to backhand, but as he flinched, his eyes squeezed shut in anticipation of the blow.

Instead, the sorceress slowly dropped her hand to caress the side of Merlin's face. "You know, boy, I would tell you to be quiet, but that's the last thing on my mind. I want you to talk. And I want you to tell me everything."

Merlin had a split second to process what she meant when she suddenly dug her fingers into the side of his jaw, prying his mouth open as her nails dug painfully into his flesh hard enough to draw blood.

"Leave him alone!" Arthur commanded, pushing against the wall in an effort to stand. He had just about as much luck as Merlin, but at least Arthur had enough motor coordination to be able to grab onto the wall for support instead of collapsing on his face.

Morgause ignored the prince, and pulled a small vial from her pocket. Without hestitation she tabbed off the lid and jammed it between Merlin's teeth, forcing the warlock to down the whole concoction.

Merlin coughed at the vile taste, sticking out his tongue at the flavor. "Oh my god, what was that? It tastes awful!"

"Remember I said I wanted you to talk?" Morgause purred. "This little potion will make sure it's the truth. And you will tell me…" Morgause's gaze slid to Arthur still in his cell. "And your precious prince…" The sorceress leaned down to Merlin's ear. "Everything."

Chapter Text

The potion Morgause dumped down his throat was rather unspecial. Bitter finish, kind of earthy aroma he could taste all the way into his sinuses. Not the worst poison he's tasted, but definitely not the best. And oh look. Now his vision was going fuzzy, that's original.

No. Wait. Not blurry. Glowy. He could see in perfect detail in the light, dim as it was, but now the torch light seemed more like the midday sun burning his eyes and forcing him to squint.

"Merlin," Morgause's voice came floating to him, sounding a little echo-y and partially like he was underwater. Sort of how Arthur sounded when Merlin wasn't paying attention.

"Merlin!" Hmm. That wasn't Morgause. That was definitely male.

"Arthur?" Merlin said, tilting his head towards the direction of the prince's voice.

"Don't say anything, Merlin!"

"How can I tell her anything? I don't know anything. You both are giving a servant and awful lot of credit."

Interesting. Morgause said he'd tell the truth. Apparently she did something wrong, because while he fought the urge to just jabber continuously, he wasn't feeling the need to say anything true. As long as he could spout nonsense (oh please. Like that's so different from every day life) for the duration of the interrogation, he should be fine.

"Why is it you're always around the prince when extraordinairy things happen?" Morgause questioned.

Merlin actually laughed. "Didn't we already cover this? I'm his servant, you idiot. It's part of the job description. 'Responsibilities include cleaning, polishing armor, and laundry, must be able to take a beating and willing to face almost certain death on a weekly basis. Ability to ignore a royal pain in the ass a plus.' My second job ever and I never even had to apply."

Merlin was pretty sure he could hear Arthur snicker at that. Which was good. As long as Arthur didn't suddenly feel the need to play the hero, Merlin could handle this.

Morgause seemed unphased by his flippancy. "I can see why the prince survives these extraordinairy events. He's been trained since birth to escape impossible circumstances and fight in combat. You you're what, a misplaced farmboy from Ealdor? A village so small if you blink travelling through you'll miss it?"

"You'd be surprised at the challenges in a small village. Ever try to outrun gossip? Quite a work out."

"How did Arthur defeat the dragon?" Morgause asked.

The segue was so fast that Merlin didn't have time to think about the answer.

"He didn't," Merlin blurted out, and promptly bit his lip.

Dammit!

"Oh really?" Morguause practically purred.

Merlin shot a glance at Arthur, who took a step back from the bars, but still keeping one unsteady hand on them for support. Idly, Merlin thought he still wasn't looking that great, and could probably do with a visit to Gaius once they got out of this mess. But worse, there was that look on his face. The one Merlin tried to avoid at all costs. He'd rather get the look that Arthur gave when he thought Merlin was being especially dumb.

Condescending was better than betrayal.

The dragon was one of Arthur's greatest achievments in the eyes of the city. More importantly, to the eyes of his father. To have his servant and his friend, the only witness to the incident deny it happened must have been something akin to if someone ever told Merlin his magic was not actually his.

"Not what I meant."

"Then tell me what you did mean."

The urge to just say anything that popped into his mind was almost overwhelming, and Merlin had to think fast to come up with a lie that wasn't too close to the truth. Or the truth, but missing certain details.

"It left on its own after facing him," Merlin said. It was like every part of him fought to move, not just his mouth. His fingers were absently twitching and tapping against the chair, his foot was twisting around against the ground of its own accord, and his leg was bouncing incessantly.

"No killing blow?" Morgause prompted.

"No. The dragon knew that Arthur wasn't like his father. He knew that one day he would be able to bring all of Albion together, and magic wouldn't be feared anymore."

Morgause glanced over at Arthur who looked just as incredulous at the news as she did. "The Great Dragon burned most of the city to the ground, and after being fought off by the Prince for a week, he suddenly decided it was a bad idea?"

"I may speak Dragon, doesn't mean I read minds," Merlin said, and promptly bit his own tongue.

"You what?"

"I speak Dragon," Merlin ground out. "In fairness, I also speak Drunk, Gibberish, and a little of Royal Pratish."

"How do you speak Dragon?" Morgause asked.

Merlin's thoughts were coming way too fast now, and it was as if anything at the forefront of his mind no longer had a barrier to decide if he should say it out loud. "I inherited it from my father."

Merlin really wished he had the follow through to be able to simply bite his own tongue hard enough he wouldn't be able to speak, but he didn't. The words kept coming, despite a conscious effort to just shut up. "He was the last of the Dragon Lords, and when he died, it was passed on to me."

"So you possess magic and you work within the castle walls?"

"Not what I said," Merlin immediately contradicted. "I said I was the descendant of a Dragon Lord. Even according to Uther that wasn't exactly magic, it just toed the line a little too close for comfort."

Merlin was talking so fast it was actually hard to breathe properly, and he found himself panting. It probably had a little to do with the fact he was also literally holding his breath between sentences so he wouldn't let something slip even more than he already was.

"It still stands, you possess magic, and you work for the King."

"I work for Arthur," Merlin snapped automatically, this time not even prompted by the truth elixir.

"Same thing," Morgause said, waving her hand flippantly.

"No, it's not the same thing. And if you and your sister weren't dumber than a box of rocks, you'd know it," Merlin growled. Hmm. Interesting. The potion reacted differently to anger. Maybe they'd stay on this topic. He glanced over at Arthur, who was standing at the bars of the cell, using them to hold himself up. There was a peculiar look on his face, that Merlin had never seen before. Sort of a mixture of surprise, confusion, and perhaps pride? Merlin wasn't sure who that last emotion was directed at, because he was pretty sure he hadn't done anything to warrant it. Unless Arthur was proud that he was being a general ass about answering questions. Morgause's temper had apparently reached its limits, and she backhanded with with surprising force, snapping Merlin's head to the side.

"Ouch," Merlin couldn't help himself. "You still hit like a girl."

Morgause raised her hand again as if to strike once more when a strange, contemplative look washed over her. "You know, boy, I think we've managed to go about this the wrong way."

"There's a right way to torture? Because I've been through a lot of it, and it's like the 'to-may-to, to-mah-to' argument." Merlin snarked.

"Do you ever shut up?" Morgause growled.

Both Merlin and Arthur answered simultaneously, "No."

Morgause shot a withering scowl over at the Prince who merely shrugged. "What? He doesn't."

Morgause ignored the Prince and focused again on the warlock. "So. Merlin. Like I said. We've gotten out on the wrong foot. How about instead of specifics you tell me what you know."

Merlin stiffened visibly at the words, and he had a vague sense like the words were actually imbued with a small amount of magic to make him want to suddenly spout off everything he knew.

Merlin tried to keep his mouth shut, he really did. But it was like every thought in his head was suddenly screaming to get out all at once.

Or worse.

Like everything he'd ever wanted to tell Arthur over the last three years suddenly became too much to keep to himself.

Merlin's eyes snapped towards Arthur, and saw that the Prince recognized there was something different in how Morgause's words affected him.

"Arthur, I'm sorry," Merlin said, suddenly desperate to make the other boy understand he couldn't help what he said anymore. "Please don't be angry."

"Merlin," Morgause repeated, a little more forcefully. Yes, there was definitely a tinge of magical power behind her words, making them impossible to ignore. "Tell me what you know."

Merlin was biting compulsively at the bottom of his lip, rocking slightly to and fro as much as his bindings would allow. But no matter what he wanted, the potion was powerful enough to bend even his stubborn will.

"I know a lot of things," Merlin bit out, obviously trying to stop himself even as he spoke. "I know what really happened to Ygraine. I know what happened to the Dragon Lords. Most of them anyway. I know who the Black Knight was, and I know what sword destroyed him. I know Uther is Morgana's father, and you think that if you kill Arthur, your sister will be sitting on the crown, which means I also know you're an idiot. I know who set the Great Dragon loose. I know who killed Nimueh. I know a lot of things that I shouldn't."

"And how do you know of such things, Merlin?" Morgause practically purred in his ear.

"I'm nosy."

Arthur snorted at that one.

"Perhaps I should be more specific, boy. How do you know who set the Great Dragon loose?"

Merlin summoned whatever part of his will that wasn't being squashed by the magic of the potion and Morgause's words and fought not to say anything. His lips were already bleeding, and so was his tongue from where he kept biting them. It still wasn't enough.

"Because it was me who set him loose," Merlin bit out, staring at the ground in front of him. Anywhere but at Arthur's face. "And I was the one who sought its help in forging the sword to defeat the Black Knight. I was the one who ordered the Great Dragon to leave Camelot in peace. I was the one others confided all their secrets to. And I was the one who called down the lightning that killed Nimueh where she stood. Just like I plan to do to you."

On the last sentence, Merlin made sure to make eye contact with Morgause, so she knew exactly how serious he was.

Morgause's smile became practically predatory as her eyes narrowed wickedly. "Merlin " she said in a sing-song voice. "Are you saying you have magic?"

Chapter Text

Merlin wanted to blurt out "yes, dammit, I can do magic. And a sight better than you can." But he really, really didn't want Arthur finding out that way. Instead, he turned to Arthur, who was still gripping onto the bars of his cell as if his life depended on it.

"Arthur!" he pleaded. "Ask me something! Anything unimportant!"

Arthur, to his credit realized what his servant was up to, and with only a beat worth of pause, he asked, "What's your favorite color?"

"Blue!" Merlin said, and that horrible urge to spout off all the Morgause wanted to know disappeared. Of course, now it was replaced with the urge to describe the exact shade of blue that he preferred, but still. Better than "I am an all powerful but poorly trained warlock!"

"Arthur, shut up," Morgause demanded. "Merlin, do you possess magic?" she repeated.

"What day is laundry day?" Arthur asked immediately, and smirked at the scathing glare the blonde woman shot his way.

"Tuesday. Not that you ever remember it, clotpole," Merlin said, unable to help the smile that was now plastered on his face.

Morgause looked ready to explode, and Merlin could see them begin to spark gold, before she inhaled deeply, exhaling slowly. Trying to maintain her composure. Merlin was an expert at pushing people to their limits.

"Arthur, be silent, or I will remove your tongue," Morgause said quietly.

Arthur simply folded his arms, looking slightly better than when he originally woke, but his color was still a white shade of pale. Merlin doubted it was out of fear, but probably from standing with a considerable head wound. "Merlin, how many stairs to the castle from the courtyard?"

Merlin scoffed. "As if I count. Though a lot. At least, it seems that way when I'm running late, which is more often than not, which is really none of your business, except that I work for you, but you know, you really should be able to wake yourself up at this point in your life. Maybe I should just find you a rooster and leave it in the wardrobe. Or better yet, rig a bell that I can ring from my room so you can hear it in yours so I don't have to get up at the crack of dawn anymore. Really, take your pick."

Morgause suddenly smiled. Merlin wanted to cringe, because that was so not good on so many levels. He didn't really want to think about them.

"Arthur," she started, suddenly turning towards the Prince, and Arthur looked just as surprised as Merlin did when she addressed him instead of Merlin. "Perhaps you might want to stop interrupting."

Arthur jutted out his chin defiantly, and Merlin was struck by the thought that Arthur looked like a child ignoring the directive to go to bed when told. "And why would I want to do anything that, Morgause? Why on Earth would I want to help you with anything?"

"Because this might be your only chance to hear the truth from your servant," Morgause purred.

Uh oh.

"Think about it, Arthur. He's already admitted to defeating the dragon and killing Nimueh. What else do you think he might've done?" Morgause asked. "He might be a sorcerer, living underneath your nose all these years. Wouldn't you want to know exactly what he's been up to when you're not watching?"

Merlin didn't look at Morgause when she spoke, but he kept his gaze on Arthur. The Prince looked like his will was faltering, and Merlin could see the niggling doubt start to creep in. Merlin couldn't blame him – he was terrible at subterfuge, and the only reason why Arthur never accused him of magic was probably just because he always appeared so much less competent than any sorcerer they'd run into. At anything. Maybe Arthur was beginning to wonder exactly what it was that his manservant was up to that made him lie in the first place…

Arthur chewed the bottom of his lip for a moment, obviously considering it, before his eyes hardened into a glare. "It doesn't matter. I've never seen Merlin do anything, EVER, which could be misconstrued as evil. Hell, I can't even imagine him doing something mean. He has issues catching mice in traps and hates going hunting even if it's how we get food. Whether he can perform magic or not, it's of no difference to me. I trusted him with my life before, and I see no reason to change that now."

Merlin could feel his jaw drop even as Arthur faced off with Morgause. If Arthur really did feel that way, maybe the truth wouldn't be so bad if he found out for sure?

Then Arthur smiled. "But really, I think you've just scrambled his brains a little too badly for him to be able to tell up from down, never mind fact or fiction. For all I know, what you shoved down his throat is just something to make him babble worse than before. Really, I think you're giving him entirely too much credit."

Figures, Merlin thought. Even when I practically confess to being a warlock, he still thinks I'm being an idiot…

"And now that you've addled his mind, he's useless to me. I demand a replacement," Arthur said haughtily. "I'll prove it. Merlin, do you enjoy polishing my armor?"

Merlin burst out laughing. "If my other option is to stab myself in the eye with an arrow, maybe."

Arthur looked back at Morgause, one eyebrow quirked as if obviously this proved his point. "See? I know for a fact that's his favorite hobby. He'd be lost without it."

Morgause actually stamped her foot in outrage, screaming in frustration. "ENOUGH! GUARDS! See to it they cannot leave!" With that, she stormed out of the room, the door slamming shut behind her.

"Can't leave?" Merlin echoed. "I really hope that's not something permanent she's suggesting…"

"Shut up, Merlin," Arthur said quietly.

"I really don't think I can," Merlin answered honestly, without prompting from the potion.

One of the guards approached him, and Merlin tried to lean back, away from him, even though the chair obviously wasn't going anywhere.

"Are you right handed or left handed?" the guard asked patiently.

"Right," Merlin blurted out. Stupid truth potion…

"Thought so." And with that, the guard drew a stiletto from his belt and impaled Merlin's right hand to the chair, driving straight through the appendage and deep into the wood.

Merlin was too shocked to even scream at the sudden agony engulfing his hand as his fingers scrabbled uselessly against the arm of the chair and he rocketed forwards. All that escaped was a strangled "Mmph" as he bit down on his lip hard to enough to restart the bleeding.

Arthur was yelling something, and the guards merely laughed before exiting through the same door Morgause disappeared through, and the Prince and the warlock were left alone again.

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, banging uselessly on the bars to his cell. "Merlin, answer me!"

Merlin gritted his teeth and put on a wavering smirk. "Ow."

Arthur sagged in relief, and then it seemed like he literally deflated, sliding down the bars until he was sitting on the cold ground. His already pale skin was looking a little ashen, tinged with green around the edges.

"Really?" Merlin teased, though his voice was strained. "You're going to faint at the sight of blood like a little girl?"

Arthur smiled bitterly. "It's the smell," he replied testily, and Merlin had to concede the point. Head injuries were bad enough, but with really bad ones powerful odors seemed to make you sick much, much faster.

"Sorry," Merlin said, and meant it. He just didn't elaborate why he felt sorry.

Unfortunately, without even meaning to, Arthur said something that made Merlin answer what Morgause couldn't coax out of him.

"What do you have to be sorry for?" Arthur asked, obviously rhetorically.

Truth potions didn't discriminate between rhetorical and actual questions.

"I'm sorry I accidentally brought the roof down on you too. I was really just aiming for Morgause and Cenred, but my aim isn't always the best. I'm sorry I didn't manage to get you out before Morgause captured us both and brought us down here. I'm sorry you're stuck in a cage, and we have no way of getting out now. I'm sorry Morgause shoved that stupid potion down my throat because if I had my way, I wouldn't be telling you any of this because I really just want to get out of here alive and not have you look at me like you're looking at me now like I'm a freak or a liar or an imbecile or dangerous or any of those other things you're thinking and I really, really am sorry I can't shut up right now so if you could really just say anything to stop me, that would be fantastic because I don't think this is wearing off as fast as I want it to-"

"Merlin!" Arthur shouted, and Merlin's tirade came to a halt, too late to be of any help but at least he wasn't still blathering.

"Merlin," Arthur repeated, suspicion beginning to creep into his tone. "Can you…actually do magic?"

Aw crap.

Chapter Text

"That is so not fair!" Merlin protested. "I can't believe after four bloody years of keeping myself to myself, Morgause tortures me and I still managed to keep it to myself! How is it that you go and ask one bloody, stupid question and I blurt out everything?" Merlin shouted. "Just bloody brilliant!"

"You're serious?" Arthur said. "You're a sorcerer? I was joking when I said it!"

"I'm a warlock!" Merlin corrected automatically.

"Since when?" Arthur demanded.

"Since always, you bloody idiot," Merlin grumbled. "I'm kind of surprised you never noticed."

Arthur chuckled, albeit bitterly, from his position on the floor. "Who says I didn't?"

Merlin blinked, before shaking his head. "I'm sorry, I think the potion and the pain are affecting my hearing. What did you just say?"

"Well, I never would've guessed warlock, but I wasn't so oblivious I never noticed how you always disappeared right before something miraculous or ridiculous happened and showed up again right after something failed to kill me...again," Arthur said tiredly. "Give me a little credit."

Merlin might've been dumbstruck under normal conditions, but right now between the flaring agony in his head, his aching head, and that stupid potion, he plowed on. "Give you credit? YOU? What credit do you deserve? You swing your sword around and give orders and you're the savior of the land! I, on the other hand, keep you from getting killed every week by everything from fairies to dragons to your own family members and I get NOTHING!" Merlin bit his lip and shook his head. "No, wait, sorry, that sounds bitter. Maybe because it is. Just a bit. But really, you shouldn't expect any less with this potion thing that Morgause decided to create. I really don't like her. And I really don't like your sister very much right now either. Can't believe you do, but she's your family, I suppose it's harder to see her as evil like that, I mean you followed after your father and he's a monster and ARTHUR SAY SOMETHING!"

"Why did you save me?" Arthur asked, quietly, interrupting the tirade. There was no trace of accusation in the Prince's voice, no judgement for what Merlin just blurted out.

Merlin's mouth snapped shut, and he glanced over at his friend. Arthur still looked pale, and slightly green around the edges thanks to the head wound, but the look on his face was…the closest thing to tragic Merlin had ever seen. He knew the Prince better than almost anyone – Arthur didn't really have the luxury of friends. He had his family (who left a lot to be desired as far as Merlin was concerned), he had his knights, and he had alliances. Other than Merlin, Arthur didn't really have anyone to talk to. And worse than that, it wasn't like people went out of their way to do just that – most of the people Arthur had a relationship with eventually tried to kill him. Now he was discovering the closest thing he had to a friend was claiming to be the very thing he was taught to hate and fear his entire life.

He was too stunned to even really answer.

"Why, Merlin? Since you seem to be in such a talkative mood, why do you do the things you do?" Arthur asked, more insistently this time.

Merlin's mouth struggled to work, and he stared helplessly at his friend. It wasn't that he didn't want to tell the truth. He just couldn't figure out how.

"That's a really, really big question," Merlin finally choked out. "I don't think you could even understand what you're asking me. But I can tell you this – I never lied to you, Arthur. When I told you that you would be the greatest king this land has ever seen, I meant it. If I told you I believed in you, I did. If I said I trusted you, I would. Blindly. I see what you are, and what you're going to be…and oh, Arthur…if only you could see in yourself what I see in you…you would never question yourself again."

The two sat in silence for what seemed like an eternity, and Merlin was seriously concerned that he'd managed to completely destroy any connection he might have to the other boy. Arthur remained silent, staring steadfastly at the floor as if it was the most fascinating thing in the world, throat bobbing as he swallowed convulsively.

"Why didn't you tell me?" Arthur asked, his voice rough.

Merlin rolled his eyes, pretty much the only part of him currently capable of movement. "Really? You're that thick?" he asked incredulously. "You're Arthur. Prince of Camelot, and oh, look at that – son of magic hating tyrant Uther Pendragon. Yeah. Telling you seemed like a really smart thing to do. I may not like working for you all the time, but that doesn't mean I prefer to wind up as an extra crispy filet in front of the castle, thankyouverymuch."

And the moment was over. Everything was back to the way it should be – except that pesky part about still being captives in a dungeoun with no one to come back for help. Well, maybe once Gwen got back to Camelot…but Uther could be days in getting a party together.

"So wait, if you went toe to toe with all those other wizards and magicians and apparently a dragon, how come you're always blundering about like an idiot?" Arthur asked.

"Better to be thought a fool than to open your mouth and tell your boss 'I'm a warlock' when magic is outlawed in your current residence," Merlin snapped. "Do you have any idea how annoying…how horrible it is? To be more powerful than any man you know and have to live like a shadow? To be special…and have to pretend you're a fool?" Merlin shook his head. "At least you get to let people know you're a prince."

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "You're the most powerful wizard out there, and you live as a servant? In Camelot no less. There's the rest of the world out there that still tolerates magic."

"Warlock, I don't use a wand." Merlin frowned. "Why don't you leave with Gwen and live like you always want to?"

Arthur crossed his arms, something akin to a pout forming on his face. "It's not the same thing. I have duties, responsibilities…you're a farmboy from Ealdor. There's nothing tying you here."

Merlin smiled at that. "You can be really, really stupid sometimes, you know that? Why would I leave? All my friends are here. I have a job…admittedly, my boss is a bit of a prat and really bossy, but hey. Nobody's perfect. Camelot is my home now, and I have just as much of a right to defend it as you do, by any means possible."

Arthur let his head hang back as he laughed a little, his hands covering his face. "God, Merlin, you're just…"

"Amazing? Fantastic? Best friend you never knew you had? Adorable? Charming?" Merlin prattled.

"Unbelievable. I've seen knights train for years and when they go to battle, they turn and run. But you…my God, you're always right next to me. You almost never even have a weapon…not that you need it, apparently. You have no reason to stand at my side, and yet…you're the only one who deserves to."

Merlin coughed. "Thank God you're behind bars. I feel a moment coming on."

Arthur laughed again, then paused, his face screwing up in confusion. "Hang on."

Merlin glanced over, his own eyebrow raised. "What?"

"How come your magic doesn't work all the time?" Arthur demanded. "I thought you were supposed to be some sort of all powerful warlock? Why can't you get us out of here right now?"

Merlin shot the prince a withering scowl. "A self-taught all powerful warlock, thank you. In a kingdom where I can't practice as much as I'd like. I can say the words all I want, but if I haven't got a clue what I'm actually doing, the magic doesn't either. That's why it usually takes a minute for me to rescue you. Not like there's an overabundance of warlocks to ask clarification on some rather obscure spells."

"Perfect. So not only are you a useless servant to me, but your magic is a useless servant to you," Arthur said, throwing up his arms.

"Magic isn't a servant. It's a tool. You can know what a hammer is supposed to do, but if you've never built something before, it's rather difficult to just wing it and expect to come up with a castle," Merlin pointed out.

"So how did you learn?" Arthur asked.

"From the Great Dragon. A little, anyways. And someone gave me a book when I first arrived, hoping I might get something out of it. Mostly what I do best though, I didn't learn."

"What do you mean, you didn't learn magic?" Arthur said. "I thought everyone had to study it in order to use it. It was…optional."

Merlin shrugged, and hissed when his hand pulled against the blade. "I was born with magic. I never had to learn anything. I could make things explode, or catch falling objects out of thin air, or slow down time, or this one time, I swear I could make myself fly."

"Have you ever run into anyone else like that? Someone who didn't have to study magic in order to use it?" Arthur pried.

Merlin shook his head. "Not really. Even Morgause learned it from the Druid high priestesses that raised her."

Arthur was quiet for a moment. "Were you ever going to tell me? You know, of your own will instead of truth potion that makes you babble even worse than you usually do?"

For some stupid, asinine reason, the potion suddenly seared forwards again and Merlin couldn't help reverting back to blathering idiot. "Do you have any idea how many times I wanted to tell you? Every time you went and did something stupid and I had to save you, I wanted to shout at you that the only reason you were alive was because of me. Every time you said magic was evil and had to be destroyed, every time your father spoke of the Great Purge – how do you think I felt? You were basically saying I was a villain, that it was inevitable that I would destroy Camelot. You were talking about killing people that might have been my family members in front of me. I don't mind when you look at me like I'm an idiot or a fool or just plain strange – if I did, I would've left years ago. I domind when you look at me like I've stabbed you in the back, like the only reason I never told you was because secretly I was planning on turning on you like everyone else has instead of maybe I just didn't want to die. Not everyone uses magic to hurt people."

"But have you hurt people with your magic?"

Really, Arthur? Merlin had just enough time to think before more words tumbled out, and for the first time since Morgause was in the room, he really, really didn't want to say. "None that didn't deserve it. Aredian had dozens, if not more, people executed on false charges of witchcraft. He would've killed Gaius, then come after me and others. Edwin, that healer a couple years ago – he tried to kill Morgana and Uther, and then he tried to kill me. Your troll of a stepmother, any number of assassins that came after you or those I loved and I hate myself for it but I would do it all again if it meant that you would live and- ARG!" Merlin finally stopped himself by pulling forcefully against the stilletto impaling his hand, and the sheer, white and blinding hot pain shut his brain down temporarily.

"MERLIN!" Arthur's voice finally broke through the agony, and it sounded like he'd called him more than once. "Merlin! Answer me!"

Blood was running once more over the top of his hand and soaking into the wood of the chair and Merlin felt a little sick looking at it. "Please don't make me do that again, Arthur. We were having such a nice conversation…"

Arthur didn't say anything, and Merlin finally looked up to see what had the prince suddenly so quiet.

"What an interesting story, Merlin," Morgause purred, standing just inside the door, a catlike smirk on her face. "Almost like a fairy tale. Tell me, what else do you want to tell the Prince?" The door opened a little more, and Morgana stood beside the blonde, sharing the same smile and air of superiority. "Or my sister?"

Chapter Text

"Yes, Merlin," Morgana said, pronouncing it the way her brother often did. It didn't hold quite the same meaning. It just sounded scornful and bitter. "Perhaps you would like to mention what you did to me?"

"I didn't do anything you didn't deserve," Merlin growled, then smiled. It was an almost feral smile, one that didn't belong on his face.

Arthur felt purposely left out of the conversation, and for once didn't try to butt in. His brain was at half speed already, and he was at the limit for surprises with Merlin's apparent confession as a warlock…but Morgause being Morgana's sister?

Of course, he immediately wondered by which parent she was a half, because he didn't think he could take any more sisters trying to kill him, and wished he was an only child like his father always said.

"Merlin, where did this sudden willfulness come from?" Morgana said, mockingly sweet. "You act like I was the one who did something wrong instead of you."

Merlin glared at the brunette and Arthur felt the temperature in the dungeon drop several degrees. Maybe it was just his imagination that he saw a flicker of gold in Merlin's eyes when he looked at Morgana, but knowing what he did now…he wouldn't want Merlin looking at him like that.

"I didn't do anything wrong," Merlin said, and the not so subtle anger from before was back. It was just…bizarre to see calm, peaceful Merlin building a quiet rage against his sister. Possibly sisters at this point, but he really, really, really hoped it was on Morgana's mother's side and not their father's…

"You poisoned me!" Morgana shouted. "I was your friend and you tried to kill me!"

"I HAD TO!" Merlin shouted back, blue eyes narrowed and his jaw set firmly. "It was you, or Camelot. One life or a thousand. And if you were really meant to rule, if you were truly meant to sit on the throne of Camelot, you wouldn't dare question why I did it! If your sister hadn't used you as the anchor for the spell, then I wouldn't have ever done anything to you! But she did, and I do not regret anything I have done. Except let you live a second time," Merlin spat out. "Complain all you want about it being unfair, but you're the one who gave me a truth potion. Arthur should be king, and he will be. The throne will never be yours."

Whoa. Throwback. Is that what happened? Merlin…killed Morgana? No. It was impossible. Merlin had issues trapping mice and squashing spiders.

"Merlin," Arthur interrupted Merlin before he could respond. His servant turned his fever bright eyes to him, and Arthur felt his heart drop. Merlin looked so…guilty.

"So it's true then," Arthur said quietly, suddenly grateful he was already sitting. "You really tried to kill my sister?"

Merlin looked down at his hand, unable to meet Arthur's eyes, but not before Arthur noticed the pained expression. It wasn't something Merlin was proud of, but according to the potion, he didn't regret it.

"I was trying to save Camelot," Merlin said, just as quietly. "Everything I have ever done…it was all to save Camelot. To save you, Arthur. Morgause used Morgana as an anchor for her spell that brought the Knights of Medhir to life. While you were fighting, I poisoned the water Morgana drank so the spell would break. The kingdom would be safe. One life," he repeated, "for a thousand."

"But you still used your magic for evil," Morgana said, raising her chin in triumph. "You who work for the prince of Camelot have killed with your magic."

"In defense of my home," Merlin snarled, uninjured hand clenching into a fist. "Why is it that knights can use swords for the same purpose and they're hailed as heroes? I use magic to help. Or in defense of myself and those I love. What do you use yours for? Destruction. Fear. Hate. Do not even begin to compare us. Arthur can hate me all he wants, but I'm not going anywhere. I swore my life to him, and I will not be made to feel ashamed for it."

Arthur felt his chest constrict. Merlin spoke so passionately about Camelot. And no matter how hard he tried to picture Merlin as the face of all the horror stories his father told him of life before the Great Purge, he couldn't do it. No one could stand in defiance of a kingdom and use magic to repeatedly save it when they knew that if their true nature was ever discovered…they'd be executed.

The thought struck Arthur as harshly as a physical blow. It didn't matter if Merlin had magic, but because he did, it proved more than words at the compulsion of a potion of where his loyalties truly lay. Every time Merlin saved Camelot, he put his life on the line. Not just in battle, which he'd done more than most knights, but every time he used magic he knew it could be the end of him. But he did it anyway, time and time again. Merlin had lived in Camelot for years now…how many times had he saved it without ever a word of thanks or praise?

The most powerful man in the kingdom…living as a shadow. As his best friend.

Oh, Merlin…

"I am the rightful queen! I'm the eldest child, the throne falls to me!" Morgana shouted, sounding dangerously close to a temper tantrum.

And like a switch was thrown, Merlin's anger was gone. His mouth twisted in a grim little smile, and he shook his head. "You're not even a whole Pendragon by your own admission. What right do you have to their throne?" The question was so quiet Arthur barely heard him, but it still earned a vicious backhand from Morgause, the blow snapping his head to the side.

"Think carefully about your next words, sorcerer," the blonde hissed. "And so the respect due."

There was a very long pause, and Arthur suspected that the potion was wearing off. Or perhaps it simply took him longer to answer if he wasn't actively fighting it.

"I think at one time, you may have made a great queen," Merlin said quietly. Now he sounded…sad. "When you saw that Uther's brutality would only create more enemies. But instead of learning from him, you chose to copy him. From one extreme to the other. You really are your father's daughter."

"You speak against Uther and yet you still serve the Pendragon name," Morgause said. "A little hypocritical don't you think?"

"I serve Arthur. Not the Pendragons," Merlin said vehemently.

"And what makes Arthur so different from the others? What separates him from Uther?" Morgana asked. "He hates magic just as much as the others. As much as his father."

Merlin shook his head, a rueful grin spreading across his face. "No. No, he doesn't. And the two of you are too blind to see it." Merlin raised his eyes to Morgause. "You might have had a chance, when you conjured that image of his mother, or spirit, or whatever she was. If you hadn't used the one chance he would ever have to speak to her as a weapon, you could've changed his mind completely. But you didn't think if that. You wanted chaos in the realm, and you wanted Uther dead. It didn't matter to you if you'd just driven Arthur to kill his father."

"With Uther dead, and Arthur too sick with grief to function, we could've taken kingdom," Morgause insisted. "We could've brought the Old Ways back to Camelot. We would be free from persecution. We wouldn't have to hide anymore about what we are."

"Or you could've gone somewhere else," Merlin suggested. "Camelot can't be the only habitable place in the world. It's the only place I know of where magic is outlawed. Or, you know, you could exercise some patience and just wait for the man to die. He's not exactly young."

"Watch it, Merlin," Arthur admonished out of reflex, and was glad he did when he saw the smile on Merlin's face, even if it was a ghost of its former self.

"You suggest I abandon my home and my birthright?" Morgana hissed. "I want what is rightfully mine, what is owed me."

"Camelot doesn't owe you a damn thing after you tried to destroy it!"

All three heads turned to Arthur, who finally managed to regain his feet. He looked pale, and a little green from the head injury, but defiant. "You have no right to call a place you would lay siege to your home, Morgana. You're not supposed to conquer your own people, you're meant to lead them. Being king shouldn't be about exerting force over others, but using your power to help them when they cannot help themselves. Merlin has more of a right to the throne than you do!"

After a beat of stunned silence, Merlin suddenly piped up with, "Oh no. I would make a terrible king. I can't even keep my room straight, never mind a kingdom."

"I didn't say you'd be good at it, just better than Morgana," Arthur said, glaring down his older half-sister.

"Fair point," Merlin said, mouth curving into an obnoxious grin. "But really, that bar is set awfully low."

Arthur looked to Morgana's face and realized they'd just pushed too far, completely forgetting what the two women were capable of. Her eyes narrowed hatefully, and without warning grabbed both side of Merlin's face, her nails digging into his skin and leaving crimson crescents on pale flesh.

"You think so little of me, servant?" Morgana said. "Allow me to show you your future, Merlin. No matter what you do, no matter how hard you try to stop me, I will overcome. I will conquer. And Camelot will…be…mine."

Merlin stiffened on the last three words, his fingers digging gouges into the wood of the chair as his eyes shut against Morgana's piercing gaze. Morgana's eyes flashed gold for a brief moment, and there was a small gasp from Merlin.

And then he began to scream.

Chapter Text

Merlin wasn't in the dungeon anymore. He wasn't sitting in a chair, tied down and impaled, though his hand still bled freely.

They were on a battlefield. The sky burned above them, thick plumes of black smoke choking out the dying sun. He could smell ash and death and the acrid taste of burning hair made him gag. Banners of Pendragon red and gold and Cenred's black and red flapped in the wind, torn and scorched to barely more than rags. Bodies of men and horses alike scattered across the ground, the dead indistinguishable from the wounded.

Arthur stood beside him, blood smeared across his face and sweat trickling down his brow, but looking relatively unharmed in all of the carnage.

"I'm not sure if this battle is won or lost," Arthur said mildly, panting slightly. Excalibur hung loosely in his hand, coated in blood from the battle.

Merlin looked around again, and realized where they were standing. They weren't on a field at all – they were in the shattered ruins of Camelot's courtyard. The castle was all but destroyed, part of the tower missing, the fires still burning throughout the halls. Most of the wall was gone, and beyond it, Merlin couldn't see any remains of the town.

Everything was destroyed.

"What about your father? Gaius?" Merlin asked. "Are they still alive?"

Arthur gave him a worried look, raising an eyebrow. "My father was one of the first to fall in Morgause's attack, you know that. And I'm afraid Gaius was struck down tending to the wounded. The only ones left are a few scattered knights and the two of us."

"The townspeople?" Merlin said softly. "Did any survive?"

Arthur's lips curved into a tired but pleased smile. "We managed to evacuate them before the fighting started. The castle may be destroyed, but Camelot's people live." His smile disappeared and his face turned grave. "Merlin, you fought with the courage of twenty knights. I owe my life to you." The prince, now the king, held his hand out for Merlin.

Merlin stared in shock for a moment before tentatively putting his hand out as well. Arthur grasped it firmly, and suddenly pulled Merlin into a one armed brotherly hug. "We did it, Merlin. Both of us, together."

Merlin was stunned. Other than when Arthur was dying, he very rarely demonstrated physical affection. Merlin's free hand came up to rest on Arthur's shoulder. The relief that they were both alive an unharmed despite the wreckage was almost tangible and Merlin could feel the well of tears threatening to come free. He drew in a shaky breath, and squeezed his eyes shut.

The world was on fire, but it didn't matter – he still had his best friend, the kingdom still had a king, and the city would be rebuilt.

"Come on then, no time for weeping like a girl, Mer-" there was a strangled gasp before Arthur could finish his sentence, and Merlin felt him shudder, hands gripping painfully tight.

Merlin's eyes flew open, and felt his heart stop. Morgana stood a hairsbreadth away from him, smiling cruelly.

"Victory, dear brother, is mine," she hissed, and twisted the knife in Arthur's spine.

Arthur screamed in pain, and his legs collapsed beneath him, the bulk of his weight dragging Merlin down with him.

The knife jarred painfully in Arthur's back as the two hit the ground, Merlin's legs hitting painfully on his knees in the rubble, but holding tight enough that they stayed on their knees instead of falling on their face.

"Arthur?" Merlin said, leaning back so he could see Arthur's face. "Arthur?" he repeated, and regretted that his voice cracked on the last syllable.

This wasn't happening. Arthur was going to be fine. He was always fine. He would live.

Merlin's fingers found the knife in his king's back, driven up to the hilt in his spine, just below his shoulder blades. When he pulled his hand away, it was coated in blood.

"You're going to be fine," Merlin said, attempting to smile. Arthur's face was ashen gray, the light slowly fading from his eyes. "Don't go, Arthur," Merlin commanded, squeezing Arthur closer, as if he could simply will his friend to live.

Arthur's lips moved against Merlin's ear, and Merlin strained to hear the words barely above a whisper.

"I don't…want to…die," Arthur gasped.

"You're not going to die," Merlin said defiantly. "You can't die," he said, pulling away from Arthur so he could see his face again. Blood tinged his teeth, and a slow trickle of crimson slid down one corner of his mouth. But the look of absolute desperation in Arthur's eyes made Merlin's heart stutter. He'd never seen the prince afraid, not openly like this. He looked more like a lost little boy than the king of Albion.

Arthur's breathing was speeding up, but growing more shallow and ragged.

"No, Arthur, don't go," Merlin whispered. "Don't go, not now…it can't end this way." His voice took on the desperation he could plainly see in Arthur's face. "Don't go where I can't follow," he pleaded, touching his forehead to Arthur's.

But no matter what Merlin said, he could do nothing. Nothing but watch as Arthur's blue eyes widened for a moment, one last shuddering breath and he lay still, eyes glassy and vacant staring at nothing.

Arthur was gone.

His friend. His king. His brother….gone.

A scream of pure desolation and loss, like a wounded animal, echoed across the battlements. It took a moment to realize it was coming from him.

"The king is dead," Morgana said, not moved from her former position, standing over them. Morgause was now at her side, clad in her normal red and silver dress. The two women looked unfazed by the carnage, untouched by the blood and the smoke.

"Long live the Queen," Morgause said, smiling.

"This is your future, Merlin. I will lay waste to all you hold dear. Camelot will be destroyed – I need not rule from an ivory tower. Arthur will die, and so will everyone you have ever cared about. And you will be alone to watch the wreckage. I'll make sure of that," Morgana said, kneeling beside the two friends. "You can't stop me, Merlin. Nobody can. Arthur will never sit on the throne of Camelot, and your dream of Albion will die with him."

Merlin ignored her, holding tight to the body of his friend, unaware he'd started slowly rocking back and forth.

"Aww, sister, I think we broke him," Morgause tutted, false sympathy dripping from her voice. "He looks like he lost his best friend."

"Oh wait, he did," Morgana said sweetly.

And something in Merlin snapped.

He was not a violent person. It wasn't in his nature. Perhaps because of the nature of his magic, but he couldn't bring himself to willingly harm another living creature. He rescued spiders from the kitchen staff, baby squirrels fallen from trees, and birds with broken wings. Thoughts of violence were usually mild, and only extensive enough to cover self-defense.

Not this time.

A rage he'd never felt before washed over him like an ocean wave, consuming every thought, every desire, every part of his soul. Anger at the sisters for destroying the place he called home, the loss of all he held dear, the knowledge that his friend was gone from this world forever washed any thoughts of mercy from his mind.

"I will break you," Merlin growled, meeting the gaze of Morgana and Morgause. He could feel himself pulling magic from all around him, summoning it to him from the earth, the sky, the river, the very air around him. He knew beyond the shadow of a doubt that he was going to destroy the two priestesses.

And he was going to enjoy it.

"What do you plan to do to us, Merlin?" Morgana said coyly. "It's just you against two high priestesses of the Old Religion. How are you going to stop us?"

"I am a creature born of magic. The last of the Dragon lords. I could wield magic before I could speak a full sentence with nothing but a thought. I have defended against the oldest and most powerful magic in the realm and walked away the victor."

As he spoke, the clouds began to thicken, rolling black thunder clouds across the skies, blocking the waning sun. Bright streaks of lightning split the air, the atmosphere crackling around them. The wind picked up, turning from hot and tepid breeze to frozen gales that whipped their clothing about them. Lightning struck the ground, splitting the stone beneath it and allowing the river to rise, rushing across the flagstones as if it had a mind of its own.

Very real fear showed on the sisters' faces, as they turned doubtful looks to each other. Perhaps they'd finally realized the error of their ways. That perhaps this was a step too far, and they couldn't take it back.

Too fucking bad, Merlin thought hatefully.

"You shouldn't wonder how I'm going to stop you," he said, gazing thoughtfully at the sky. "You should wonder how you're going to survive me."

At first Arthur thought Merlin was screaming in pain when Morgana grabbed his face and dug her nails in. But that wasn't bad enough to warrant screaming like that. It hit him suddenly, what that sound was, pained and agonized like someone had just destroyed his very soul. It was loss. Pure, devastating and horrible loss. What in hell could make Merlin scream like that?

That sound would haunt Arthur for nights to come.

"Get away from him!" Arthur demanded, launching himself ineffectually against the door of his cell. "What are you doing to him?"

"She's making sure your servant sees the error of his ways. That no matter how much he wants to stop us, it's going to be for nothing. We will overcome. Camelot will be ours," Morgause said, sounding bored.

Morgana suddenly twitched, her head jerking to the side as if she'd been struck, the cocky cat-like smile turning to a frown.

"Sister," she cried, suddenly releasing her hold on Merlin, her face twisted in agony. Her fingers were bright red and shiny, as if burned.

Merlin continued to scream, but it took a different pitch. It was no longer that horrible, gut wrenching sound of utter devastation. It turned to anger – hot, blazing rage that made goose bumps appear and a shudder go down his spine. It wasn't so much a scream anymore so much as a roar like the great dragon.

"What is it?" Morgause asked Morgana, holding her sister upright. "What's happening?"

Morgana swallowed once, her eyes widened in fear. "We were wrong about him," she said, her voice shaking.

"Wrong?" Morgause and Arthur echoed.

The temperature in the room suddenly plummeted, their breath forming thin puffs of mist in the air. Frost began to creep up the side of the dungeon walls, and the torches quietly snuffed out, one by one, until the room fell into almost total darkness. Light filtered in thin streams through the high window in the back of Arthur's cell, providing just enough light to see the occupants.

"He doesn't use magic," Morgana said, her voice sounding dangerously close to tears. "He is magic."

Before either onlooker could question her meaning, Merlin's eyes flew open with a snarl.

Arthur had seen magic users before, had witnessed first-hand how their eyes flashed gold when uttering a spell.

It wasn't the case with Merlin. He eyes glowed, the golden light radiating demonically in the darkness.

"You think you know the meaning of sacrifice?" Merlin snarled in a voice Arthur didn't believe the thin young man could possibly have. If dragons could talk, they would sound like Merlin. It was several octaves lower than his normal voice, but it sounded of rolling thunder – reverberating in the stone room like the voice of the Devil himself.

"I will tear the flesh from your bones."

And suddenly Merlin wasn't tied to the chair anymore. The straps snapped in half under an invisible force. Without batting an eye Merlin stood, slowly pulling his hand up over the blade of the stiletto and freeing himself from the chair entirely. The blade slid free with a sickening wet pop, but Merlin didn't seem to notice what must have been agonizing pain.

"Merlin?" Arthur whispered.

His manservant didn't hear him. Those blazing golden eyes focused on Morgause and Morgana, the two women backing towards the door.

Morgana held her hands out in front of her, fingers curled as if they pained her, and Arthur could see the shiny redness to them, indicating a burn. Had Merlin done that? And what the hell did she mean by Merlin not having magic so much as being magic? Maybe Merlin wasn't exaggerating when he said he was the most powerful man alive.

The temperature dropped another ten degrees, and Arthur released his hold on the metal bars before his hands stuck to the frost.

"If you had simply left, Morgana…if you had simply walked away from something that was never yours to begin with, I would've let you. I would've never pursued you. I wouldn't have spared you a second thought, and you wouldn't even begin to understand how lucky you were. But no. You couldn't do that. Your pride, your anger…you couldn't walk away from all you thought you were owed."

The torchlight flickered, and when Morgause tried the door, it held fast and refused to budge, no matter the spells she flung at it.

They were just as trapped as Arthur.

The wind outside began to howl like the very Devil himself was outside the stone walls.

Merlin's next words chilled Arthur to his very bones.

"You could have even stayed in Camelot, if you'd only let it go. But you didn't. And if you hadn't killed Arthur…" Merlin choked on the words, the only emotion he'd expressed since Morgana grabbed him. Arthur had only a split second to marvel if that was what made Merlin howl like that…and that obviously Morgana tricked him somehow, since he was clearly still alive. "If you hadn't killed Arthur, I might've let you live."

The torches snuffed out, and the room was plunged into darkness blacker than pitch. Golden emissive eyes blazed in the shadows.

"But now I won't."

And then the world tore itself apart at the seams.

Chapter Text

Morgause squashed the panic rising up like bile in the back of her throat. She would not be cowed by a waif of a boy with no training. She was a high priestess of the Old Religion – the last of her kind, and the most powerful witch in ages. She could raise the dead, tear holes between this world and the next.

Merlin was a servant - a clumsy, if not obnoxiously capable of showing up in the right places at the right times, peasant.

She stepped between her sister and the warlock, raising her hand to perform the same spell she'd used on Arthur just that afternoon. It may be pitch black, but the inferno she was about to create would illuminate more than she needed.

In the dark, the golden glow of the warlock's eyes fixed on her, and Morgause fought the urge to shiver. Though his eyes were all she could see, she felt sure he was smiling at her.

"You are a stupid one," Merlin growled in the dragon's voice. "But isn't that what they say about blondes?"

Morgause snarled, and lifted her hand to send the flames towards the boy…but instead of incinerating him where he stood, it hit an invisible wall. Obviously he was shielding himself, but Merlin hadn't uttered a word. He hadn't moved his hands, or anything else. He simply stood there, completely unaffected by the heat and the fire.

And he was smiling at her.

"That's adorable," he said, then made an 'o' with his lips, and puffed gently on the fire as if putting out a candle.

Ice impossibly spread up the flames, and racing towards Morgause's arm. Out of instinct, she flinched her hand away, and the ice sculptured flame dropped to the ground, shattering on impact.

"You may be a high priestess, but you were still taught how to use magic. I could move things with just a thought before I could crawl."

As if to demonstrate, Merlin waved his hand as if batting a fly and the chair he was previously bound to went flying towards the sisters. It smashed above their heads, raining splinters down on their heads.

"To be perfectly honest, I've spent my whole life in hiding…I'm not even sure of what I am capable." Merlin didn't even bother to move his hand this time, but the air crackled with electricity, making Morgause's hair stand on end. "But the Great Dragon respected me, the Druids refer to me in prophecy and legend, and I am the only one of my kind…so I'm going to assume I can beat you so badly your name won't even be mentioned in the retelling of Camelot."

"Sister, we need to leave," Morgana hissed in her ear, pulling on the back of her dress.

"Leave? But we were having so much fun," Merlin said. "And it's not fair to leave before the other player gets to make a move."

There was a split second warning, the barest of movement of air, and Morgause dove to the side, dragging her sister down with her as the sheer force of Merlin's will smashed the dungeon wall behind them.

The guards who'd been clamoring at the door to help their mistresses were flung backwards into the rubble and debris that exploded outwards. They lay unmoving in the wreckage.

"Hmm. Missed," Merlin said idly from the shadows. The torches from the passage beyond the now ruined door cast a flickering yellow light across his pale features. If seeing him in the dark was disturbing enough with just those glowing yellow eyes, it was worse in the torchlight. "Don't run. You'll only die tired."

Merlin apparently only cared enough to partially shield himself from the damages – something caught him across the forehead, splitting his brow and causing blood to spread across one side of his face like war paint. The blood still dripped freely from his previously impaled hand, and he was smiling like this was a game of cat and mouse…and the mice were losing terribly.

Morgause raised her head from the rubble, shaking bits of stone and wood out of her hair and eyes, ignoring the throbbing pains that were undoubtedly turning to bruises even now.

"Sister?" she said, shaking Morgana's shoulder. Morgana didn't move. A cut above her brow and a lump on the back of her head just behind her ear had her down for the fight.

Morgause felt her temper blaze and her blood begin to boil. After years of planning, countless hours spent cultivating her talents, her resources; turning Cenred and the others to her plans…she would not be beaten by a farm boy from Ealdor. She didn't care how powerful he was, she hadn't really been trying.

Until now.

With a primal scream of rage, Morgause flung her hand out at the warlock, her eyes flashing gold as blast of sheer force hurdled towards Merlin.

"It doesn't matter how strong you think you are," Morgause shouted, sending another invisible blast towards the warlock, who actually put his hand up to block it this time. "Your king is dead! And you know it!"

Merlin's eyes flickered for a moment, and she saw the blue iris before the god-like gold returned.

Ah. I found a weak spot.

"You may have magic, but it couldn't save your king!" She flung another spout of fire at Merlin, who deflected it off to the side. "All that power, and you're still a failure!" She managed a lucky blow that spun Merlin to one side, forcing him to catch himself on the now destroyed bars of Arthur's cell.

"Know when you're beaten, Merlin," Morgause spat, raising her arms for another blow.

Merlin snarled, and with force she wouldn't have believed possible if she didn't witness it herself, flung her back against the wall, pinning her there like a trapped insect.

"Wise words from a silly little girl," Merlin snapped, slicing his hand through the air as if to cut it like a knife. There was a thundering crash, and the chamber was suddenly illuminated with the gray light of falling night. The wind howled through the dungeon where Merlin just swiped the roof off as easily as a cat batted a fly, and thunder rolled over head.

"Do you know what happened to the last high priestess who dared to try and take Camelot? Who thought she could defeat me?" Merlin snarled. "I warned you about how Nimueh died. Do you know what happens to a sorceress when they're struck by lightning?"

Morgause tried to pry herself loose from where she was pinned against the wall. Her face turned red from exertion, and her eyes bulged as Merlin's invisible grip tightened around her neck. Electricity filled the room, the hair on her arms standing on end, energizing the whole room in what felt like tangible anticipation of what he was about to do.

"Allow me to demonstrate."

"MERLIN, NO!"

Merlin and Morgause both turned at the sound of the voice, just as lightning split the air and hurtled towards Morgause…only to miss her and shoot harmlessly off towards the destroyed doorway.

Merlin hit the ground, unprepared for someone to physically attack him without magic, his head bouncing against the stone and sending stars across his vision.

Blue eyes met his, and Merlin couldn't help the smile, albeit bloodied and broken, that spread across his face. "Arthur?"

"Merlin, snap out of it! She's not worth it!" Arthur demanded, not releasing the hold he had on Merlin's shoulders.

Arthur would never admit this, but he was rather happy to be ignored the battle taking place in the confined area of the dungeon. With all of their attention focused on each other, they didn't notice when one of Morgause's deflected blows smashed aside a section of the bars to his cell.

At first, he wasn't sure what he should do, or if there was even anything for him to do – he already knew anything he was capable of was no match against magic, and Merlin seemed to be holding his own. Or rather, he seemed to be winning…in spectacular fashion. But as soon as he heard Merlin mention Nimueh, he flashed back to the interrogation when Merlin said he'd killed Nimueh with a bolt of lightning called down from the sky. He may have done it before, but Arthur was not about to let his gentle hearted servant kill to defend him, especially when Merlin believed him dead thanks to whatever sorcery Morgana used on him.

He tackled Merlin without considering he was probably just as likely to get killed as Morgause if Merlin attacked her with a bolt of lightning. He winced when he felt Merlin's head collide with the stone floor, bouncing bonelessly and causing his eyes to flicker.

When he opened them again, Merlin's own blue eyes looked back at him, and Arthur was relieved to not see a fleck of gold in them. But his pupils were blown wide and unevenly, and Arthur had seen enough and suffered enough head wounds to know that he'd probably just given his friend a concussion along with whatever spell or potion Morgause and Morgana used on him earlier. Oops.

"Arthur?" Merlin repeated, this time slurring the name drunkenly. "I'm sorry I couldn't save you. Wait for me and we'll both go home together."

Oh no…Arthur thought. Merlin still thought he was dead.

"Merlin, it's just a trick," he said. "It's just a magic trick! I'm fine! I'm safe! Don't do anything you're going to regret because of me."

Merlin scoffed breathlessly, raising his hand to ineffectually push at Arthur. "Who would regret squashing a spider?"

Arthur caught his friend's mangled hand, gently pulling it off his torn tunic. "You would." Merlin's gaze rolled back to his, and Arthur smiled. "You're an idiot if you think I would let you do this for me."

"Arthur?" Merlin repeated, and this time Merlin's hand came up to Arthur's face. Long, pale and bloodied fingers skimmed across his face, lightly touching everything as if to assure himself that the Arthur before him was real and alive.

"Yes, Merlin. I'm fine," Arthur assured.

Merlin's eyebrow quirked. "You don't look fine. You look terrible."

Arthur rolled his eyes. "Thank you. I'm sure I look better than you."

Merlin shook his head, rolling to one side to try and gain his feet. "Then I must be dying."

"Not yet, you aren't."

Morgause, freed from the invisible chains Merlin bound her to wall, stood only a few feet from them. Her dress was torn, and her face was bloodied and bruised as her blonde hair flew wildly about her face, loosed from its immaculate braids. She looked as mad on the outside as she was on the inside for once.

"This is more poetic, is it not?" Morgause hissed through bloodied teeth and split lips. "The golden prince and his pet warlock killed side by side. Brothers in arms and brothers in death." She raised her arm to deliver their killing blow, and Arthur refused to flinch, or look away from the sorceress.

Which is how Morgause didn't see Merlin call the fallen sword of one of the guards to Arthur's hand until the blade was already imbedded in her side. Her mouth formed a small 'o' of surprise as she stumbled in her attack.

"How's that for poetry, you bitch," Arthur snarled, shoving her backwards and releasing the hilt. She fell in the dust and rubble and didn't move again.

Chapter Text

Merlin couldn't tell what was real anymore. And of the things he knew were real…he couldn't tell which of the two visions was real. And everything was doubled. Four unconscious or likely dead sorceresses on the ground. Two open doors out of the ruined cellar. Two Arthurs pulling him along through the trees even as he stumbled over what felt like two left feet, though he was pretty okay with the idea of two Arthurs. It was better than that horrible, terrible emptiness at the thought of there being none at all.

A horrible thought swept over him. Maybe he was imagining all of it. Maybe they were still in the dungeon. Or on the battlefield? Was Arthur alive but imprisoned? Or was he dead, lying somewhere behind him on the field? The arms holding him up were suddenly not supporting him but entrapping him, dragging him away from Arthur. Arthur, who needed his help. He could save him. Not even death could take his king away. Merlin started to struggle against the hands on his arm and under his shoulder, trying desperately to pull away.

He had to get back to Arthur. He had to.

"Merlin! What the hell are you doing? There's nothing back there!"

Merlin shook his head. There was something back there. The most important person in the world was back there, and he had to save him. "Arthur!" he called, pulling against the restraining hands, trying to slip out of their grip. But they kept pulling him forwards.

"What? I'm right here, Merlin!" The hands suddenly spun him around and the world kept spinning at an alarming speed. He could see red and gold but it didn't seem real. Not when Arthur was behind him…this was another trick.

"No…Arthur!" he pulled against the hands again, but the spinning world threw his balance off, and he felt himself start to fall.

"Not again…"

He heard someone sigh, and he was gently lowered to the ground. His head pounded, and he couldn't see straight, the world a bleeding wall of colors he couldn't tell apart.

Someone put both hands on either side of his face, forcing him to turn towards them. Blue eyes stared back at him from a familiar face.

"We've been over this, Merlin. I'm fine. You saved me. Everything else was just a trick by Morgause and Morgana. And I'm really, really sorry that I hit you."

Merlin blinked. "Arthur?"

The person, while still blurry and mostly looking like two people trying to merge as one, smiled crookedly. "Yes, Merlin. It's me. You with me?"

Merlin nodded, and immediately regretted it. He stomach rolled uneasily, and he turned to his side as he heaved.

Almost nothing came up, but whatever did tasted coppery and vile, and Merlin heard Arthur swear under his breath.

"Dammit, you're still coughing up blood. Merlin, please, please tell me you know healing magic," Arthur said, gently rolling him back. Merlin could feel Arthur's fingers ghost over his rib cage and flinched away when he brushed against his side.

"Merlin, focus. Come on, open your eyes."

Merlin blinked. When did he close them? Arthur was looking concerned. That was never a good sign. Maybe it was because of that nasty head wound from back at Fyrien when he accidentally knocked him out…he should've fixed that sooner.

"Sorry," he mumbled, one hand raising up touch Arthur's cheek.

Arthur raised an eyebrow. "Sorry? What for?"

He could feel the soft tendrils of magic in the Earth, and he could feel the sudden rush of it through his fingers, knowing his eyes flashed briefly gold. Merlin willed away the head injury, watching the bruising recede into nothingness, and tried to ignore the slight flinch from Arthur. "There. All better."

Arthur touched the side of his face, and first his eyes widened in awe, then immediately narrowed. "Merlin! You idiot!"

Merlin flinched away. He thought he'd fixed it. Did it make it worse? He reached up a hand again, but this time Arthur slapped his hand away.

His addled brain tried to scramble for an answer, a reason why his friend would be upset. He asked about healing magic, and Merlin healed him. Was that not what he wanted? Was it wrong?

The realization hit like a physical blow, and Merlin jerked his hands back, twisting away from Arthur's supporting grip.

Arthur hated magic.

Arthur hated him.

Arthur tried to keep calm, but the reaction had been instinctual. Merlin was wasting energy trying to heal him of a couple superficial cuts and bruises while he was slowly bleeding to death on the ground. Every time he managed magic, he got a little paler, a little weaker. He was starting to hallucinate, unable to remember where they were or what they were doing for any period of time. Half the time he allowed Arthur to drag him along, stumbling alongside him as he tried to keep upright and mostly failing, while the other half of the time he spent trying to fight against him, convinced that he wasn't really alive, or really there, but instead somewhere behind them in the ruins.

It was scary enough the first time. The further they got from the ruins the worse he seemed to get. Arthur didn't know if it was the residual truth potion, or if it was injury or even whatever Morgana did to him to make him think Arthur was dead that still clung to him. Every time Arthur tried to convince Merlin to use magic, Merlin misunderstood what he was asking, and instead of healing himself, or somehow signaling for help, Merlin healed Arthur. Arthur now felt better than he had in months, but Merlin was fading fast and Arthur had no idea how to help him.

Now Arthur was downright terrified that Merlin was letting himself die every time he used magic to heal Arthur instead of himself. When Merlin reached for his face a second time, only minutes after coughing up blood, Arthur couldn't stop himself from slapping the warlock's hand away.

From the terrified look in Merlin's eyes, though, it'd been the wrong move.

"Merlin, I'm sorry!" he said, trying to keep Merlin from twisting away. "I'm not angry at you!" Well, yes, he was, but not for using magic. Just for using it on the wrong person.

Merlin was the living embodiment of the phrase 'loyal to a fault.'

"Merlin!" he tried again, but Merlin refused to meet his gaze, looking everywhere but at him, pushing weakly against his hands as he tried to get away.

Where was Gwen when he needed her? She was a much more soothing presence. Maybe Merlin would respond to her, or at least not act like she was trying to kill him. It was starting to get dark, and soon they would have to make camp. There was no sign of any of Cenred's men or Gwen and her brother, but Arthur was reluctant to start a fire. They were still too close to enemy territory to risk it, but Merlin was starting to feel cold to the touch, minute tremors shaking his frame.

Dammit. Dammit all to hell.

"I'm sorry," Merlin mumbled, head turned away. "I can't help it."

"Can't help what?" Arthur asked tiredly.

"Magic." The choked word sounded more like a sob, and in the fading light of the sunset, Arthur could see the faint track of tears across Merlin's cheeks.

Arthur sighed, running an affectionate hand through Merlin's hair, wincing at the lump he felt on the back of his head. "I know, Merlin. I don't blame you, and I'm not angry. I just wish…I wish you would try and save yourself instead of me for once."

Either Merlin didn't hear or didn't believe him, and instead he tried to curl in on himself, crying out against the shift of broken and bruised ribs.

Arthur would never admit it, but he was feeling at wit's end. His friend was dying in front of him, thinking that he hated him for something he couldn't help, when it couldn't be further from the truth.

"Merlin?" Arthur said, waiting for Merlin to at least look in his direction. It took longer than he would've liked, but Merlin finally turned wide, reddened eyes towards him. "Merlin, answer truly. Do you trust me?"

Merlin nodded almost immediately, and Arthur couldn't help the awe at the idea that ever after all this, even in his fever addled and poisoned mind, Merlin trusted him. He had no idea what he'd done to deserve it, but he swore he'd never take it for granted again.

"Then please, please believe me when I say I don't hate you. I could never hate you. I don't care what others have told me about magic, because you are all I need to know. You are the kindest person I have ever met, and you are my only friend. You've gone above and beyond anything I had a right to ask of you, but I must ask you one more favor. Will you do that for me?" Arthur asked. He pretended like his voice wasn't shaking.

Merlin fought to keep his eyes open, but he nodded once more. "Anything," he mumbled.

"Please, please help yourself. You've done your duty. You've done your job. You saved my life, Merlin. Now please, for the love of God, save yourself." Arthur swiped furiously at his eyes as his vision blurred.

Merlin's face crumbled, and Arthur felt his heart sink.

"I can't…" Merlin protested.

Arthur slammed an open hand against the ground. "Why not?!" he shouted angrily. "Just once in your damned life, Merlin, do as you're told!"

Merlin's arms shot up as if to ward off an attack.

"Please, Merlin! You're dying and I can't help you! I don't know what to do!" Arthur pleaded. He didn't care that he was dangerously close to crying. He didn't care how helpless he sounded. "You've done it at least a dozen times to me, so why can't you do it for yourself?"

"I don't…" Merlin gasped, breath coming shallowly and uneven. "I don't know…"

"Don't know what Merlin?" Arthur demanded.

Merlin's hands dropped, covering his face and Arthur barely heard the words.

"I don't know how…"

And Arthur felt the last of his resolve give out, his shoulders slumping as he raised his face to the sky. It was a cruel world for kind things, he thought bitterly recalling something his father once told him.

"You must've been injured before, Merlin. We fought dragons and sorcerers and trolls…you couldn't have done this all on your own. Didn't anyone help you?" Arthur asked. He wasn't sure he wanted to know the answer. It was entirely too easy to imagine Merlin struggling alone against insurmountable odds. Maybe that was why he smiles had become thinner and thinner, or why he'd begun to always look run down and weary.

"Kilgarrah," Merlin breathed, before his head lolled forwards, unconscious once more.

The word meant nothing to him. Was that a person? Magic? Complete nonsense?

A shadow passed over him, and Arthur opened his eyes to see what it was. His heart stuttered even before he felt the ground shake around him.

"Well now, young Prince. It's time we finally met under favorable terms…" The voice rumbled, like the roll of thunder, reverberating in Arthur's very bones.

The Great Dragon perched, not ten yards away from the two young men, looking smug and surprisingly solemn.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, then cracked one open.

The dragon was still there.

Arthur's head dropped to his chest. "And to think...I didn't think this day could possibly get worse…"

Chapter Text

"Please, please tell me I'm dead," Arthur muttered to himself, pressing the back of his hands into his eyes. "Or I've lost my mind."

The Great Dragon chuckled, and it felt like a small earthquake. "You are most certainly not dead, young prince. Though not for lack of trying."

Arthur supposed he should be terrified. The last time he'd faced off with the dragon, he'd almost been killed. It destroyed half of Camelot. He thought he'd killed it in combat, but not according to Merlin. Apparently, the servant basically told the gigantic lizard to 'shoo', and it obeyed. He should be angry, he should be worried about getting eaten. And yet…"Oh good. I've just gone mad." Arthur channeled Merlin's sarcasm instead.

"You are not mad," the Dragon reassured.

Which meant that the Great Dragon really was sitting half a clearing away, talking to him. He didn't even know dragons could talk.

"Are you here to kill us then?" Arthur asked. It vaguely occurred to him he should probably stand and at least formally greet the dragon, but he just couldn't find the energy. Merlin may have healed all of his injuries, but the prince's strength was waning. He'd carried and dragged Merlin the better part of several miles, and having to fight to bring him this far was exhausting.

"Now why would I come to Merlin's aide only to kill you?" the Dragon asked, and Arthur could swear he heard the smile in its voice.

Arthur dropped his hands. "I don't know. So far everyone else has tried to kill us." He turned towards the dragon, scowling. "Present company included."

The dragon sniffed indignantly, and the trees shifted. "I had just escaped being imprisoned."

Arthur rolled his shoulders, one hand waving off the dragon's explanation. "Oh, well, then you're excused for trying to incinerate my kingdom and kill my father and I. Have you worked out your anger issues since then?"

"I came because Merlin called for me," the dragon huffed, and Arthur chalked up a mental victory for annoying a dragon. Perhaps being around an honest Merlin was having an adverse reaction to his survival instinct. "When a Dragon Lord calls, I must answer."

"How?" Arthur asked, mentally going back over their escape. At no point did he remember Merlin calling out for a dragon. There had been that strange word he'd kept repeating on and off though…Arthur raised a questioning eyebrow. "Kilgharrah?"

The dragon inclined his head. "Prince Arthur," he greeted formally. "I had hoped our first meeting would be on better terms."

Arthur pointed to Merlin's shivering form. "Help him, and it will be the best introduction we could ever have."

The dragon stretched his neck out, until he was almost touching Merlin with his nose, and sniffed gingerly. "This is dark magic indeed, young prince. What trouble did the young warlock find?"

"Morgana and Morgause. They gave him a potion that made him tell the truth, but then Morgana…" Arthur trailed off, shuddering at the memory of Merlin's screams and his impressive display of magic. "She made him think I was dead, and I haven't really been able to convince him otherwise."

The dragon nodded, and Arthur fought the urge to flinch away. The dragon was massive – anything that large moving so close in confined space was nerve wracking, so say the least. "It's more than a poison of the body. It is a poison of the mind."

Arthur fought the urge to yell. "Can you help him?"

The dragon pulled back, sighing. "I cannot. But-"

Arthur didn't wait for an explanation. "Then why did you even come?" he exploded. "What good are you if you can't help Merlin, who set you free? Why even call you the Great Dragon when you're useless?"

Kilgharrah's golden eyes narrowed. "Watch your tongue, Prince."

"I will not 'watch my tongue', you useless reptile!" Arthur shouted, leaping to his feet. "Do something, dragon! Or I will spend the rest of my days finishing the job I started outside of Camelot!" Whatever sense of self perseveration he had was long gone. There was no one to help them – not even Merlin's delirious last ditch effort was enough. After everything he found out, after his servant, his friend, finally told him the truth, they could not have just half a day together while one of them was dying.

It wasn't fair. And Merlin deserved more than that. They both did, dammit.

"Enough!" Kilgharrah roared, stopping Arthur before he could curse the dragon further, forcing him to cover his ears with both hands. "Neither of you ever listen," he grumbled, his voice back to normal levels. "I cannot help Merlin. But you, young prince, can."

"How?" Arthur demanded. "I know nothing of this kind of injury. I know only the basic battlefield aide, and even then, I'm not very good at it."

Kilgharrah sighed. "Prince Arthur, what have you been told about the nature of your birth?"

The question was so bizarre and out of context that Arthur jerked back as if he'd been physically slapped. "What?"

"I doubt your father brought it up, but you, sire, were conceived through a very powerful and a very ancient magic. Magic like that stays with a person their whole life, whether they realize it or not."

Arthur felt his knees give out on him as he sank back down to the ground. "Magic?" Arthur repeated. "You're trying to tell me that on the same day I find out my half-sister is trying to kill me and take the throne, that my only friend is the most powerful warlock alive, and talk to a dragon that until recently I thought was dead by my hand, I find out I have magic too?" This was bordering on insanity.

The dragon opened his mouth to speak, but clapped it shut again with a motion Arthur assumed was a shrug.

"Today is my least favorite day ever."

He turned to glare at Merlin as if this was somehow his fault, and winced at how much worse his servant was doing. He was shaking now, either from the cold or whatever ailed him, and Arthur didn't even have a coat to offer him. Without thinking about it, he shifted closer, pulling Merlin off the ground and wrapping his arms around him, rubbing his chilled skin.

Kilgharrah settled closer, and Arthur realized just how much warmth radiated from the dragon. It made sense, given he could breathe fire if he wanted to. "I realize its overwhelming now, young prince. But the magic you carry with you is not like Merlin's. It is a connection between you and the rest of the world, including the earth itself. It is also what connects you to Merlin – in a sense, makes you brothers. Two halves of the same coin."

Arthur huffed. "I'd rather have him as a brother than Morgana as a sister."

The dragon chuckled. "I have no doubt."

Arthur glanced up at the dragon. "What do I have to do to save him?"

Chapter Text

Merlin knew he was dying. Knew, and could do nothing. He didn't know how. It felt like when he'd drunk from the poisoned chalice – not really here or there, but caught in some horrible in between. Able to watch, but unable to do anything except try and force his heart to keep beating, his lungs to keep working through sheer will.

He stood in two places, unsure of which one was real. One was a clearing with Arthur and Kilgharrah, and the other an empty battlefield, covered in corpses.

He didn't remember being in a battle – at least, he didn't think the battle took place in reality. In the same memory he could picture the battle that destroyed Camelot, he could clearly remember Arthur telling him it was a lie. That the castle still stood, and that they were alive and whole and together.

But the battle seemed so much more plausible than the meadow with Arthur arguing semantics of magic with a dragon while he could see himself unconscious between the two.

Well, arguing seemed believable, because Arthur always argued. With everyone. All the time. Over everything. So maybe him railing against a three and a half ton winged lizard wasn't that much of a stretch. It was the subject that gave him pause, because Arthur wasn't arguing that magic was bad, he was arguing that he had no idea how to do what Kilgharrah was asking.

Which was to save him. With magic. And Arthur was accepting it.

The fact that magic wasn't all bad, anyway. He was most certainly not accepting of the idea that Kilgharrah was trying to convince him of, which was that he had it too. Perhaps not in the same way that Merlin did, but a much subtler magic.

Merlin wished he could talk to Arthur, because he was pretty sure he knew exactly what the dragon meant, but Kilgharrah was doing a terrible job explaining it. Arthur needed pointed statements. Riddles and artistically crafted sentences weren't his favorite thing on a good day, but Arthur was in a rush – and honestly, so was Merlin.

The battlefield and clearing were starting to edge in darkness, his vision tunneling as he felt his own heart laboring in his chest.

He didn't want to die. He didn't. But at the same time, trying to make himself keep living was getting harder and harder. He felt his knees give out, his hand clutching at his chest as if it would somehow force his heart to keep beating. He'd seen enough men die. He'd been here himself often enough. The beat was getting slower, more arrhythmic.

Simple magic, Merlin thought. Teach Arthur simple magic.

Because from here, he could see just how much of Arthur was alive with it. Like a grounded tether to the rest of Albion, a beacon of light in the rapidly encroaching darkness that threatened to devour them whole.

And it would be both of them, because Merlin could see just how much of him was wrapped up in Arthur. Two halves of the same coin.

Two halves of the same soul.

And one half could never be whole.

"I'm not arguing whether or not it's possible," Arthur growled. "I'm arguing that I don't know how. It's not like I'm well versed in magic. What do I do, just…wave my hand in the air and spout off a bunch of mystical mumbo jumbo and poof – Merlin will be fine?"

The dragon flexed its claws in irritation, digging great, deep furrows into the earth. "If that was all it took, believe me, Prince, I would've had you do it already. But you cannot do what is needed if you don't understand what it is you're trying to do. You are Merlin's anchor here. You are a tether to the rest of Albion. You must connect to it just as you must connect with Merlin to unite the two of them."

"HOW?" Arthur shouted, throwing his arms up in the air. "You can tell me what to do until you're blue in the face, but unless you start telling me how, Merlin's going to die. Now, do you know how? Or are you just spouting off mysticism bull–" Arthur stopped abruptly, his hand going to his chest above his heart, mouth clamping shut as he felt it stutter.

Kilgharrah frowned, dipping his enormous head close enough to Arthur's that Arthur could feel the heat radiating off of his scales. "You're more closely connected to Merlin than I would've hoped," the dragon rumbled. "Perhaps because Merlin has given the last of what he has to you. Perhaps because I didn't give enough credit to you in the prophecy."

Arthur gasped, putting one hand out to balance himself as his vision started to fade. "What…does that mean?"

The dragon grumbled. "It means if he dies, young prince, you die too."

That's a pleasant notion, Arthur thought grimly. At least if they survived, it would guarantee Merlin's survival if his father ever found out. "Is this because he saved me?"

"It's because he's currently sustaining you. He's overexerted himself to the point that he can't control his own magic anymore. Anything he could've used to save himself is just leaching into you. But he's dying, and therefore the magic is dying too, and that means it's going to start taking from you. You must figure out a way to connect with Albion. You are a beacon for magic, young prince. The land knows it. Merlin knows it. You're never going to wield it like he does, but you can be a conduit. Haven't you noticed how you connect with it? With Albion, and its people? Merlin is the heart of magic. And you, Once and Future King, are the heart of Albion. Two halves. One whole."

Arthur's head spun with possibilities for one simple statement, though maybe it was because he could now feel himself starting to slip.

Crash course in magic be damned. He didn't need to know magic to save Merlin. He needed to understand Camelot. And no one knew Camelot better than he did. He grew up in the woods outside the castle. He spent his youth in the streets of the city. He knew the people, he knew the land, he knew the heart of it. This wasn't about waving a magic wand and muttering ancient tongues. He wasn't trying to make anything the way that Merlin could – pulling magic from the air around him.

He was trying to ground Merlin. If Merlin's magic could save him than Camelot could save Merlin.

Because dammit all, it owed him.

The dragon was still speaking, but Arthur couldn't hear the words. He imagined the life he knew of Camelot – because it did have life. Maybe others could sense it too, and that was why they were always after it for themselves. Why Morgause and Cenred and Morgana were willing to die to possess it.

As long as Camelot had life, so would he.

And so would Merlin.

Without a second thought, Arthur reached out for Merlin's hand, clasping the icy fingers between his own. He could feel something spark and ignite, like an unpleasant crawling sensation just beneath his skin where it touched Merlin's. He could imagine it was Merlin's magic trying to return to him, but it needed a push. It was too weak to do anything more than trickle down between them.

Morgause's poison still held Merlin, and Arthur could picture the darkness trying to eat away at Merlin's soul, a black shadow slowly engulfing him even as Arthur could see him trying to fight it back. But the light in Merlin was growing dimmer, darker, feebler as it flickered like a candle about to be snuffed.

Maybe it was delirium. Maybe it was madness. Maybe it was magic.

Arthur's hand other hand moved before he could think about what he was doing, as if something else was acting through him and he placed it on the ground, and there was a spark. But he needed more than a spark. He needed lightning.

Help, he thought wildly. Help him. Help me. Help us.

And the world exploded around him. Suddenly everything seemed brighter, lighter, intense to the point he felt his skin tingle

Albion – Camelot – rushed forwards, like a tidal wave upon the ocean, surging through Arthur's connection to Merlin like a storm, so powerful it took his breath away.

Morgause's lingering affect had no chance as the storm surge of Camelot flooded every corner of Merlin's being, igniting his magic like a match touched to oil and turning the two of them incandescent against the threatening darkness.

Merlin sat bolt upright as if struck by lightning himself, gasping as magic and life came flooding back. He could feel the sheer, raw power of Albion recharging his own magic, and he reached a hand out to Arthur's arm.

It was almost unnerving to see the golden glow in Arthur's eyes, even as it receded and Merlin could feel their connection sever. Not entirely – he could still sense Arthur the way he always could, but they were no longer sustaining each other.

"Are you going to live now?" Arthur asked bluntly, his cheeks flushed pink from whatever connection he created to Albion.

Well, at least magic hadn't changed Arthur's personality.

Merlin nodded, words not quite coming forth like they usually did.

Arthur nodded, before allowing himself to fall straight backwards onto the grass, staring up at the sky. "Good. Because I will not be doing that again any time soon."

Merlin couldn't help the bark of laughter, and he quickly put a hand to his mouth to smother it. Nope. Hadn't changed Arthur one bit.

Arthur pushed himself up on one elbow, swaying drunkenly and Merlin had a flash of pity for what it must have felt like to wield something like the entirety of Albion even for a few moments. He felt like he'd been struck by lightning, and he was used to powerful magic.

"And just so we're clear, if you ever make me do that again, I will kill you. And now that I know I can bring you back from the brink of death, that's an entirely realistic threat. That was not fun. Also –" he pointed upwards to Kilgharrah who was smiling patiently down at the two. "Your dragon is an awful teacher."

"You figured it out on your own, didn't you?" the dragon pointed out. "Magic learned is magic retained. Magic given is easily lost."

"Oh, shut up. You didn't even know what I was supposed to do," Arthur argued. "At least now I know my father didn't keep you locked under the castle for advising purposes."

Before Kilgharrah could retort, Merlin interrupted.

"What are you going to tell Uther?" he asked quietly.

Arthur turned back towards him, brow crinkling in confusion. "What do you mean?"

Merlin waved around him, gesturing to nothing in particular but encompassing everything that had happened.

Morgana. Morgause. Magic. Not just his, but Arthur's own.

Arthur gave a dismissive shrug. "Nothing. Absolutely nothing." He paused, sitting upright. "At least…at least not for now. Don't go making any obvious displays in the kingdom, and I'll try and find a way to figure out what the bloody hell happened when I was born. If Morgause's version of events was true, and if there's something in my mother's family that explains…this." He made the same vague sweeping motion Merlin had.

"Break the news to him gently?" Merlin said, smirking.

Arthur scoffed. "Are you kidding? I might take so long mentioning any of this to him, he'll be dead from old age before I get the chance." He frowned slightly. "Even if your magic is tied to me, or whatever I seem to be to you, I can't guarantee my father wouldn't try and break it just so he could execute you. I won't take the risk, Merlin. Not with you. Not with this."

Merlin nodded, not speaking. He was grateful, really he was. Arthur chose to trust him, to trust magic, even after everything he'd seen people do with it. But that was still an enormous secret he would be keeping from his father. He'd carried the weight of it for years, and it never got any easier.

"Don't look so down, Merlin," Arthur said, giving Merlin a push with the end of his foot and offering a wry smirk. "It won't be the first time I've kept something from my father. And now that you don't have to worry about me finding out about it, I'd like to think it won't be too terrible for you."

Merlin returned the smirk with a shy smile of his own. "You know, I could probably teach you how to use it a little better."

Arthur immediately put up a hand. "No, thank you. Once is enough. And I don't think it works that way. Not the way yours does. Which is fine by me. No hocus pocus and glowing eyes for me. I think…I think it's just a connection. It saved you, not me, because I asked it to. But that's alright. I can handle that. Camelot just feels more…alive, now."

Merlin considered the comparison. Just as he was magic, Arthur was Albion. It made sense, he supposed. He looked up at Kilgharrah, who was rising to his feet. "I don't suppose you want to give us a ride home?"

Arthur jumped up before the dragon could answer. "No. Absolutely not. I am not going up in the air with that thing."

"Thing?" Kilgharrah bristled.

Merlin burst out laughing, because of all outcomes he imagined telling Arthur about who and what he was, none of them involved sarcastic battle of insults with a dragon. "I was joking," he said, staving off further argument between them. "We can both walk. We have…a lot to talk about."

Kilgharrah bowed his head slightly. "As you wish, young warlock." The dragon turned to Arthur, scowling. "Arthur."

As he took to the skies, Arthur offered a parting gift – blowing a raspberry at the departing dragon when he knew he was too far off to hear him.

The prince looked down at Merlin, offering a hand to help him to stand. "It'll be a long walk without the horses," he said apologetically. "You sure you can make it?"

"Shut up, dollop head. I've saved you more than once. I think I can handle a walk in the woods."

Arthur snorted. "Said the bean pole. At least I won't have to carry you anymore." He glanced down at his feet, before back at Merlin. "Thanks for that, by the way. All of it."

Merlin shrugged. "Magic or not. You're still the prince. Camelot is still home. I would've done it all anyway."

Arthur looked genuine grateful when he capped a hand on Merlin's shoulder. "I know, Merlin. And that's what makes the difference."