Work Text:
It's unbearably hot the day Arthur finds her. She has her feet in a lake. Fallen leaves mar the still surface, but the water underneath is clear. Her dress is dirty; she hadn't felt the need to wash in days, feeling closer to nature as she is now.
Arthur crashes through the woods and stops in front of her. Excalibur is missing from his side and his crown is gone, but he still looks regal standing there. Her King.
She still doesn’t stand. It’s hot and if she stands, her feet will get dirty. Besides, she’s still wondering how he had found her: even Bedivere hadn’t found her, and he had the most to go on.
When the silence stretches on, she asks, “Why are you here?” He’s still staring at her, and when she asks, his cheeks flush. He averts his eyes, and the Mage frowns when a hand pops out of the water, Excalibur in its grip. Arthur takes it.
She glares at the hand, now knowing how Arthur had found her. The Lady of the Lake always had a fond spot for the Pendragons. And a not-so-fond spot for her.
She takes her feet out of the water.
“What do you want?” she snaps, ire bleeding into her tone.
Arthur smiles in that easy way of his, and he sheathes Excalibur. “I’ve come to take you back,” he announces.
“I do not want to go back,” she says. Arthur pretends as if he hasn’t heard her, plopping himself down next to her. He’s close enough that she can see his eyelashes.
He takes off his boots and socks, putting it neatly to the side. He places his feet in the water, letting out a soft groan of relief as the cool water sweeps over them.
“We need you,” he says.
They don’t. Arthur runs Camelot with skill; his years as the Boss of Londinium and his silvertongue are more than enough to ensure Camelot falls in love with their lost king. His men do the rest.
She lets her silence speak for her. Arthur doesn’t look at her, his gaze on the lake in front of them. She stands, grimacing when the dirt clings to her wet feet. She stalks away. Arthur doesn’t follow, and when she turns, she sees the Lady of the Lake at his feet. She doesn’t look back again.
When she’s back home, she uses her magic to watch Arthur make his way back to Camelot. She’s not faraway, but the woods are full of danger and she worked too hard to put Arthur on the throne to lose him so easily.
She watches a little bit more, out of the eyes of her hawk, and only closes the connection when Arthur is back at the Table. She knows he’s safe, and that is enough. Arthur is a good man. He will bring Camelot to prosperity.
She keeps busy the rest of the week by gathering herbs. It’s never been something she’s been good at, but the animals help her, and she wants to return the favor. Sometimes, she finds them with gashes or small wounds, and she wants to do something to ease their pain. Her magic doesn’t extend to healing, but herbs and poultices are easy enough to learn.
She’s tidying up her little cottage when there’s a knock on the door. She frowns, closes her eyes, and reaches out to the closest animal. The squirrel’s nose twitches, and her own follows, and then she’s looking through its eyes.
When she comes to, she’s frowning. She throws open the door with more force than she intends.
“You are too busy to be coming here,” she says without preamble, and Arthur just smiles at her.
He’s holding flowers.
“How did you find me?” she continues, and he shrugs.
“A gentleman can always find a pretty lady if he tries hard enough,” the King says, and her knuckles turn white as she barely resists the urge to slam the door in his face.
Instead, she turns, leaving the door open so Arthur can follow if he wants.
He does.
He’s looking around when she finishes making tea. She pours it for him, and sets it on her dining table, the liquid still burning hot.
He finds a vase from somewhere. It’s not filled with anything dangerous, so she doesn’t say anything as he deposits the flowers in it. He brings it to the table, and picks up the tea, sipping at it and staring at her over the rim of the teacup.
“I am not coming back,” she says, defensively.
He holds up his hand. “I’m not asking today,” he says.
She notes his usage of ‘today’ and frowns. He grins at her.
Then the smile drops.
“I need your help,” he says. He’s serious this time.
She uses magic to pour the next cup of tea, floating it over to the table. She feels as if she’ll need it today.
But.
She meets Arthur’s eyes. “Whatever you need, my King,” she says, and ignores the way red travels over Arthur’s cheeks.
They talk for hours.
The land had been ravaged by Vortigen for years. While his tower had fallen, the magic that remains in the air is bad. It’d been used to do horrific things, and needs to be cleansed before it’s too late. The Lady of the Lake suggested Arthur use the druids.
By the time Arthur leaves, they’ve figured out a plan.
In two weeks’ time, they will approach the druids with their plan. Together.
Which means she’ll have to head back to Camelot when it happens.
She places the teapot and teacups into the sink, a frown on her face. It’s not horrible, she supposes, to go back, and she did promise to go back if Arthur needs her.
And he does.
Arthur comes to get her. She sees him make his way through the woods and he arrives at her little cottage on a regal horse. It’s white.
She’s enamored with the horse.
She kisses the snout of the horse, her hands in the mane as she communes with the beautiful animal. When she’s done, she sees Arthur’s face.
“What?” she asks, and Arthur grins.
“I’m jealous,” he says, pointedly.
She ignores him. She swings herself onto the horse without Arthur’s help. Arthur follows eventually and gets on behind her.
The knights are excited to see her. Bedivere goes to swing her around, and she barely stops him, and then Goosefat Bill comes up behind her and lifts her up. She sighs, but can’t stop a small smile from slipping onto her face as they start to regale her with tales of Arthur’s reign.
The druids arrive the next day. Arthur deals with them with ease, even when he defers to her on the more magical jargon, and she's impressed. Even though she's been watching Arthur, seeing him rule firsthand is a different experience altogether. In person, she can see the way Arthur's charisma makes the druid leader relax, and the way his quick-witted bargaining makes the druids agree happily to start working the next day.
They feast that night. The knights mingle with the druids and Arthur sits with the leader, but she sees the way the servants hold back. They're wary, even when they're pouring and serving the druids with polite smiles, and she knows they've got a long way to go.
Still, when Arthur roars with laughter, his cheeks flushed from the drink of the feast, his arm around the druid leader's shoulders, she knows that they've got a shot in accomplishing her goal.
This time when she leaves, Bedivere catches her.
"He needs you," he says, and all but implores her to stay.
She thinks of her little cottage in the woods and the animals that depend on her. She can't just leave them. And she cannot stifle Arthur. He needs to grow on his own.
"I cannot," she says. Bedivere's face falls. "Arthur is a good king. Do not worry."
"I'm not worried of him ruling, Mage," says Bedivere. "He's running himself ragged. Ruling the whole of Camelot is tiring him out. He won't even come drinking with us at night."
"He is lonely?"
Bedivere shakes his head, "No, but he misses you."
She ignores the fact that her cheeks go hot at the statement. "You are wrong, Bedivere," she says instead.
He sighs, and frowns at her. "Even if you are right," she concedes, "what do you want me to do about it?"
"Come to Camelot more," offers Bedivere.
"No," she says. "I cannot distract him now."
"He already is," the knight argues. "He spent weeks trying to find you."
Suddenly, the amused look the Lady of the Lake gave her all those days ago makes sense. This time, she cannot ignore the way her cheeks flush.
"I am going," she snaps, and Bedivere looks exasperated with her.
"Arthur will be hurt you left without saying goodbye."
"I will see him soon enough," she says, sensibly.
"Wait," says Bedivere, when she's on the horse she's called. She's a mare, and it's not as pure white as Arthur's horse, but she's stilll a beautiful cream color. "You came into my dreams before. Can you visit Arthur's?"
She pauses, her hands already immersed in the mare's mane. "Yes," she manages, already lost in her thoughts, and Bedivere waves her goodbye as she rides away.
That night, the Mage sits at her table. Her eyes are closed as she reaches out with her magic. Camelot is not far, and the first bird she chances upon, she borrows. The owl lights upon the window of Arthur's bedroom.
He's in there. He's in his underclothes, and the room is empty besides him. He turns at the sound of the owl, and he reaches for Excalibur. When he sees the owl, Arthur laughs and relaxes visibly.
The owl watches until Arthur falls asleep.
She disconnects and then lights a fire back in her cottage, burning the herbs in front of her. The smell of them fills the room and then she’s floating.
Arthur is in the brothel. She’s never been here before, but Goosefat Bill has told her about it. Arthur looks at home. When he sees her, his eyes widen and then he’s grinning.
“Never dreamed you here before,” he admits, easily, and he pulls her against him. She lets him.
He leads her to a seat, and the women around them laugh cheerily as one of them brings them drinks and food. She doesn’t touch it.
“Arthur,” she says.
He cuts off mid-conversation to turn his head toward her. He’s still grinning. “Yes, m’dear?”
She flushes. Then shakes her head. “You have to sleep more,” she tries.
“Yes,” agrees Arthur, easily. “Whatever you say, Mage.”
She frowns. “You’re not dreaming me. I am here.”
“Funny, that’s what you said last night.” He waggles his eyebrows.
“Arthur,” she snaps, and he blinks at her. “Bedivere says you have not been sleeping.”
“Bedivere’s a worrier,” says Arthur, dismissively. “I can’t run the kingdom while I’m asleep.”
“You also cannot run the kingdom without sleep,” she points out. He frowns at her.
“I have many things to do,” says Arthur. “Vortigen’s ruined our relationships with just about everyone. The people accept me as their King, but the surrounding lands do not. We can be at war at any second.”
“Camelot is under my protection,” she says. She watches as Arthur seems to remember how her magic had put him on the throne, and he frowns.
“I can’t ask you to keep saving me,” he says, quietly.
“No,” she says, “You are not asking. I am giving. Camelot is my home, too.”
“Then why don’t you stay?” bursts out Arthur. “We can use you at the Table. I can use you.”
“But I am here,” she explains. “I’m always watching.”
There’s a long pause. “The owl at my bedroom window,” he says. “That was you.”
She nods.
He stands abruptly. There’s anger on his face. “Leave,” he snaps.
She’s made him angry. She doesn’t know why, but guilt floods her anyway. She leaves before he can ask again.
The next night, she doesn’t send an owl. Instead, she tries to reach Arthur’s dreams later in the night, and finds him sitting at the lake they had met at once.
His feet are in the water. He doesn’t look up until she sits next to him.
“It’s you,” he says, quietly. “I didn’t dream you.”
“No,” she admits. “I am sorry for angering you.”
“You’re right,” says Arthur. “I am sleeping too little. I need help.”
“You have already done so much,” she says. “Let the Knights help.”
“They are,” says Arthur. “But I,” he pauses, and looks away from her. He’s tense. “I want you there. At the Table.”
“You said so last night,” she says, gently. “I cannot, Arthur.”
“Why?”
“It is not my time. You need to rule first without me.”
“So you will come?” asks Arthur, brightening. He’s smiling at her, and when she nods, he beams.
They don’t talk after that. They look out at the lake, and if Arthur’s hand finds his way onto hers, she doesn’t move and she doesn’t say a word.
She begins to visit Arthur’s dreams every night.
She still watches in the morning, the presence of the druids making her more anxious more than usual, but she’s more relaxed now. Arthur’s been getting the sleep he needs once she began visiting him every night, and he tells her how he’s running Camelot when they’re together. She had no worries about Arthur ruling Camelot, but she’s still relieved to know nothing’s amiss.
Bedivere comes to her cottage one day.
She lets him in, and makes him tea, and wait for him to speak.
“Have you been talking to Arthur?” asks Bedivere.
She nods.
“We think someone may have cursed him,” says Bedivere. When she raises an eyebrow, he shrugs helplessly. “Cursed is a strong word, but animals keep coming to him. At first, we thought it was you, but you control one animal at a time. Birds flock to Arthur as soon as he’s outside, we find snakes everywhere, and the horses nearly trample us if they catch scent of Arthur. He thinks it’s hilarious, really; Bill fell off his horse into mud when we went hunting, but the rest of us are worried. The druids don’t know what to make of it.”
The image makes her smile, and then she wonders why Arthur hasn’t told her. Maybe he’d still rather do things on his own without her help. She stands. Bedivere’s still drinking his tea, but she floats it away from him and into the sink, worry gripping her heart.
“We must go,” she says. Bedivere doesn’t complain and helps her up onto his horse when they’re outside.
There’s a bird on Arthur’s shoulder. There’s townspeople around him, but they scatter when they come riding in.
As she watches and as Arthur turns, another bird lands on his head. Arthur doesn’t even react to the added weight.
“Bedivere!” he calls, and then he brightens when he sees her. She doesn’t protest when Arthur helps her down.
The birds on Arthur flock immediately to her. A sinking suspicion starts.
“I knew they were yours,” says Arthur, happily. He reaches behind her to pet one of the birds on the head. The bird chirps back at him.
“They’re not,” she says, quietly. She reaches out to grip Arthur’s arm, “The snakes. Where are they?”
He looks confused at her tone, but they head back to the castle. They immediately slither toward her. The horses do the same.
Goosefat Bill is looking at her when she confirms her suspicion.
“I have to go,” she says, and Arthur’s face falls.
“So soon?”
She can’t look at him. If she does, she knows she’ll see the faint outline of golden magic around him.
Arthur’s not cursed.
The animals are coming to him because of her.
She likes Arthur, and her magic is reacting to it. It’s making the animals love him.
“I have to go,” she repeats. She stumbles out, and then she’s running. When the mare comes to her, she’s shaking, and is barely able to climb on.
She buries her face into the mare’s mane, wondering just how she had fallen so hard and fast.
She almost doesn’t make it.
She’s still underdressed. She has her green cape on, but little else, but she can’t feel embarrassed. Not when Arthur’s in danger.
He’s in the middle of the town square. She jumps off her mare, and stumbles, barely catching herself with her palms. They sting, but she ignores it, and sets off at a quick run.
She’s shouting his name when she sees him, the crown resplendent in the rising sun. He turns, and she has a second to see his eyes before there are shouts of terror all around them.
It has to be one of the druids. The dust storm coming toward Arthur can only be borne out of magic. It spins and spins, growing larger and larger and it’s coming ridiculously fast.
Her animals can’t help her here.
She closes her eyes, and calls upon magic she had locked away for a long time. It comes easily as if she had never stopped using it, and her eyes are black when she looks at the storm.
She doesn’t hesitate, and she steps forward, magic at her fingertips. The storm surrounds her and she reaches out, the magic getting swept into the wind. There’s debris in it, from the town, and something hits her, embedding itself into her abdomen.
She pushes through the pain, because she can’t let this storm reach Arthur. And she can’t let the storm continue, not with the town’s relationship with magic tumultuous as it is.
When her magic’s nearly gone, the storm dissipates. She uses the last of her magic to catch the falling debris, intent to ensure no harm comes to the town.
There’s silence.
And then she hears the sounds of the druids dropping to their knees. “Emrys,” she hears whispered over and over, and she knows if she looks over she’ll see them in positions of reverence.
But she only has eyes for Arthur.
He’s walking toward her now, and when he gets to her, her strength gives out.
He catches her.
“You’re bleeding,” he says, and she knows she is, she can feel the warm liquid seeping into her cape. But the pain means nothing when she can see Arthur’s eyes up close.
“I am,” she says, and he’s so close, it’ll only be a few more inches and she can kiss him.
She doesn’t. The weight of the druids’ gazes is pressing on her, and they know who she is. She is not the Mage to them.
She doesn’t realize she’s pushing Arthur away until he covers her hand with his. “Please stay,” he all but begs. “You’ve been avoiding me.”
Arthur’s expression is pained. She wants to wipe it off. Her King shouldn’t look like that.
But they’re still surrounded.
She can’t kiss him, not now.
Pain’s making her lightheaded, and she has to go now before she falls. The snake is coming for her, and it’ll only be moments now.
Arthur’s still looking at her. He’s let go of her now because she so obviously wanted him to let go, and he looks pained.
“I am in love with you,” she says, and Arthur’s shocked, she can see it in his expression.
She doesn’t stay.
The snake comes.
She’s dying.
Her blood seeps into the water and she groans, barely having the strength to roll over so the stone stuck in her doesn’t continue to sink deeper.
There’s a large willow tree and it provides shade at least from the blistering heat.
She doesn’t know how long she lays there. She blinks in and out of consciousness, so she doesn’t realize that someone’s gripping onto the stone until it’s out of her. She lets out a gasp, but cooling water is already rushing across it, and the pain is gone immediately.
When she opens her eyes, the Lady of the Lake is staring at her.
“I should let you die, Emrys,” she says.
“Why won’t you?” she asks, and knows she’s tempting fate.
The Lady of the Lake sighs at her, and then disappears back into the water.
When she comes to again, Arthur’s there, dressing her wound.
When he notices she’s awake, he stops and smiles at her. “Strongest sorcerer in the world, and you don’t know any healing spells?”
“The druids told you then,” she says.
He ties off the last of the bandages and sits back down, his legs crossed. “Yes, they did,” he says. “They call you Emrys. I always thought you were a student of his.”
“The stories got it wrong,” she says quietly. She sits up, gingerly, and he helps her, his eyes fond. She’s shaking and he notices, his hand going to cover hers.
“You’re going to be okay, Emrys,” he says, and she grimaces.
“Do not call me that,” she says. “I’ve given up that name long ago.”
“Then you rather be nameless?” he wonders, and she shakes her head.
“Mage,” she says. “I’ve been going by it for so long anyway.”
There’s silence. Then Arthur brings her hand to his mouth and kisses it.
She flushes.
“Then Mage, I am also in love with you. I don’t care if you’re Merlin or Emrys or whatever, I’m in love with you. So, you don’t have to run away from me.”
She stares at him and he smiles at her and interlocks their hands.
She finally smiles back, and he blinks wide eyes at her. “I am not running, Arthur,” she says, and uses her other hand to bring Arthur closer.
Then she kisses him.
She joins the Table. Arthur knights her, Excalibur alighting once on each of her shoulders. When he helps her up, he pulls her close, and kisses her.
The Mage stays in Camelot. Her animals come and join her. Arthur continues to be visited by a variety of animals and sometimes, they share their bed with a snake.
When it gets too much, they retreat to her little cottage in the woods. They stay until Bedivere gets exasperated with them and gets ready to leave Camelot to find them. They always get back before he leaves.
They interrogate the druids after. No one knows where the perpetrator went. She’s worried, but they have no leads, and the druids swear fealty to her. They can’t risk souring relationships when Arthur’s reign is so new so she puts it behind them, and doesn’t leave Arthur’s side whenever he heads out of the castle.
The druids keep her secret when she asks. They still stare at her with reverence in her eyes, but they call her the Mage when she’s within earshot and that’s enough. She knows they want her to become Merlin again, but she can’t. She’s not Merlin anymore.
Besides, she’s still the Mage to Arthur, and that’s all that really matters.