Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

A full day had passed since the prince had held a sword to the king’s throat, and the nausea in Merlin’s gut and heart hadn’t receded. Merlin stumbled through his duties sick with self-disgust.

He’d hated himself the moment the words came to mind, yet he’d choked them out anyway—a rejection of his own magic, of himself, and everyone like him.

And for what? To save the life of a man who had stolen theirs? Someone who would kill him and feel nothing but satisfaction at his death?

No, no, he told himself. Not for him. Never for his sake. For Arthur’s. To keep him from killing his father in a fit of (entirely justified) rage. To keep him from taking the throne through patricide and regicide.

It had been the right thing to do. He’d had to. And yet...

He hadn’t had to say that.

He should have said something else, anything else. And instead he drove Arthur away from the truth Morgause had shown him and right back into his father’s hateful lies.

The right thing to do, but the wrong way to do it. The worst way.

Merlin found Arthur staring out the window of his chambers, his brow furrowed in thought but his face otherwise calm. His elbow rested on his other arm, his face cupped in his hand, mouth hidden.

Merlin jumped when Arthur spoke. 

“He didn’t deny it,” he said, his voice low and cool.

“I’m sorry?”

“He said he loved her and would never hurt her, but he never said it wasn’t true.”

Was this real? What was happening?

“Thank you, Merlin, for what you said. I was...confused, and angry, and you kept me from making a mistake I would surely regret. I’m grateful.”

...And Merlin was lost.

“I know I can’t trust Morgause,” Arthur continued, again dragging the conversation into a sharp turn to a new direction. “She was manipulating me...but what if she used the truth to do it? My father would never admit to it. His pride wouldn’t let him. And...”

Arthur sighed, pinched the bridge of his nose as his eyes shut. He turned from the window and began pacing.

Merlin felt lightheaded, like he should sit down, or slap himself awake from this...daydream, this unbelievable fantasy.

“Threatening his life only made confession less likely. It wouldn’t have saved him, it would have condemned him—he knew that. Of course he would continue the lie. Attacking him—it was arrogant. Childish. Dangerous.” If Merlin’s breath hadn’t been frozen in his throat, he might have teased Arthur about admitting such things about himself.

“What if you hadn’t stopped me—if I had struck him down, only to discover his innocence after it was too late? How could anyone trust a king who would kill out of thoughtless anger at an unproven crime?”

Arthur stopped with his gaze burning straight into Merlin’s.  

“And how can I trust that you’ve been told the truth? Is either story true, or are they both lies? What if the truth is something else entirely? Merlin, I need to know.”

“Arthur?” Why was he telling him all of this?

The prince shook his head, conflict written in the tension in his features. He paced to the table and dropped into his chair, propping his temple on one fist and drumming his fingers against the wood surface.

“There must be some record, some kind of evidence or sign. I need to see for myself, do you understand? I need to know if my father...if Uther...if what Morgause showed me is true.”

Merlin swallowed. He took a few cautious steps closer to where Arthur was seated. “And then what will you do?”

“I can’t serve a king who murders innocents to hide his guilt.”

“Arthur...”

“I can’t kill him, either. I...I don’t know.” He slumped forward, elbows on the table as he rubbed his eyes with his palms. “All of this, it’s madness, but...God. All these years, I’ve stood by—I’ve killed—they...they could have been innocent.” 

Arthur looked up at Merlin, his expression drained and weary. “I want to believe he could never do such things. That he—I—we’ve been protecting Camelot’s people, not slaughtering them. But...if I go on without knowing if my father is telling the truth, I’m as guilty as he is, and more innocents will die."

Every word Arthur had spoken had Merlin off-balance and reeling, but his next question threatened to knock him flat. 

“Will you help me?”

Merlin gaped at Arthur long enough that the earnest nobility of his expression faltered.

“I realize it’s a lot to ask—it is essentially treason, after all—”

“I have magic,” Merlin blurted, and then slapped both his hands over his mouth.

Arthur stared at him. Merlin stared back.

“Well,” Arthur said at last, “I suppose treason isn’t a problem for you, then.”

Chapter Text

Arthur had replayed yesterday’s events again and again in his mind. Morgause’s promises, his mother’s story, his father’s denials, over and over, trying to match each word to what he knew, or thought he’d known. He didn’t know what was real anymore. It terrified him and he hated it.

A few times, he considered…Merlin had given him an escape. In all likelihood, he was right, and Morgause had wanted him to kill his father and throw the kingdom into chaos. He could dismiss Morgause’s magic as an empty illusion, her words as hollow and malicious, everything he saw as manipulations and lies. He could brush it all aside (like he had so many other things that hadn’t made sense over the years, things that were starting to make all too much sense). He could pretend all of it had meant nothing and move on as if it never happened. He could, but he didn’t think he could live with himself if he did.   

So he’d made plans. Despite Merlin’s cautions and insistence that Morgause had lied, Arthur knew he could count on his servant’s help if he explained. Morgana would likely be an eager ally, as well; she had never hidden her passionate defiance of his father’s practices. Gaius had been a part of Camelot’s court long before the Purge had begun, and kept many books filled with history and arcane knowledge, but he was deeply loyal to the king, and Arthur wasn’t sure what the physician would willingly reveal. Arthur suspected his father had kept records from the Purge hidden from the public – perhaps he could search the library, or the carefully guarded vaults in the depths of the castle. Most difficult of all, however, would be finding the Druids or any other magic users willing to speak with him peacefully and share their stories.

Except now there was…this.

Finding a magic user wasn’t so hard after all, as it turned out.

Merlin let out a weak laugh, then lowered his hands from his face, revealing the tense line of his mouth. His whole body looked shaky, like he’d crumble to pieces if he moved the wrong way. Arthur tried to see a threat to Camelot in the skinny, shabby, watery-eyed man before him. It didn’t work.

Merlin took a slow, unsteady breath. “Are you serious?” he said quietly. Suddenly, Arthur found it hard to meet the intensity of Merlin’s gaze, to read the tangle of emotions there. “About finding out what really happened?”

“I am,” he said. There was no other answer to give.

It was hope, Arthur realized. Shining through the slowly fading fear and anxiety, he saw hope in Merlin’s eyes.

Merlin’s voice was stronger when he spoke, resolute in a way that Arthur had never heard from him. “Then I will help you in every way I can.”

The implications of his words were not lost on Arthur. “With magic.”

Merlin lowered himself into the chair across the table from the prince. “It wouldn’t be the first time,” he said after he’d settled, his body turned just slightly toward the door, watching Arthur’s reaction.

It occurred to Arthur that he should be angry about this, or hurt. His own trusted servant had broken the law and lied to him about using magic – on him? for him? for how long?

Instead, he barely felt surprised. He lifted one hand to rub his temple, trying to ease the low ache starting there. His chest still felt raw from the fury and heartbreak he’d barely gotten under control. He had too many questions and didn’t know where to begin.

Arthur squeezed his eyes shut, taking a moment to gather his thoughts. He’d wanted Merlin’s help with this, and now he had that, and then some. He could work with this. It was better than he could have hoped for, really, he told himself a bit frantically.

His brow furrowed, and he opened his eyes. “But yesterday, you said—“

“I didn’t mean it,” Merlin said quickly, leaning forward with his hands on the table in earnest desperation to get the words out. “I didn’t mean what I said. I just had to—I couldn’t let you kill him like that, I didn’t know what else to do, that was the only thing I could think to say that I thought might...make enough sense to you that you’d stop,” he finished lamely, slumping back in his chair as his energy petered out and uncertainty took hold again.

Arthur spent a moment sorting through the rushed babble. “You lied because you thought it was the only thing that would keep me from killing my father.”

Merlin winced. “…Yes?”

“You were probably right,” Arthur admitted. He shifted in his chair. If Merlin had lied, then… “Was…was what Morgause showed me real, then?” Was she real?

His voice sounded small even to his own ears.

Merlin bit his lip, concern creasing his forehead and softening his eyes. “I’m not sure, Arthur. I don’t know the spell she used. I…” He hesitated, then pressed onward. “I might be able to figure it out, though. I recognized some of the words. ”

Arthur’s fingers were back at his temples, rubbing slow circles. “How much do you know about magic, exactly?”

“Aha. Um.” Merlin shrugged, the corner of his mouth quirking in a guilty smile. “Quite a bit?”

Arthur bit back a groan. His servant apparently knew “quite a bit” about magic, and he wasn’t even sure if that was a bad thing anymore.

Merlin’s smile faded, and he opened his mouth as if to speak, then closed it. Opened, and closed again. Arthur raised his eyebrows at him and waved a hand for him to continue, and he sighed.

“Gaius was in the courtyard when we got back,” he said at last. “I asked him if you were born of magic that Uther used.”

Arthur sat up, his pulse beating in his fingertips. “And?”

“He said he feared what you would do if you ever found out.”

Arthur sank back in his chair, feeling tears prick at his eyes and blinking them back. “So he’s not denying it either. God. It’s all true, isn’t it? What else has he been hiding?”

“We’ll figure it out,” Merlin said. “That’s a promise.”

Chapter Text

Aris...arásae? Merlin’s feet guided his way through the castle back to his room by muscle memory alone, his mind focused on recalling every syllable Morgause had spoken. Middangeard, suna to helpe, hider...hider est fund? Hider eft funda...

He wanted to reach his magic book as soon as possible. He thought he knew what most of it meant, but he wanted to check his memory against the text, and see if Gaius had any other books that might refer to a similar spell.

If he was right, Arthur really had spoken to his mother’s spirit. But he wanted to be certain of it before he told him. He didn’t want to give him hope just to ruin the memory of that moment again.

He’d shut the door to the physician’s chambers, dropped his satchel on a table, and started toward his bedroom before he noticed Uther.

The tremulous, eager energy that had been driving him forward shattered against the jarring image of the stony king standing in his and Gaius’s home, leaving sharp shards of anxiety pricking in his limbs and chest.

Why is he here? Does he know? How could he? But what if he does oh god oh no—

“My Lord,” Merlin greeted the king as normally as he could manage. He remembered to bow his head a moment too late, and then ruined the gesture again by looking back up to watch as Uther closed the book he had been reading and dropped it carelessly on an already cluttered table. Merlin ducked his head and bowed deeper as the king approached him.

“I wanted to thank you in person for your actions yesterday,” Uther said. “You are a loyal servant to Arthur. I am most grateful.”

“I was just doing my duty.”

“You've proven yourself to be a trusted ally in the fight against magic.” Merlin had dutifully kept his eyes lowered, but as he registered Uther’s words, his head slowly lifted he stared at the king in bafflement.

“Me? ” He could hardly keep himself from laughing. 

“Those who practice magic will seek to exploit Arthur's inexperience,” Uther said. Merlin schooled his expression and nodded along as the king continued. “They will attempt to corrupt him. We must be extra vigilant.”

“I will keep my eyes peeled.” He tried to keep the irony out of his tone, but he wasn’t sure he entirely succeeded.

“I know you will.” Uther stepped past Merlin toward the door, but stopped before he reached it. He turned back to Merlin to add, “If you ever speak of what happened between myself and Arthur to another living soul, I will have you hanged.”

If I hang for anything, it’ll be for a lot worse than that, Merlin thought.

He bowed his head again as Uther finally stepped out of the chamber. “Right, of course. Yes, My Lord.”

Merlin was still staring at the open door when Gaius entered a moment later.  

“Was that Uther I saw just leaving?” the physician asked, closing the door behind him and raising incredulous eyebrows at Merlin.

“Yeah. He just popped in to say hello.”

“Merlin, what did he want?”

“He wanted to thank me for being a trusted ally in the fight against magic.”

It was almost a relief to see the disbelief Merlin felt reflected in Gaius’s expression. He slumped into a chair as they both processed what had just occurred.

“How you've managed to keep that head on your shoulders is a mystery beyond our greatest minds,” Gaius mused as he set aside his bag. He joined Merlin at the table and met his eyes. “Uther should be grateful. Your life would've been easier and safer if you'd let him die. You must have been tempted.”

“Maybe for a moment,” Merlin admitted. God, had he been tempted. Uther deserved what Arthur would have done to him, and more. “But Arthur wouldn't have been able to forgive himself if he'd gone through with it. It would have destroyed him.” Learning the truth wouldn’t be much easier, but Merlin had no doubt Arthur would emerge a better man.

Gaius smiled gently. “I'm proud of you, Merlin.”

The praise from his friend and mentor warmed him, and Merlin let himself bask in it for a moment.

The moment passed.

“Gaius…” Merlin scuffed his boots against the stone floor, wondering how he was going to tell him that he’d blabbed his big secret to Arthur more or less by accident. Maybe he shouldn’t lead with that part. “Arthur isn’t letting this go. I thought…I could help him get some answers by finding the spell Morgause used.”

The comfort and pride from moments before were gone from Gaius’s face, replaced by apprehension. His mouth pulled into a thin line and his brow furrowed. “You don’t intend to…”

“I just want to know if what she showed him was real,” Merlin clarified hurriedly. “That could tell us more about Morgause’s abilities, couldn’t it?”

Gaius hummed, contemplating the idea with a frown. “It...might,” he agreed reluctantly. “What do you remember of the ritual?”

—

Arise from death. Help your son. Return to this earth.

The translation wasn’t exact. Merlin couldn’t remember every word. But as far as they could tell, there hadn’t been anything malicious or deceptive in Morgause’s spell.

“We cannot trust that her intentions are altruistic,” Gaius cautioned. He had identified a ritual of the Old Religion similar to the one Morgause had used, and verified that it was designed to briefly contact the spirits of the dead. Morgause had modified the words to seek out Ygraine.   

“I know.” She had seemed calm and reasonable, but Merlin had been fooled before. Whatever her methods, Merlin suspected that Morgause planned to destabilize Camelot by destroying Arthur’s loyalty to his father. She may have even expected Arthur to kill him, as he almost had.

Although...if she knew what Arthur wanted to do, would she still seek to undermine Camelot? Or was Uther her true target?

He knew they couldn’t trust her, but maybe she didn’t have to be their enemy. If she truly had known the queen, what else could she tell them about Camelot’s hidden past?

The problem was that he didn’t know what she was really after.

…And that he didn’t know how to find her if they ever wanted to talk.

“What are you up to?” Gaius’s suspicious voice brought him back to the present.

Merlin looked up from the page he’d been staring at. “Nothing,” he lied automatically. He wasn’t sure what Gaius would think of Arthur’s plans...or Merlin’s confession, for that matter.

Gaius narrowed his eyes at him. “I hope you’re not thinking of doing anything foolish.”

Too late, Merlin thought. “Foolish? That doesn’t sound like me at all,” he joked. Gaius’s skeptical expression didn’t change, and Merlin let his smile drop. “No, it’s just…” His jaw clenched, and he forced himself to meet Gaius’s eyes. “Arthur was born because Uther used magic. You knew that. Why didn’t you say anything? ”

Gaius leaned back in his seat. “I made an oath that I would never speak of it.”

So? Merlin wanted to ask. You’ll illegally harbor a sorcerer in the king’s own castle, but you won’t break a promise to tell me that Uther has been deceiving his son and all of Camelot?

He grit his teeth, biting back the impulse. “Well, I know now. The secret’s out. Can’t hurt to tell me more, can it?” he tried.

“I swore I would take that knowledge to my grave.”

“Gaius, please.”

Gaius was silent for a moment as he considered, his pale blue eyes weary and calculating as they searched Merlin’s face. “I suppose you have a right to know the full story,” he said at last. “As does Arthur, but...Uther forbid me from telling him. And it seems he was right to fear what would happen if he knew.”  

Merlin closed his magic book and set it on the table beside them, turning to give Gaius his full attention.

The physician folded his hands in his lap, running his thumbs over his wrinkled knuckles as he began to speak.

“Nimueh was once welcomed in Camelot as an ally to the kingdom, and a friend to Uther,” he said. Merlin’s eyes widened, his jaw dropping slightly, but he stayed silent. “As a High Priestess of the Old Religion, she wielded powerful magic and influence, and Uther relied on her for advice and guidance. I was the Court Physician at that time, and practiced magic freely alongside her.”

Camelot had once been a place where magic was free, accepted, even respected. Merlin could hardly imagine it.

“When Uther realized that Ygraine could not conceive, he turned to magic for answers. I warned him that the magic of life and death was dangerous and unpredictable, but he would not listen. He thought it was his only option. So he sent me to ask Nimueh for her help. She told him, as I had, that there would be a price. A life for a life.”

Merlin knew that price all too well. He remembered heavy rains, the acrid smell of lightning and burnt flesh and cloth, his mother’s face marred by putrid boils. He suppressed a shudder.

“Uther accepted the risk,” Gaius continued. “Perhaps he thought that his life would be taken, or the life of a stranger. Either way, he commanded Nimueh to perform the spell, and she complied. Ygraine became pregnant soon after.”

“So Nimueh took Ygraine’s life?”

Gaius shook his head. “No. She let the Old Religion decide which life to exchange for the child’s when the time came. When Ygraine died just moments after Arthur took his first breaths, it was a shock to us all.”

“But Uther blamed her anyway.”

“Uther banished Nimueh from the court that very night. He had been growing wary of magic’s power for some time, and that incident broke his trust in it completely. The use of dark magic had been spreading. With more deaths and crimes attributed to magic than ever before, Uther was able to turn his people’s fears into hatred. And with that, the Purge had begun.”

Gaius fell silent, his eyes distant, lost in his memories. Merlin stared at his mentor’s profile, just...processing.

“I thought I could do more good by staying behind,” he said quietly, after a while. “Uther had been my friend for a long time. I thought I could reason with him, mitigate his anger. Or at the very least, use my position to help some people escape. So I swore to him I would never use magic again, and I stayed by his side while my friends fled the kingdom, or were caught and executed.”

“Gaius…” Merlin didn’t know what to say. He had never understood why Gaius would serve a man like Uther, until now.

Gaius blinked a few times, sending a stray tear streaking down his cheek. He wiped his face with his sleeve and gave Merlin a weak smile.

“Well, there you have it,” he said. “Now clean up these books and go to bed. I think we could both use some sleep.”

Merlin nodded, mute, and went to work.

Chapter Text

Arthur was awake, dressed, and seated at his desk when Merlin entered his chambers with breakfast. He had slept fitfully until the first hints of daylight slipped past his curtains, finally deciding to give up on his bed and write down some of his racing thoughts and pressing questions.  

He was listing potential allies and enemies among the court when Merlin closed the door and announced, “The king came to see me last night.”

Arthur’s fingers tensed around his quill, splattering ink as the tip scraped a short line against the parchment. 

“You’re still alive,” he noted. “I suppose that’s a good sign.”

He set the quill aside, pushed away from his desk, and took his place at the table. 

Merlin set the tray of food in front of him and plucked a roll from the plate. “He wanted to thank me in person for what I said to you,” he said. “He called me a trusted ally in the fight against magic, and he said we must be extra vigilant to protect you from magic users who want to exploit your inexperience and corrupt you.” He took a bite out of Arthur’s breakfast. 

“...You must be joking.” 

“See, that’s exactly what I was thinking while it happened,” Merlin said, waving the hand that held the bread at Arthur. “And then he left, and I spent most of the night reading my secret book of magic to translate a spell. Life is awfully funny sometimes, isn’t it?”

Arthur snorted. “That’s one way of putting it,” he said. To think his father had asked Merlin of all people to ensure Arthur would stay away from magic...it was almost too ridiculous to be offended by, but the manipulation and condescension evident in the request still rankled. 

Arthur speared a sausage with his fork. “Did you...find anything?”

Merlin nodded. “We can talk tonight. There isn’t time now.”

Arthur had training with the knights that morning, then lunch with his father and Morgana, and a routine patrol in the afternoon. They wouldn’t be able to speak in private for more than a few moments until that evening. 

Arthur’s jaw clenched at the thought of sharing a meal with Uther. How was he supposed to smile and carry on as though nothing had happened? 

But what else could he do?

If he confronted his father, Uther would continue to deny everything and probably throw him in the cells or confine him to his rooms until he “came to his senses,” as though punishing a child for throwing a tantrum. If he simply killed him for his crimes, as he almost had, he would lose the trust of his court and his people, destabilizing the kingdom and leaving it vulnerable to attack from their watchful rivals. 

And…Uther was still his father. Even now, the memory of holding a blade to his throat left Arthur feeling sick and unsettled. Murdering Uther in cold blood could not be an option, either as a prince or as a son. 

There had to be a better way. 

He put the thought aside and realized he had finished his breakfast without tasting a single bite of it. 

—

Arthur threw himself into the strain and burn of sparring, relishing in the pure physicality of it even as he watched each and every knight with a newly calculating gaze. Who was wholly loyal to Uther? Whose viewpoints were unwavering, and who might be swayed? 

His orders were sharp, every correction of footwork or technique curt and bare of his usual self-satisfied confidence. The others responded in kind. Their usual camaraderie dulled over the course of the morning to match the prince’s solemn concentration. When they finally retreated to the armory to stow their weapons and armor, Arthur escaped as soon as possible to clean up before lunch.

Just play along, he reminded himself as he slipped into the chair across from Morgana. Do what you always do. 

So he smiled and let the empty pleasantries and familiar banter wash over him as he ate. Yes, the new trainees showed great promise. No, he didn’t expect to return from patrol in time to dine together; he had already arranged for his servant to bring him his meal later in the evening. Yes, he had reviewed the crop inventory reports, and would have his suggestions prepared for the next council meeting.

On the other side of the table, Morgana stayed quiet, offering only a handful of teasing remarks throughout the meal. Whenever she believed Uther was in the wrong, though, she would be the first to speak up, no matter the consequences to herself. Not too long ago, she had hidden a Druid child in her own chambers until she could reunite him with his people—come to think of it, Merlin had helped with that, hadn’t he? They must already trust each other. How much did Morgana know about Merlin? 

Either way, Arthur had no doubt that Morgana would be an eager ally. Hell, she would probably be offended if he didn’t involve her in their plans.

As they left the hall and prepared to part ways, Arthur pulled her aside.

“Meet me in my chambers tonight, after sundown,” he said in a low tone. “I need your help with something.”

Morgana smirked, tilting her head at him. “Oh? The great Prince Arthur Pendragon needs my help? What, do you need to impress some girl who’s caught your eye?”

He refused to rise to the bait. This wasn’t the time for their usual back-and-forth. “No. It’s…something important.”

Her expression cleared as she searched his face, and she nodded. “Alright, then. I’ll do what I can.”

— 

Merlin had dinner on the table and a bath waiting in his chambers when Arthur finally returned from a long, uneventful patrol. He had almost wanted to find some trouble, just to give his mind a break from the incessant hum of anxious anticipation. 

Did Merlin figure it out? Was she real? She couldn’t be real. She had to be real. What if she wasn’t? What if she was?

Instead of immediately diving into the conversation Arthur had been waiting for all day, though, Merlin pushed him toward the tub. “We’ve got all night to talk, but right now, you smell like a horse’s ass,” he said.

Arthur threw a look over his shoulder at his dinner and felt his stomach growl. “I’d rather have a lukewarm bath than a cold meal.”

Merlin’s face lit up with a giddy grin. “No need to worry about either one, Sire,” he said, and then his eyes lit up quite literally as he waved a hand at the bathwater and muttered a few words Arthur didn’t recognize. Steam began to rise slowly from the tub. Merlin gestured to it with a flourish. “Welcome to a brand new world of possibilities.”

This was, Arthur realized, the first time he had actually seen Merlin use magic. And it was…hmm. 

“You’ve done that a lot, haven’t you.”

Merlin’s smile turned into a scowl. “And you have realized that the non-magical method for drawing private baths involves the long, exhausting process of hauling buckets of water up multiple flights of stairs while heating more water over a fire and hoping it will be just the right temperature at just the right time for the spoiled noble who demanded it on a whim, haven’t you?” Rolling his eyes, he crossed the room and dug in a basket of laundry to pull out a few thick, weathered books hidden beneath the clothes as Arthur undressed. “Yeah, of course I’ve done it a lot, it’s why I know that spell in the first place. I don’t know how the rest of the castle staff manages.”

Arthur sank into the bath with a sigh, and Merlin settled at the prince’s desk with his books, parchment, and a quill. As soothing as the hot water felt on his aching muscles—and damn, it really was the perfect temperature—Arthur still hurried through his routine. He scrubbed, dried, and dressed himself before joining Merlin at the desk, damp hair clinging to his forehead as he looked over his servant’s shoulder.

Merlin’s cramped, inelegant handwriting filled the spaces around Arthur’s own, more polished script—responses to the list of thoughts and questions he had written that morning. 

And down at the bottom of the last page…

Merlin sat back and tapped a finger next to the still-drying words, and then a page in the open tome set off to the side of the desk. “To the best of my memory, this is the spell Morgause used. A ritual from the Old Religion to contact the dead.”

Arise from death. Help your son. Return to this earth.

“Then…it really was my mother.” Arthur braces against the desk, his legs going weak as the tension he’d carried for the past few days drained away. His chest loosened, then tightened anew as the gravity of the revelation pressed against his sternum. His eyes squeezed shut to stem the flood of jumbled emotion. 

A thought struck, desperate and yearning.

“Could you do this?” Could I see my mother again?

Merlin’s breath caught. He stared up at Arthur with wide eyes, then back down at the paper. 

“I don’t know,” he answered, voice soft. “Morgause said the gate was closed forever, but I don't know if that's true. Magic is complicated. Especially the magic of life and death. I’ve never tried a spell like that before, and if I did something wrong and messed up a spell that powerful…I don’t know what the cost would be. To me, to you, or to your mother’s spirit.”

Arthur straightened, stepped away. “Right,” he said, scrubbing a palm over his eyes to catch barely-formed tears before they could fall. “Of course. I should not have asked that of you.”

Merlin’s lips quirked into a faint, melancholy smile, his eyes still on the ritual in the book. “Believe me. I understand.”

Arthur recalled, then, what Merlin had said about his missing father. If he had died, would a spell such as this allow Merlin to meet the parent he had never known, as well? Or was the man still alive in the world somewhere?

Clearing his throat, Arthur retreated to the dining table across the room. “But, ah. You did mention that reheating food was among your apparently many talents?”

“Oh! Yes.” 

Halfway through Arthur’s meal, a knock sounded at the door. Merlin leapt out of Arthur’s desk chair, shoving papers into the drawer even as the books snapped shut and flew under the bed on their own. 

Arthur, for his part, calmly stood and answered the door. 

“Ah! Lady Morgana. So glad you could join us,” Arthur said, stepping aside to let her into the room. He closed and locked the door behind her. “How would you like to help us overthrow my father?”

Chapter Text

“Is this some kind of joke?” Morgana asked, looking from Arthur, to Merlin, to the locked door as ice poured down Merlin’s spine. 

Of course Arthur would go to Morgana. Her name topped the list of potential allies he had written out that morning. But Merlin hadn’t thought he’d speak to her so soon. He wasn’t ready. What would he tell her? What could he say to justify lying to her, abandoning her when she’d come to him desperate and afraid, trusting him with a secret he refused to share in return? If he tried to hide his magic from her, how could he explain his reluctance to Arthur? 

And the dragon—he hadn’t even told the dragon about Arthur yet! What would he say if “the witch” knew? If they could all work together, would she still become a threat to Camelot? 

“Not in the slightest,” Arthur said, oblivious to Merlin’s silent turmoil. He gestured for Morgana to follow him to the desk where Merlin hovered awkwardly off to the side. “Morgana, you have always spoken out against injustice wherever and whenever you see it, even when you see it in the king. It’s something I admire, and, at times, envied.” 

At this, Morgana’s eyebrows arched high, and she looked at Merlin as though to ask, Are you hearing this, too? Merlin could only shrug helplessly.

Arthur continued, disregarding their exchange. “I’ve tried to justify his decisions, or bite my tongue while promising myself that I would be a different kind of ruler when my time came.” He opened the drawer where Merlin had stashed their planning notes and spread them again on the desk. “But recently, I learned that my father has committed—and continues to commit—injustices that I cannot afford to ignore. This kingdom cannot afford my ignorance, nor can it afford to keep Uther as its king.” 

Morgana lifted her hands, silently begging him to slow down. “Not that I disagree, but—for gods’ sake, Arthur, what happened?” 

Arthur’s chest heaved with a slow breath before he spoke again. “Two days ago, when Merlin and I met her outside of Camelot to accept my challenge, Morgause summoned my mother’s spirit.”

“Oh, Arthur…” She reached for his arm, a gesture of comfort, but he turned away.

“She told me…she said that when she could not conceive an heir for him, Uther asked the sorceress Nimueh to cast a spell to create life. I was born of magic. He sacrificed her life for mine.”

“That hypocrite,” Morgana hissed. Merlin saw, for a moment, the same righteous fury that had nearly driven her to take Uther’s life herself after he executed Gwen’s father. The same fury he’d seen in Arthur’s eyes two days ago. Then it receded, replaced by warmth and sorrow as she murmured, “I’m so sorry. To learn such a thing must be painful.”

“If everything I suspect is true, my pain is nothing next to the suffering Uther caused. He must be brought to justice.” 

“And you want my help.” Her eyes flickered over to Merlin, who stood silent and jittery with nerves, trying not to be noticed or addressed. An effort that was, of course, doomed to failure from the start. “...And Merlin’s.”

“Ah! Yes.” Arthur clapped his hands as a bright grin replaced his grim expression. He moved around Morgana to sling an arm over Merlin’s shoulders. Merlin attempted to shrink out of existence, mentally pleading with any available gods to have mercy on him and for Arthur to keep his big damn mouth shut. 

He did not.

“As it turns out, Camelot isn’t very good at sniffing out sorcerers after all,” Arthur said, cheerfully trampling Merlin’s hopes of coming out of this little meeting unscathed. “Seeing as the crown prince’s personal servant happens to be one.”

Morgana’s pale eyes widened—oh, yes, there’s all the hurt and betrayal Merlin had been dreading—before turning sharp and icy. “Is he, now.” 

True to form, Arthur did not notice the sudden change in atmosphere. Merlin wasn’t sure whether he should be relieved or not. “He’s got his own big old book of magic spells and everything. He’s the one who translated Morgause’s spell, so we know that the spirit I met wasn’t some kind of trick or illusion.”

Was...was Arthur bragging to Morgana about Merlin’s magical know-how? That’s what it sounded like, right? If Merlin wasn’t pinned in place by the rapidly growing fury in Morgana’s glare, he’d maybe be a little bit more pleased than he currently had the capacity to feel. And baffled. Who knew he’d have to reveal himself as a sorcerer to earn Arthur’s respect? 

“Did he, now.” 

Oh, right. Morgana.

Arthur would have to be deaf and probably blind to miss the animosity now radiating from both Morgana’s tone and expression. Probably. Even with full faculties, he seemed to just barely pick up on it. Sometimes, Merlin was downright impressed by just how oblivious Arthur could be when he wasn’t consciously monitoring other people’s emotional responses.

“...Am I missing something?” he asked, like an idiot.

Morgana’s voice and smile were sweet venom. “Why don’t you ask Merlin, since he’s so keen to share secrets with you?” 

Arthur lifted his arm from Merlin’s shoulders and backed away from the staredown between them, hands raised in mock surrender. 

“So, I am missing something,” he said slowly. 

Morgana raised an eyebrow at Merlin, arms crossed. Patient. Waiting for him to speak, as he had failed to do weeks ago when she most needed to hear it.

He let out a long breath. “The Druids didn’t kidnap Morgana. I led her to them.”

Arthur’s hands dropped to his sides in surprise. “You what? Why?”

“To help me understand my magic, because no one in Camelot could help me,” Morgana said. Her tone hardened as she continued. “Or so I thought. Evidently, I was... misled.”

“Your—now, hang on just a moment—” 

“Morgana, I’m sorry.” Dimly, Merlin registered Arthur flailing in his periphery as he tried to keep up with the conversation, but he couldn’t keep quiet any longer. “I know how lonely and confusing it must have been for you, but it would have been even more dangerous for—”

“I was lighting my bedroom on fire in my sleep,” she snapped. “That wasn’t dangerous enough to justify your help? I was having nightmares every night and visions of Arthur dying in a new way every other week, and you would barely even admit that it might have been magic. And then—what, it was too dangerous to tell me, one other person who would have every reason to keep your secret in return, but it seemed perfectly fine to sneak me out of the castle, let Uther think I’d been kidnapped, and bring his wrath down on the Druids who helped me and the rest of the kingdom, only to drag me back to this prison? Was that less of a risk for either of us?”

Merlin felt every word like a blow, reliving the guilt and frustration and regret anew in each syllable. But Morgana wasn’t quite finished, even as the anger drained away, leaving only a raw ache and brimming tears.

“I thought we were friends,” she said, a breath above a whisper. “Do you really trust me so little?”

Merlin’s heart broke for her all over again, and he felt his own eyes stinging. Nothing he could say could fix this, really. What could he tell her? The truth? Sorry, but a dragon told me that you’re going to be Camelot’s downfall one day, so I should probably kill you instead of giving you magic lessons? But what lie could justify what he’d put her through, now that she knew the lengths he’d gone to keep his own secret?

Desperately, he tried again. “It’s not like that. I swear, I wanted to help you, I wanted to tell you so badly, but every time I tried to convince Gaius, he said it would be—” 

He realized his mistake a beat too late, as Morgana’s breath hitched. 

“Gaius knew?” she breathed. Gaius, who had fed her potion after potion, lie after lie, to keep her docile and ignorant. 

Merlin had hated it then, and he hated it even more now as he saw the consequences of those lies written in her expression. She sank into the desk chair, a hand covering her mouth as this new revelation worked its way through her mind.

“He thought it would be safer for you if you didn’t know it was magic. You wouldn’t have to lie, that way. And my secret would have been its own burden. But I knew the confusion and loneliness were worse, so even if I couldn’t tell you myself, I thought I could bring you peace in some other way. I just...didn’t understand what the consequences would be.”

Both Merlin and Morgana started when Arthur spoke up from his new position: lying face-down on his bed. He lifted his head to speak unmuffled. “You really thought my father wouldn’t notice if his ward just disappeared from the castle when he believed someone had attacked her in her room just a couple days before?”

Merlin threw up his hands. “I didn’t think he would start rounding up and executing dozens of citizens! And Morgana didn’t exactly object to the plan at the time!”

“I was desperate!”

“So was I!”

The two of them breathed hard, worked-up and watery-eyed, staring at each other through the guilt and anger and hurt as Arthur groaned and dropped his head back into his mattress in the background. 

“Mwaeh.” Arthur popped back up and tried again. “Wait. You said Merlin found the Druids? How? Could you do it again?”

Merlin glanced at Morgana, who also seemed to be suddenly remembering the reason Arthur had called them here and started this whole mess in the first place. “I don’t know where they are now, but I know someone who might be able to help me find them.”

“Another magic user?” 

“...You could say that.” He wasn’t sure a dragon would count as a sorcerer, but he was definitely magical. 

Arthur rolled to his feet and started pacing, more comfortable with a problem to solve than an argument flying over his head. “If we could find any Druids who were alive before the Purge, we could ask them what Camelot was like back then, without the anti-magic bias. The side of history that Uther tried to erase. It might help us understand what to look for in the sealed records, if nothing else. Inconsistencies, contradictions. Maybe records from other kingdoms would have more information—but that could be even more difficult to access.” He sent a flat look at the two of them. “Harder than finding magic users in the heart of the anti-magic capital of Albion, apparently.”

Merlin shrugged. Morgana rolled her eyes. 

“If Merlin and I reach out to the Druids, perhaps Morgana could take up a sudden interest in obscure tomes in the library…?”

Morgana shook her head. “I want to come with you to see the Druids.”

“An extended outing like that with you may be harder to explain.”

“I can’t request a pleasant picnic and leisurely horseback ride escorted by my favorite prince?” Morgana suggested with an innocent tilt of her head. Arthur sighed, and she dropped the act. “Even though things ended badly, the Druids still helped me, and they suffered for it. If those who took me in are still alive, I want to thank them,” she explained. Then, quieter. “And apologize for my part in what happened.”

Arthur bowed his head. “You’re not the one who needs to apologize,” he murmured, so soft it may not have been meant for the others in the room. He visibly collected himself, straightening and meeting Merlin’s eyes with renewed determination. “So. When can we meet this mysterious magic user of yours?”

Merlin blinked. “What do you mean we?”

“I’m trying to get to know as many sorcerers as possible to understand the true history of my kingdom and its impact on their lives. Keep up , Merlin. And you’ve still only told me about the spell translation. You said you had more to tell me than that, and Morgana is hardly up to speed yet. Your little spat has taken up quite enough of our time tonight—”

“Little spat?” Morgana fumed.

“—so if you’re still willing to work together, we’d better make the most of what’s left.”

Chapter Text

Arthur still couldn’t sleep. 

The revelations Merlin had presented to them before they adjourned their little conspiracy meeting left Arthur’s thoughts scrambling for purchase yet again, 

Uther, friends with a sorceress. Nimueh, a member of the court. He had demanded that she cast the spell, despite her warning of the cost—a life for a life, as simple as it was devastating. She had yielded as a subject to her king, and she saw her people burn for it when Uther decided he no longer liked the price he had agreed to.

They hadn’t stopped burning, either, even after the fires had died. They burned in secrecy, in fear, in loneliness and loss. After all, the pyres could be relit at a moment’s notice—hadn’t the Witchfinder proven that? He had interrogated Morgana, accused Merlin of sorcery (rightly, apparently—perhaps the man wasn’t entirely a fraud), and almost condemned Gaius to death in the flames. 

Morgana and Merlin had never felt the heat of the pyre or the cold of the executioner’s blade, yet the ever-looming threat haunted them in ways Arthur never would have imagined. 

To be honest, he still couldn’t imagine it. He thought he’d gotten the gist of what happened between them from their argument, but he couldn’t help but feel that he was missing something. He didn’t know enough to fully understand Morgana’s anger or Merlin’s reluctance to share his secret with her—and neither did she, judging by the scowl that refused to leave her face as Merlin spoke, and deepened whenever he said Gaius’s name. 

(After the initial shouting match, Arthur made an effort to pay attention to the mood in the room. He didn’t know what he’d do if they got into a real fight in the middle of his chambers, even if magic wasn’t involved.)

He didn’t know enough. It was starting to feel like he didn’t know anything. Not about his kingdom, or his own father, or even two of the people he might have called his closest friends, if forced to admit it under threat of death. Some petty part of him wondered why Morgana had never reached out to him, why she had confessed to Merlin of all people. He had rebelled right alongside her in the name of justice for their people, time and time again. 

But how could he blame her? Why should she trust him to act as anything more than Uther’s loyal son? For every time he had disobeyed, there were dozens more when he had accepted orders without question. Merlin had let his secret slip only when Arthur had revealed his more-or-less treasonous intentions—and even then, it seemed like an accident more than a conscious decision. If it hadn’t been shocked out of him in that moment, would Merlin still have revealed his secret? Would he choose to trust Arthur? 

He couldn’t be sure. After all, they had both been right in front of him, suffering in plain sight, and he hadn’t noticed a thing. 

He hadn’t known. 

His father’s lies, fuelled by guilt and hatred, guiding his sword in slaughter after slaughter in the name of justice and the protection of innocent citizens. Unbidden, faces flashed in his mind’s eye. Executions. Massacres. Druids. Civilians. Criminals and assassins. He remembered feeling horror and guilt, at times. More often, though, came grim satisfaction, relief, fostered in the belief that their deaths brought peace to his people.

How many had tried to end their people’s suffering, driven by rage and grief to kill the king, just as he had almost done a few days ago? How many more Morganas and Merlins would he find throughout his kingdom, as afraid of each other as they were of the friends and family who could turn on them at any time? Who had he been protecting? 

He hadn’t known. 

Arthur buried his face in his pillow and tried not to burn.

— 

“You look awful.”

Arthur squinted at Merlin in the early morning light. He didn’t remember falling asleep, but it felt like it must have been mere seconds ago, based on his utter lack of restfulness. “I have a lot on my mind,” he croaked. 

“That must be quite a novel sensation for you,” his servant remarked, his voice light and teasing as he laid out the day’s clothes. “Need any advice on managing more than one thought at once?”

“Not from you,” Arthur shot back. He hauled himself to his feet with a groan, feeling heaviness in every limb and an ache behind his eyelids. “Although, perhaps I should steal Morgana’s magic sleep bracelet tonight.”

And that—yes, that was yet another revelation from the night before: Morgause had visited Morgana and gave her a bracelet to help her sleep. She said she’d felt a connection with her, whatever that meant.

“We don’t know why she sought out Arthur to cast that spell,” Merlin warned. “She may have hoped he’d throw the kingdom into chaos by killing the king.” 

Arthur felt a twinge of indignation at that. Who said he’d let the kingdom fall apart, even if he had gone through with it? 

“Or she wanted to show him the truth so that he could bring the kingdom to justice,” Morgana snapped. “Why does she have to be an enemy? Can’t we work with her, instead of leaving her in the dark when she’s already a part of this?”

Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that she wasn’t just talking about Morgause.

“I don’t know if it would work for you,” Merlin mused, abandoning his chores at the first opportunity. He tapped a finger against his chin and tilted his head toward the ceiling. “It might be a general sleep aid, or it could help suppress her visions or magic, which wouldn’t do anything for you at all. She wouldn’t know about the magic, though, unless she’s powerful enough to sense it, which could be trouble. Or maybe it’s attuned to a certain person? I wonder if the bracelet was already magical, or if Morgause enchanted it with Morgana in mind once she heard about her trouble sleeping. Or—”

“Merlin.” 

“You’re right, we could always try it and see what happens.”

“Merlin.” Arthur waited a moment to see if Merlin would barrel on regardless. He scrubbed both hands over his face, hoping to rub some life back into it. “I was joking. And as fascinating as all that is, we have more pressing concerns at the moment.” 

“Your breakfast?” Merlin gestured helpfully at the hearty meal of honeyed porridge and fruit laid out on the table. 

“Your mysterious magic user.” And contacting Morgause. And scouring the hidden records, if they still existed. And rewriting the laws of Camelot to account for magic use. Oh, and the small matter of ousting the current king without inciting a civil war, and possibly putting him on trial to solidify Arthur’s claim to the throne and establish grounds for reinstating magic users as members of society.

Merlin’s plan to find the Druids just seemed like the most actionable item on their to-do list, at the moment. 

“Right. Erm.” Merlin’s eyebrows did a subtle, yet complicated dance, rising and falling and tensing in tiny twitches. “He—well—I’m not sure how he’ll react to me bringing…strangers with me. He’s a little…temperamental? You should probably meet him anyway, I mean, I think you would eventually, I just, ah, I just think I should speak to him first. Alone. Tonight.”

“He lives in the kingdom?”

“You could say that,” Merlin hedged, echoing his equally vague response from last night. He cleared his throat. “Er, anyway, I put the latest inventory and dispute reports on your desk. I could start sorting through them while you eat, if you like?”

He’d like to get some proper rest so he could tackle all his kingdom-running and kingdom-saving duties with a clear mind, but that seemed unrealistic at this point. 

“Fine, fine,” Arthur said instead, yanking on his trousers with sleeplessness-induced clumsiness and irritation. “Let’s get to work.”

— 

Arthur couldn’t get his brain to shut up. He was trying his damn hardest to focus on the most tedious of his princely duties—paperwork—but he kept coming back to the million-and-one things he didn’t know.

“My fath—the king always told us that magic is an evil corruption, spreading like a disease from person to person,” he found himself saying, after staring blankly at the same row of inventory figures for several minutes. “I’m assuming that is...not entirely accurate.”

He heard a snort from the other side of the room, where his servant had been shoving semi-folded laundry into his wardrobe from the basket he’d abandoned yesterday. 

“Well, if everything I’ve ever been taught about magic is a lie, then what is the truth?”

“You’re asking me?” When Arthur finally dragged his eyes away from the paper, he saw Merlin’s incredulity mirrored in his expression. “I thought you’d talk to the Druids about this kind of thing.” 

“You’re here now, aren’t you? Can’t I ask you both?” Arthur leaned back in his chair and rolled his shoulders. “You claim to know a thing or two about magic.” He swept an arm towards Merlin in a silent invitation, raised eyebrows and faint smile adding a hint of challenge. Go on. Impress me.

Merlin still seemed nonplussed. “You want to know...about magic. In general.”

“Yes.”

“Isn’t that a little broad? You couldn’t pick a more specific question to start with?”

“I don’t know what I don’t know, Merlin. Though, I’m beginning to think you might be a bad teacher.” 

Merlin huffed, rising to the bait. “Fine . I just...hmm,” he hummed, frowning at the remaining clothes in the basket before dumping them all into the bottom of the wardrobe and shutting the door. He tossed the basket to the side and turned around.

“It’s not evil, first of all,” he said at last, and dragged a chair from the table to join Arthur at his desk. He straddled it and crossed his arms over the back before he continued. “It can be used for great good, or great evil, or the most mundane task you could imagine.”

“Like heating my bathwater,” Arthur commented, voice dry. 

“Exactly. But it’s not inherently good or evil, really. It just...is.” Merlin’s gaze drifted out the window. “It’s everywhere—as natural as the sky.”

“Everywhere?” Arthur’s skin began to prickle with a phantom itch, as though he could suddenly feel whispers of magic brushing against him. 

“Everywhere. Even in the heart of Camelot,” Merlin confirmed. “Gaius told me that most people have to train for years in order to use it properly, though. Before the Purge, he said he spent as much time studying magic as he did medicine, and the magic was always harder for him.”

Arthur had learned of Gaius’s past with magic from the Witchfinder, but it still felt jarring to hear him described as a sorcerer. He’d known the man his entire life—had been half-raised by him—yet it seemed the physician had never been as closely allied to the king’s beliefs as he’d assumed. He’d have to sit down and have a long talk with him. As a magic-using member of Uther’s court before and after the Purge, his insight would be invaluable.

Then the core of what Merlin had said struck him.

“Most people,” Arthur realized. “Not Morgana.” 

The line of Merlin’s mouth twisted. “No. Some of us are born with our abilities.”

His wording made Arthur pause and squint at him, leaning forward over his desk with his elbows on all the important papers he was currently ignoring. “...You didn’t study for it either, did you.” 

Merlin hesitated, but shook his head. “Magic isn’t a choice for me. For either of us. But even if it was...I would not choose any differently. It’s a part of me and always has been. It’s who I am.”

Arthur knew what Uther would say in response. Something about their duty to resist temptation, to strike down evil in whatever form they find it, or perhaps the soul-corrupting lies of the damned. 

He would kill them both anyway. Condemned from birth.

“Thank you, Merlin. You’ve given me much to consider,” Arthur said. “Now go fix the mess you’ve made of my wardrobe while I finish these damn reports.”

— 

“...Have you really been a sorcerer this entire time?”

“Remember how Uther made me your servant because I saved your life? Yeah. That was magic.”

“Ah, so you were incompetent and a criminal. A bad hiring decision on all counts, then.”

— 

Dinnertime found Arthur once again seated across from Morgana, with Uther at the head of the table spouting airy pleasantries as though Arthur hadn’t tried to kill him just days before. Morgana’s smile seemed tighter than usual, her tone a touch stilted, but when the king asked after her health, she waved him off.

“Just a little tired, My Lord,” she said with a demure bow of her head. “You needn’t concern yourself with the matter. I intend to speak to Gaius this evening.”

Arthur—who was trying to pay more attention, thank you very much—caught the slight waver of intensity over Gaius’s name, and he prayed that she wasn’t planning on picking another fight. He knew better than anyone how long she could hold a grudge.

He decided to change the subject.

“Father,” he began. “The events of the past few weeks have weighed heavily on my mind. Morgause, the Witchfinder...We seem to find sorcery everywhere we turn, even within those we believed to be trusted allies in the fight against magic.” 

Morgana’s fork scraped harshly across her plate. “Pardon me,” she murmured, shooting Arthur a narrow-eyed look of suspicion once Uther’s attention left her.

“I’m afraid you may be right,” Uther said, voice grim. “The threat has been growing as of late.”

“As a...precaution,” Arthur continued, choosing his words carefully, “I hoped you could tell me more about the height of magic in the kingdom. To steel myself against further manipulations, that I may recognize magic’s influence before it’s too late.”

Not too long ago, Arthur would have treasured the pride that gleamed in Uther’s eyes, preened at the pleased tilt of his smile. Now, he struggled not to grimace. 

“Of course, my son. I’m glad to see you taking initiative in this matter.” Uther’s manner shifted, his back straightening. Arthur recognized the echoes of public speeches and the stories he had been raised to believe as his father spoke. “When I came to this kingdom, it was mired in chaos. Magic thrived in the streets—the unnatural and depraved so commonplace that citizens lived in constant fear. The barbaric rituals of the Old Religion demanded human sacrifices and endless bloodshed to appease their so-called gods, yet the people gained no benefit or respite from their suffering. Magical beasts terrorized the countryside, dragons burned down villages. Sorcerers preyed on the innocent in their pursuit of power—”

“But Gaius practiced magic in the past, did he not?” Arthur interrupted innocently. “You said as much when the Witchfinder questioned his loyalties.”

To his dubious credit, Uther barely faltered. “He studied it to an extent, yes. It is a testament to his strength of will and the integrity of his character that he was able to resist the corruption before it could take hold. He agreed that sorcery could no longer be tolerated, and turned his back on it. In fact, his knowledge of the enemy was instrumental in my efforts to expunge it from the land.”

Arthur felt an odd twist in his chest. Had Gaius truly turned against his own people? Or was the chaos Uther described real enough that Gaius believed Uther’s actions were justified? “Perhaps I should consult him, then, for more specific counter-strategies.”

“Indeed. Before you are ready to take the throne, you must be ready to defend it against our greatest adversary.” Uther smiled again. Arthur heard the familiar undertones of pressure, pressure, pressure as the king continued, “I’m certain you will make me proud.”

Arthur sincerely doubted that. For the first time, though, the thought of disappointing his father was a welcome one.

— 

Morgana turned towards Gaius’s chambers the moment they left the dining hall. Arthur linked her arm in his as though escorting her, causing her steps to stutter before resuming their warpath. 

“Yes, My Lord?” she gritted out from behind a stiff smile.

“I hope you don’t intend to eviscerate our dear physician before I get a chance to speak with him,” Arthur murmured, mindful of their semi-public position. “Whether you like him or not, he could be our most valuable ally in the castle.”

“He is an ally to none but himself,” she hissed. She eyed a pair of passing servants laden with used dinnerware, then continued at an even lower volume. “We both heard what Uther said. Gaius betrayed his own people.” 

“And we both know by now that Uther speaks in half-truths at best when it comes to magic. We cannot condemn people without knowing the full story, Morgana. Isn’t that the point of all this?”

Morgana stopped short, dragging Arthur to a halt a pace ahead of her. “Fine,” she said. “I may not understand the wrongs of his past, but I do understand how he wronged me. And if you expect us to work together, this is a conversation we need to have. Alone.”

Arthur released her arm and took a step away, dipping into a shallow bow. “By all means, My Lady.”

“Thank you, My Lord.”

Arthur watched her turn the corner before making his way back to his own chambers.

When he unlocked the door and entered, he found a haphazard pile of half-polished armor and chainmail, an unsharpened sword, and Merlin, sitting at Arthur’s desk with his book of magic wide open as he scribbled away on a piece of parchment filled with even more of his graceless writing. 

“Are you a servant or a librarian?” Arthur asked as he shut and locked the door behind him. Merlin startled, then glared at him.

“You were the one who wanted to know what magic could do and how it might be regulated.” He flipped the book shut and lifted it so Arthur could see the thick leather spine. “Does this look like light reading material to you? And it’s not the only spellbook out there, you know. I’m trying to be thorough.” 

Arthur lightly kicked his pauldron as he passed it. “So you’re finally putting some real effort into your duties, but only the ones that could get you executed.”

“Well, that’s nothing new,” Merlin commented, adding a note to his list. “This is just the first time you get to see my effort, that’s all.” 

Arthur frowned at that. He opened his mouth to ask him what he meant, but Merlin cut him off, not noticing his curiosity.

“So, first of all, magic can be used in a lot of different ways. Rituals, potions, verbal incantations, enchanted objects—but, er, that’s not really relevant to what you asked, except that powerful spells often require especially rare ingredients, or even special locations, so the kind of magic most people have access to wouldn’t be able to, say, destroy the kingdom, or anything like that. There are definitely some types of spells that should still be illegal, though. Necromancy, for one—er, that’s, well, re-animating the dead. Not usually a lot of altruistic intentions behind that sort of thing. Curses, anything designed to kill people or cause disease or misfortune. But then there are all the healing spells, which, honestly, we might want to teach to people. Medicine can be much more effective when combined with magic, and it could be a great way to prove that it can be a force for good in Camelot again—”

Merlin was not a particularly articulate or well-organized teacher, but this was, by far, the most genuine passion Arthur had ever seen in the other man. And—as far as Arthur could tell—he knew what the hell he was talking about, with a depth of knowledge that left Arthur stunned with the realization of just how much intelligence Merlin had been forced into hiding due to the…controversial nature of his studies. Merlin could be surprisingly insightful, even wise, at times, but he’d always been so dense and useless at everything else that Arthur had assumed those moments were exceptions to the rule of idiocy. Maybe, instead, they were glimpses of who he could be, if given the chance.

Bumbling yet clever, paranoid yet brave, insolent yet loyal. The picture wasn’t quite complete, but Arthur was finally beginning to solve the riddle of Merlin.

“...but these kinds of charms are harmless, really only good for minor household protections or—ah.” Merlin blinked as the last of the sunset’s dying light faded from the room, then grimaced. “I should go. I still need to talk to Gaius before I meet with the dr—the magic user I told you about.” He stuffed the parchment between the pages of the spellbook, then tucked the book into the back of Arthur’s desk drawer. 

“What about my armor?” Arthur called after his servant as he slipped out the door.

“You’ll survive!” Merlin yelled back, and disappeared. 

Arthur dropped into his desk chair, head still spinning from all the talk of enchantments and ingredients and the morality of love potions. He felt like he was forgetting something.

Oh, right. Morgana. Maybe he should have warned Merlin about that.

Nah, he thought. She’s probably long gone. It’ll be fine.

Chapter Text

Morgana had spent the day in the library. 

Morgause’s bracelet continued to help her sleep, but she woke to restless energy in her ribcage and quivering in her limbs. The same gnarled tangle of feelings that had threatened to keep her awake the night before snared her thoughts the moment she was conscious enough to have them. 

She tried to distract herself with the easy, idle chatter that so often filled her mornings with her maidservant, but her mind wandered. Her responses came too slow, too short, and eventually, Gwen set down the comb she had been smoothing through Morgana’s sleep-rumpled hair. 

“It’s a lovely day out,” she said, her voice light. She always knew when Morgana had a bad night, and met her reticence with good cheer tempered by a gentle concern. “Why don’t we go for a walk today? Around the castle grounds, or perhaps into the city?”

Morgana’s fingers tightened in the silken folds of her dress where her hands rested in her lap. For the first time since she learned of her powers, she had hope—if Arthur succeeded, Camelot would no longer be her prison. She would no longer have to hide who she was. And now that such a dream was within reach, the thought of taking a pleasant stroll while Arthur and Merlin worked—Merlin knows another magic user. Do they know his secret, too? Why lie to me and not to them? Who are they? No, that’s not important right now—made her skin itch with impatience. She wanted to act . 

Despite her status, she held little power in the court. As Arthur had pointed out the night before, however, she did have access to the Camelot’s massive collection of historical texts. 

She smiled at Gwen’s reflection in the mirror. “I think I could use a distraction, actually. It’s been some time since we visited the library, hasn’t it?”

— 

The trouble was, Morgana realized, that she had only a vague idea of what she was trying to find. What kind of information would be helpful to Arthur’s cause? Which of the hundreds of books and scrolls lining the shelves held reliable information? And on top of that, if her search was too deliberate and focused, she couldn’t pass it off as the most recent manifestation of her boredom as the king’s ward. The librarian may be too busy with his own record-keeping to notice anything unusual, but Guinevere’s worry and confusion would only grow. 

Lying to her had already been difficult, and in the most literal sense, it would be even harder now. Before, she could keep her secret by holding her tongue. Now, she would have actions and intentions to obfuscate, alibis to invent.

Now, she wasn’t sure if she could bear to continue. 

She did not want to lie to Gwen—to her friend—the way Gaius and Merlin had lied to her. 

And yet…It was different, wasn’t it? To the best of Morgana’s knowledge, Gwen had no part in this, no latent magic she struggled to control. Morgana never had a choice in the matter, but Gwen did. Learning the truth would put her at risk.

She is already at risk, Morgana argued with herself. If our plans were discovered, would Uther believe that she was ignorant of my actions? Would she, a mere serving girl, be spared his wrath? Of course not. 

If they told Gwen the truth, would they be allowing her to choose for herself whether or not to be involved? Or would they only be forcing her to lie for them? 

Was this why Merlin hadn’t told her they were the same? Why Gaius had kept silent?

No. No, Morgana could not accept that. She had asked them for help, begged them for answers. For any scrap of reassurance that she had not gone mad. That she was not alone. 

And she had been denied. 

Well…perhaps that was not entirely true. She could admit that Merlin had made a reckless, clumsy attempt at a compromise—giving her access to answers without providing them himself or revealing his own secret. 

But it hurt to think that she had trusted him, that she had dared to think of him as a friend, and yet she had failed to earn his trust in return. 

You hold power over him he could never hope to match, she heard in the steady, sensible voice of her maid. It was only natural that Gwen would remain Morgana’s voice of reason, even within the privacy of her thoughts. The word of a servant against that of the king’s ward? Had you turned against him, he would be dead within the day. 

He had so little faith in me, yet he told Arthur? The king’s son? 

The king’s son, who promises change and has the power to make it reality.

We could have helped each other. 

He could have said nothing. He could have lied and left you doubting your own mind, as Gaius would have had him do. Instead, he found the Druids and brought you to them at great risk to himself. Thanks to them—thanks to him, you know who you are. You know magic is nothing to be feared. 

Morgana slid yet another scroll back into place on its shelf. She was getting nowhere—not with the arguments raging in her mind, and not with her current project. If she was to work with a clear head, she needed to air her grievances with those who had wronged her, instead of dwelling endlessly on past regrets when she was supposed to be dwelling on the past of their kingdom. 

As evening drew nearer, Morgana left the library dissatisfied with her results, but firm in her newfound resolution.

“You deserve an early night,” she told Gwen as her servant prepared her for dinner with the king. “After you finish your evening duties, you may go home. I won’t require your presence after dinner.”

“Are you certain, My Lady?” Gwen asked, pinning a few stray hairs back into place within the ornate clasp that they had selected for the day. 

“Of course. I’ll be fine. I’d like some time to myself, to…think.”

“Does this have anything to do with your new hobby?”

“Perhaps.” Maybe she could let Gwen draw her own conclusions, whatever they may be. Or…she could share a portion of the truth. “Arthur asked for my help researching something, but I’m not sure I found anything useful.”

Gwen’s expression cleared. “Oh! Well, we can try again tomorrow. If you tell me what we’re looking for—er, I’m not sure how much help I’ll be, if you’re having trouble. But another set of eyes couldn’t hurt, could it?”

For your sake, Morgana thought, I hope not.

— 

Other than a fleeting moment of heart-stopping terror that Arthur had changed his mind and was about to betray them all to Uther and the horrifying confirmation that Gaius had aided in the slaughter of his people, dinner passed relatively smoothly. 

Morgana’s list of grievances with the physician had room to grow, it seemed. 

She escaped Arthur’s suspicion easily enough with a simple promise not to murder the man, and found herself at his door soon after.

She took a deep breath, and pushed it open.

“Gaius? Merlin?” she called into the room as she entered. She spotted Gaius measuring liquids into small vials at one of his cluttered workbenches, but the area was otherwise empty. No patients. Good. She latched the door behind her and approached the physician.

“Ah, My Lady.” Gaius greeted her with a warm smile that she did not return. “Merlin is attending to the prince at the moment.” Fine. That was fine. She wanted to speak to Gaius alone, anyway. He stoppered the vials and slotted them into his travel case before standing to face her. “What can I help you with?”

“You can be honest with me, for once.” 

Gaius’s smile vanished. “I’m afraid I don’t understand what you mean.” 

“Then let me make myself perfectly clear.” Morgana circled past him, drawing him deeper into the chamber and turning to keep an eye on the door. This conversation must not be overheard or interrupted. “I know that you know of Merlin’s magic, and I want you to tell me why you denied the existence of mine.”

He straightened his spine, expression falling into his familiar stern frown and raised eyebrow. “That is a grave accusation, my dear.”

“Accusation? Do you fear I will turn you over to the king?” Morgana scoffed. “Betraying my own kind to that monster is the last thing I would ever do—not that you would understand that.” Gaius reared back, stunned, and Morgana continued before he could recover. “How long have you known I had magic?” 

“If it were true, it would be news to me. But, Morgana…”

She raised a hand. “Don’t—don’t try to deny it. The Druids told me the truth about myself, and Merlin told me the truth about you.”

“There must have been some misunderstanding—”

“For gods’ sake, Gaius, stop treating me like a child and answer me!”

Gaius lowered his chin, his frown softening with concern that felt unbearably patronizing. “I care for you as my own family. I have only ever sought to protect you—everything I have done, I have done for your sake.” When he reached out to put a hand on her shoulder, she shrugged him off and took a step backward. 

“I can believe that you wish to protect me,” she said, “and think you must manipulate and lie to me to do so.” She couldn’t keep her voice from wavering. “I confided in you. I told you about my dreams, my fears, my magic—things I trusted to you and no one else. I thought you didn’t believe me, but that you were still trying to help in the only way you could. But I was wrong. Did you give all those remedies to me, knowing they would never work?”

“Morgana! How could you suggest such a thing?” Did he have the gall to be offended? “I’ve spent these past years researching and experimenting with every sleep aid known to medicine in the hopes of easing your suffering. I did everything within my power—”

“Liar,” she snapped. “You had the power to help me. Merlin wanted to tell me the truth, but you stopped him—he said it himself.”

Gaius’s thin mouth pressed into a taut line. “If you did not know the truth, you would not have to lie.” 

“So at last you admit that you’ve hidden the truth from me?”

The physician bowed his head. After a long moment, he sighed. “I encouraged your belief that your dreams were mere nightmares. In Uther’s eyes, the gift of prophecy is too close to the work of magic, and I wanted to keep you safe from his suspicion. I had my theories about your other abilities, but I could confirm nothing until the fires.”

Morgana felt her world shift yet again, scrambling for purchase on unsteady ground. She staggered back until she hit a bench and sank down onto it. The air felt too thin to fill her lungs. 

“All this time…” Heat stung at the back of her eyes, and she fought back tears. “Years. You let me feel alone and helpless for years. ”

“You know Uther’s hatred of magic better than anyone. I dared not risk your safety.” Gaius eased into the seat across from her, leaning forward with that damn look of empty concern in his eyes. “You’ve never been alone, my dear girl. I have always been here for you.”

“You let me think I was going mad! That is an act of cruelty, not protection.” Was Gaius truly so blind to his own wrongdoing? So far, he had not shown a scrap of guilt or remorse for what he’d put her through. If she sought an apology, she would not find it here. Not today. 

Her breath caught in her throat as she remembered yet another point on her list of grievances. “Merlin showed us the book of spells you gave him. You’ve taught him magic, haven’t you? You claim to have been there for me, yet you denied me the same chance to control my powers.”

“What exactly has Merlin told—” Gaius’s eyes widened, his mouth falling open, and he surged to his feet. “What do you mean, ‘us’? Morgana, who else knows about Merlin?”

Morgana’s anger nearly sputtered out in the face of Gaius’s raw panic, confusion taking its place. “Arthur? He asked you for the information about his mother’s death, didn’t he?” She narrowed her eyes as realization dawned. “Merlin didn’t tell you Arthur knew.”

She shouldn’t be surprised, she supposed. Gaius didn’t even want her to know, after all, and now the prince held Merlin’s life in his hands. Unlike her, Arthur had no magical secret of his own to balance the stakes. 

The physician seemed to have forgotten her presence for the moment, pacing the room and ranting to himself. “Of all the foolish—How could he be so careless? Arthur isn’t ready—If the king finds out—I swear, that boy will be the death of me—What was he thinking?”

“He was thinking that Arthur may be the one person in this kingdom who can set us free.” Morgana stood, hands fisted at her sides. Her promise to Arthur echoed in her mind as she met Gaius’s eyes, his pacing halted. “Arthur is looking for the truth about magic and the history of this kingdom, and he asked for our help to find it. Yours included.” She took a deep breath and pushed down her animosity. “This is your chance to make amends. To protect people like us.” Like you’ve failed to do for more than twenty years.

“And what will he do once he finds his answers? The laws will never change while Uther is king.”

“If Arthur succeeds, the decision will no longer lie in Uther’s hands.”

“You mean to usurp him?” Gaius looked aghast at the thought, mouth trembling open before his expression turned even more thunderous and dire. “Have you any idea what chaos that would bring? We cannot predict the consequences of such a drastic upheaval. It is not yet time for Arthur to fulfill his destiny—he must take his place on the throne through the rightful line of succession, with no question as to his legitimacy. It is the only way.”

“You would have us wait for Uther to die of old age while our people endure his hatred.” Morgana felt the flush of rage and chill of shock clash across her flesh, tingling in her blood like lightning. “Tell me, Gaius, how many hundreds more are destined to die by Uther’s hand before Arthur is ready to rule? How many will you lead to the pyre yourself?”

“How dare you,” he snapped. “You have no idea what risks I have taken to stay in Uther’s council as a voice of reason to moderate his violent temper. I would give my life for the sake of this kingdom and its people.”

“Then how could you dismiss our best chance to save this kingdom from him?” She stalked toward him, taking bitter satisfaction in the way he stiffened. “That’s just a lie you tell yourself to justify your own cowardice. You turned your back on magic, just as you turned your back on me while claiming it was for my own good!”

Morgana became aware of their raised voices with razor-sharp clarity when she heard the latch on the door clink as it shifted. Her eyes met Gaius’s with twin expressions of horror, nauseating cold flooding her chest and limbs as she spun to face the door—damn, she had let it out of her sight as Gaius paced the room, and she’d forgotten it entirely in her anger, damn, damn, damn— 

The hinges creaked, and Merlin’s dark, shabby head of hair popped into the room, followed shortly by the rest of him. 

“It’s, er, surprisingly easy to make out all the shouting from the hallway,” he said, straining to keep his tone light. “So. Maybe you should keep that in mind next time you want to yell at me for anything magic-related, eh, Gaius?” He finished with a feeble laugh, edging towards them like he was afraid they would erupt again if they caught sight of sudden movement.

The surge of fear drained as quickly as it came, leaving her feeling raw and empty. But she wasn’t done here. Not yet. She forced herself to relax, rolling her shoulders and straightening her spine, then turned back to Gaius.

“You have a choice here,” she said. “You can turn us in to the king, condemning yourself in the process. You can stay spineless and silently watch from the sidelines, unable to commit to the ideals you profess to have—”

“Morgana,” Merlin protested from behind her. She ignored him.

“—or,” she continued. “Or you could help us reach our goals without throwing the kingdom into chaos. Help us do this the right way, instead of fighting us. We need your knowledge. We do not need your hesitance.”

With that, she smoothed her skirts, held her head as high and regal as she’d been trained all her life, and swept through the maze of workbenches, stools, and piles of half-finished work. She tilted her head at Merlin as she reached the door.

“We’ll talk another time,” she promised.

Merlin gulped. She let the door swing shut behind her.

Chapter Text

When Merlin left Arthur’s chambers, he had two goals for the evening.

First, tell Gaius that he maybe, possibly, technically told Arthur about the whole “being a sorcerer” thing. Gaius was next on the list of allies, and Merlin would rather avoid giving his mentor a heart attack if Arthur decided to spontaneously drop in on them and start asking about magical history. 

Second, tell the Great Dragon to keep his opinions about Morgana to himself if he ever wanted to see sunlight again. They were doing what he wanted, weren’t they? If they succeeded, Arthur would be king and magic would be returned to the land, and Morgana would help them do it. Why shouldn’t they trust her? She was on their side! 

Then he heard the shouting, and realized he had one less goal than he’d thought. 

The door swung shut behind Morgana, and Merlin shook off the lingering chills from her somewhat ominous parting words. He’d only caught the tail end of the argument, and he did not look forward to being the target of her ire again. Especially now that she’d had time to think about all the ways he’d failed her.

He waved sheepishly at Gaius. “Surprise?”

Gaius collapsed onto a stool and put his head in his hands. “You, my boy, are going to be the death of me one of these days,” he groaned. “What am I going to do with you?”

Merlin shuffled into the room. “I was just about to tell you everything, I swear,” he said. “I, erm, didn’t expect Morgana to beat me to it.”

“No, I suppose you didn’t.” Gaius visibly collected himself, lowering his hands and raising his head to reveal closed eyes and a pained grimace. Merlin had only heard the end of their fight, and he wondered how much more had been said before he’d arrived—or if Morgana’s parting words alone were enough to cut Gaius this deeply. Merlin wouldn’t be surprised either way. 

Finally, Gaius leveled his gaze at his ward. “Go on, then. Let’s hear it.”

So Merlin told him the whole story—well. Not the whole story. He may have glazed over the way the words “I have magic” jumped out of his mouth like they’d had to kick his teeth out to escape. And maybe he forgot to mention his plan to bring them to meet the dragon, because if even he didn’t think it was his best idea, then Gaius was going to hate it. 

But he couldn’t help his growing excitement as he described Arthur’s plans—ideas that the prince had spent hours exploring and refining before he actually asked for Merlin’s input, again and again, relentless in his search for justice—just as he couldn’t help but falter when he admitted that Arthur outed him to Morgana. He pushed past the topic before Gaius could digest that particular tidbit. 

“Arthur’s idealism is certainly admirable,” Gaius said when Merlin finished, “but I fear that it may not be practical.” To Merlin’s dismay, his mentor’s eyebrow of disapproval had only climbed higher as he spoke. “Even if you were to find indisputable evidence of Uther’s wrongdoing, few members of the court are so driven by morality that it would overrule their loyalty to their king, or their fear of his wrath—let alone the threat that magic poses to the kingdom. A decades-old mindset cannot be rewritten overnight. And just how long do you expect to keep all of this hidden from the king, hmm? How does Arthur expect to gain followers to his cause without exposing his intentions? That boy has many talents, but subterfuge is not among them.”

Every word weighed down the lightness that had been filling Merlin’s chest. “Well, I’m a terrible liar, and I’ve gotten this far, haven’t I?” he joked in a weak attempt to push back the gloom. 

“That, my boy, is because nobody takes you seriously. Whether you’re honest or not, the word of a servant does not matter.”

The truth of that statement stung with the memories of rejection and dismissal. How many times had he pleaded for Arthur to listen to him, to believe him, only to be laughed off or shouted out of the room? He had seen how little truth and evidence mattered in the hands of a lowly peasant. 

But now…Arthur was listening. And he was taking notes.

“I know. I know my word doesn’t matter, and I know this whole plan is dangerous, and difficult, and maybe even impossible. We all know that. But we’re going to do it anyway, because we believe it’s worth doing.”

—

Descending the dank, narrow stairway into the dragon’s cavern chipped away at the determination Merlin had gathered over the course of the day. He wasn’t even sure the dragon could help them find the Druids in the first place; last time he’d asked, the dragon had refused to answer one way or another because it would have helped Morgana. He may be asking on Arthur’s behalf this time, but would Morgana’s involvement still interfere?

He adjusted his grip on his torch and tried not to let his reluctance slow his steps. If this conversation went wrong, he could just tell Arthur that his “acquaintance” had refused to meet with anyone else, or didn’t have the information they needed.

“Hello?” he called into the darkness when he reached the uncomfortably small ledge overlooking the cavern. If he brought both Arthur and Morgana along next time, they’d have to take care not to elbow one another straight off the cliff. 

Vast wingbeats echoed among the rock formations, and the Great Dragon descended into view from wherever he spent his time during the day. 

“What is it this time?” The dragon sighed as he landed, his raspy voice heavy with impatience. “Have you come to set me free, as promised? Or—let me guess—you seek my advice, so that you may yet again ignore it?”

“Erm…” Merlin scratched the back of his neck. “A little bit of both, I guess?”

Golden eyes narrowed, and the dragon’s great craggy head dipped close to the ledge. Merlin’s torch flickered as hot, acrid breath gusted over him. 

“Despite what you seem to believe, young warlock, I am not all-knowing. I require a bit more information to be of use.” 

“Arthur learned why the Purge began,” Merlin said, “and he wants to overthrow the king.”

If Merlin didn’t know any better, he would have sworn that the dragon lost his footing for a moment before he reared back so quickly that the air around Merlin rushed forward to fill the empty space. 

“So at last, the tyrant will meet the fate he deserves,” the Great Dragon hissed through fits of bellowing laughter, his teeth bared in bitter glee. “And at the hands of his own progeny, no less! I can only hope the execution will be public.”

“That’s not really what we’re trying to do,” Merlin protested.

“Oh? Then might I suggest chaining him to a rock in the depths of this infernal pit for the rest of his days? It would only be fitting.”

“Right. Well. Maybe you can run that by Arthur when you meet him, oh, say…tomorrow?” 

The last of the dragon’s chuckles died away, but amusement still colored his expression. “You intend to bring him here?”

“He wants to meet you,” Merlin said. “Well, I mean, he wants to meet the Druids to ask them about their history and culture and magic, and I said I knew someone who might be able to find them, and he said he wanted to meet that person, too, but that person is you, so I said I’d need to check first. You do know how to find the Druids, don’t you?” 

The dragon hummed. “I cannot be certain of their exact location, but I may be able to tell you how best to search for them.” 

Now came the difficult part. Merlin really hated to spoil the good mood. 

“And. Er. You see, Arthur is trying to find allies in the castle, and the one person he knows disagrees with Uther about magic…is Morgana. So he told her everything,” he pushed out in a rush. The temperature seemed to rise around him as he continued. “Including my magic—right, I told him about that too, by the way, but not any of the destiny stuff, so maybe don’t mention that tomorrow? Or call Morgana an evil witch sinceshe’llbetheretoo?” 

The dragon’s talons scraped against his perch, scoring fresh grooves into the stone. Merlin winced at the sound, taking a step back toward the tunnel stairs. 

“You cannot trust the witch,” the dragon snarled. “If she knows as much as you say, then she will be a threat to Arthur’s destiny as long as she lives. You must kill her to guarantee your success and secure Camelot’s future.”

Merlin grit his teeth, memories flaring behind his eyes. Morgana’s fear, Morgana’s compassion, Morgana’s hope—the same hope he’d felt when Arthur first asked him for help, mirrored in her eyes. She was the only one who had suffered a betrayal, and Merlin would not make that mistake again. 

“You’re wrong,” he shouted back. “We’re on the same side! We all want the same thing! How can she be a threat?”

“She is more powerful and more volatile than you know. Just as it is Arthur’s destiny to unite Albion and bring magic back to the land, it is her destiny to stand against him.”

“Maybe she becomes that person in the future, but it’s not who she is now. I won’t treat her like an enemy when she’s only ever been my friend.” He squared his shoulders, feeling his magic shiver and rise to his call. “And if you ever want to see Arthur’s destiny come to pass, I suggest you do the same.”

A low growl rumbled from within the dragon’s chest until Merlin felt it rattling his own ribcage, but he stood his ground against the rising heat and slitted glare. Finally, the dragon bowed his head. 

“Very well,” he said. “Bring her if you must, and I will be civil. But know that whatever bloodshed is to come will be on your hands, young warlock. Do not hold me responsible for your arrogance.”

With that, the Great Dragon launched himself from his perch and disappeared into the void.

Chapter Text

Arthur was not nervous. The six concealed daggers strapped to various parts of his body proved nothing except prudent caution befitting the circumstances, with the circumstances being a meeting between the crown prince of a famously anti-magic kingdom and an unnamed pro-magic conspirator with unknown abilities in an undisclosed location. Why should he be nervous? He wasn’t. He was prepared.

Merlin, on the other hand, had been fidgety and evasive all day after confirming that his contact had agreed to meet with them all. And maybe Arthur had only planned on bringing two or three hidden weapons, but it wouldn’t hurt to have extras in case he was disarmed, would it? The way Merlin was acting couldn’t be a good sign. 

“Is this friend of yours really trustworthy?” Arthur asked.

Merlin squinted at him, then waved his arms in an attempt to encompass the shadowy corner of the courtyard the three of them were currently huddled in, the dark cloaks pulled over their heads, and the moon shining high overhead. “You’re asking this now?” he hissed, and Morgana put her hand over her mouth to cover a decidedly unrefined snort. He stopped his flapping with a huff. “I wouldn’t call him my friend. He’s even more of a pain than you are, but I wouldn’t have let you come if I thought you would be in danger.”

“That’s not really an answer.” 

Merlin rolled his eyes and dragged them across the courtyard during a blind spot in the guards’ patrol route. Instead of taking them out into the city, though, he led them deeper into the castle, slipping around corners and dodging guards with suspicious ease. 

With every stairwell they descended and narrow hallway they turned into, lined with little but disused chambers and dusty storage rooms, a creeping sense of dread slowed Arthur’s steps. When they finally arrived at the staircase that Arthur knew had only one (guarded) destination, he grabbed Merlin’s arm to pull him to a halt.

“Did your friend tell you to meet him down here?” He glanced down the stairs to where he could see the warm glow of torches, idle chatter and laughter drifting up from the floor below. Do you know where this leads? he wanted to ask, but held his tongue. 

Morgana shifted uneasily behind them. Arthur had been down here once, a long time ago. While he was unsure if Morgana had ever visited it herself, he was certain she’d realized where they were going by now. After all, they had grown up hearing stories of Uther’s most famous captive. “One of the guards, maybe?” she suggested. 

“Uhhh,” Merlin said with a wince that made the pit of Arthur’s stomach clench. “I’ll be right back?” 

“Merlin!” Arthur hissed as Merlin twisted out of Arthur’s grip and ducked into the stairwell.

In the time it took for him to glance back at Morgana’s bewildered expression and come to a decision about whether or not he needed to rush in and rescue the idiot, the sounds of conversation below cut off with twin thunks.

“You can come down now,” Merlin called up to them, all semblance of subtlety gone from his voice. 

When the two of them reached the bottom of the stairs, Merlin was pulling a torch from a wall sconce. Two guards slouched over a wooden table scattered with cards and dice, snoring loudly. 

Arthur cleared his throat and crossed his arms across his chest. 

Merlin avoided making eye contact. “They’ll just assume they fell asleep on duty again,” he said, his voice pitched slightly higher than usual. “Nothing ever happens down here, really, so no one’s questioned it yet, I guess? At least, not that I’ve heard anything about. I used to throw their dice off the table and make them chase them down the corridor while I slipped by, or knocked something over, or some other distraction, but there’s only so many times that can happen before it gets really suspicious—”

“Merlin.” Arthur took a deep breath and closed his eyes. He tried to ignore the shivers of definitely-not-nervousness stirring in his guts, grounding himself with the feeling of the (probably useless) daggers strapped to his biceps before he met Merlin’s eyes again. “Is the person you’re bringing us to meet…actually a dragon?”

“Oh, did I forget to mention that?” Merlin joked with a big, wobbly, I’m-an-idiot grin that made Arthur want to tear his hair out on a regular basis. “Anyway, we shouldn’t keep him waiting. Not much for him to do down there. He gets bored, you know?”

Morgana interrupted Arthur’s next retort. “You’ve spoken to the Great Dragon?” she asked. Arthur couldn’t quite read her wide-eyed expression—excitement? fear? awe? “More than once?” 

Merlin sighed, the bravado falling away from slumped shoulders. “Believe it or not, the Dragon wants to help. He has no love for the king, but he’s been helping me protect you and the rest of Camelot since I came here.”

What the hell did that mean? “When—Why— How?” Arthur spluttered, struggling and failing to pick just one part of that statement to focus on. 

“Let’s just go. We came here for information, remember?” Merlin neatly side-stepped Arthur’s half-questions and disappeared down a narrow, rough-hewn stone stairway. Morgana followed after him with no hesitation, leaving Arthur to take up the rear.

How was a dragon who’d been stuck underground for the last twenty years meant to help them find the Druids, anyway? They were always moving, and it didn’t have access to information from the outside world. 

…Did it?

The stairs went down for much longer than Arthur expected. He had been shown where the Great Dragon was being held, all those years ago, but he had not been allowed to enter the dungeon, and had never attempted to sneak in to see for himself. He’d always assumed that he’d be roasted and eaten on sight, and that feeling hadn’t gone away. Merlin’s already uninspiring reassurances seemed even more lackluster knowing he was talking about a giant fire-breathing beast.

The stairs ended in a stone ledge barely wide enough to hold the three of them, overlooking a cavern vaster than anything Arthur could have imagined fitting underneath the castle he’d spent his life exploring. And there, perched on a rugged stone outcropping, was Uther’s prized prisoner.

“Finally,” the Great Dragon said in a deep, rumbling voice that sent Arthur’s instincts into a state of panic, his muscles tense and aching with the urge to bolt back up the stairs or reach for a sword that wasn’t there. Teeth as long as knives filled a jaw that could snap up a horse and rider both in one bite. “I could hear your bickering from down here.”

“Arthur, Morgana, meet the Great Dragon. Great Dragon, meet Prince Arthur and Lady Morgana.” 

Morgana curtsied when her name was spoken, and Arthur dipped into a hasty bow. What exactly was the etiquette here? Somehow, he doubted any of the usual rules applied, but perhaps it was best to err on the side of courtesy when facing a potential ally with the ability to reduce all of them to ashes on a whim. He eyed the claws gripping the rock on which the dragon stood. Each talon looked as long and thick as a man’s arm.

“I do have a name, young warlock,” the dragon sniffed, sounding shockingly like a haughty nobleman. The bow seemed all the more appropriate.  

“You do?” Merlin gaped without an ounce of deference. “You never told me!”

“You never asked,” the dragon replied. “My name is Kilgharrah. It is an honor to meet you, young Pendragon.” His eyes slid past Arthur and he added in a deep rumble, like an afterthought, a flat “...Lady Morgana.” 

Arthur felt Morgana stiffen beside him. “The honor is all ours,” she answered, and he could just hear the faint tremor in her voice. At least Arthur wasn’t the only one reacting to meeting a massive goddamn dragon with a sane amount of trepidation.

But Arthur couldn’t help but ask. “An honor? After all Camelot—after all I have done to your kind?”

The dragon—Kilgharrah’s massive head lowered until his slitted golden eyes were level with Arthur’s. The prince felt his gaze like a weight on his shoulders, an almost suffocating pressure. “You are not your father, princeling. Though you inherit his mistakes, you are destined to reverse them, not repeat them.”

“How can you be so certain?” That seemed like a lot of trust to put in the son of his jailor.

Merlin cleared his throat significantly louder than seemed necessary. “So, er, the Druids?”

“Always so impatient. Forgive me for taking the opportunity for some civil conversation,” Kilgharrah tutted, staring Merlin down for a few uneasy moments until, to Arthur’s disbelief, the dragon conceded with a huff of searing breath. “Very well, then. What is it that you seek?”

Arthur stepped forward, barely half a pace away from the ledge that dropped away into the darkness of the cavern. “We want to make amends with the Druids, on behalf of Camelot. We need to understand their perspective of the kingdom’s history in order to build its future.”

“We would also learn whatever they are willing to teach us about magic,” Morgana added. “Our resources here are...biased, or limited.”

Kilgharrah hummed in consideration. “The Druids are not a monolith. They have many encampments scattered throughout the kingdoms, hidden near ruins and grounds sacred to the Old Religion. To hide their movements from unfriendly eyes, they leave codes and sigils as a means of communicating with each other. You will know them when you see them, young warlock.” 

‘You’ll know them when you see them’? That’s the best this oh-so-wise dragon has to offer? Arthur thought at roughly the same time that Merlin said, “Oh, aren’t you feeling helpful today? That might be the most straightforward answer you’ve ever given me.”

“Do not test my patience.”

Morgana cleared her throat. “Pardon me for prying, but...how exactly do you two know each other?” 

Beside her, Merlin fidgeted, adjusting his grip on the torch. “Ah. Well, it’s a long story,” he started, but the dragon spoke up instead.

“I felt his presence the moment he entered Camelot and summoned him at the earliest opportunity.”

“Not that long, I guess!” Merlin said a little too loudly. “He’d been alone down here in this big empty cavern for ages, you know, he just needed some company. And there I was, ready for him to shout at me in my own head—while I was trying to sleep, mind you—until I gave in and had a chat with him. That’s all there is to it!”

Kilgharrah snorted, sending a gust of sulfurous breath stirring through the cavern’s still air. “I seem to recall you begging for my knowledge and aid far more often than I have ever begged for your company.”

Arthur’s head slowly turned of its own accord and met Morgana’s own baffled stare as Merlin continued complaining to a dragon about it “flying away without saying anything that made sense” and “shouting in his head,” whatever that meant. And the dragon (the dragon, the enormous magical reptile that could roast them where they stood and swallow them whole as it pleased) only huffed and replied that Merlin could direct his next questions to an empty cavern if he insisted on being ungrateful about Kilgharrah’s generous assistance.

Arthur was beginning to feel that he might be having a very strange dream. By the look on Morgana’s face, she was having the same one. 

Arthur had prepared for this meeting, in theory. He had wanted more than the information about the Druids. How did this mysterious contact come to live in Camelot? What kept them from leaving? What was their relationship to the Druids? How and when did they learn magic—or were they born with it, like Merlin and Morgana? Was it passed through their family like a tradition, or did they learn from an outside source?

None of his pre-written questions quite suited the situation at hand. Several dozen new ones, however, had cropped up in their place.

“Ah, yes,” the dragon said, turning to address Arthur once again. The prince straightened and refocused on the conversation with anxiety-fueled attentiveness. “Since Merlin insists that execution is out of the question—”

“ Kilgharrah,” Merlin protested.

“—I propose that Uther be chained to this infernal rock for the remainder of his pathetic lifespan.” 

“I…will take your suggestion under advisement,” Arthur replied with a readiness born of hundreds of council meetings and public request hearings. 

“See that you do.” The dragon’s eyes narrowed into slits, and the weight Arthur felt beneath his gaze sharpened into a threat. “Understand, young Pendragon, that the price of my cooperation is my freedom. If Uther falls and I remain imprisoned, I will see you and your kingdom burn to the ground before I draw my final breath.”

The sibilant, rasping rumble of his voice sent ice pouring down Arthur’s spine, but he squared his shoulders. “I will not betray your trust,” he said, forcing steady steel into his words, “as long as you do not betray mine.” 

Kilgharrah’s scaled lips stretched into an unnerving smile baring too many teeth. “Very well.” He raised his head and settled his wings along his back, tail flicking through the darkness as he relaxed once more. “Have you more questions?”

“Oh, now he’s talkative,” Merlin grumbled under his breath, kicking the toe of his boot through the dust on the ledge. 

Morgana bobbed her head, and Arthur could tell she was barely restraining herself from a full curtsy every time she dared to speak. He sympathized with the urge.

“I understand that Merlin has been coming to you for guidance,” she began. “I am only now learning about my own abilities. Might I ask—”

“I have nothing to teach you.”

Merlin winced. Morgana’s mouth snapped shut. Arthur had never seen her silenced so quickly.

She bowed her head. “My apologies for presuming,” she said quietly. 

“He has no patience for beginners,” Merlin tutted with flimsy joviality. “I’ll teach you what I know, and maybe he’ll deign to talk riddles at you after that.” Merlin shot an incomprehensible look at the dragon. “We’re all on the same side, after all. We need all the help we can get.” He leaned in towards Morgana, only to whisper almost at speaking volume, “He’s a terrible teacher anyway. You aren’t missing much.”

Morgana suppressed a smile. Kilgharrah heaved a sigh through flared nostrils that rustled their clothes. 

On that oddly tense note, Arthur decided he’d had quite enough of Merlin insulting a dragon for one night. He dipped into a bow.

“Thank you for your time and wisdom. I hope we may meet again.”

“As do I, young Pendragon,” Kilgharrah rumbled, and spread his wings. “Your manners, at least, do not disappoint. I hope the same can be said of your actions.” 

His wingbeats echoed in the depths of the cavern as he faded into the darkness.

— 

The three snuck all the way back to Arthur’s chambers. The plan had been to part ways after the meeting and get what sleep they could before the next morning, but...Well.

Arthur found himself in the rare situation of forming a wholly unified front with Morgana. They rounded on Merlin the moment the door was locked.

“You’ve known the Great Dragon this entire time?”

“You’ve been getting advice from a dragon?” 

“What did he mean when he said he ‘felt your presence’?”

“What did you mean when you said he helps you protect Camelot?”

“Why would he ever want to help us in the first place?”

Merlin raised his hands in defence against the barrage of questions, shoulders hitching higher and higher with each one. 

“Look, is any of that really important right now?” he asked when the two of them stopped for breath.

“Yes,” Arthur and Morgana snapped at once.

“I was right. This was a bad idea,” he said.

Arthur pinched the bridge of his nose. “Only you, Merlin,” he muttered. “Only you. Every time I think I have you figured out, the universe loves to prove me wrong.”

“I can’t believe how much I had to struggle for even a single answer about my abilities, while you had one of the most magical creatures in existence giving you pointers.” Morgana’s tone was airy, but laced with just enough honeyed venom to make Merlin shrink a little more.

He sidled out from where the two of them had nearly pinned him against the wall by the door and fled towards the desk. “So, Druids!” He attempted to deflect the conversation once more. “That’s what we came here to discuss, right? Where should we begin? The Darkling Woods, or the White Mountains? The dragon—er, Kilgharrah said I was the only one who could really find them, so maybe I should go out ahead and scout by myself, now that I think of it. For, er, however long it takes for you to stop staring at me like that.”

Arthur followed Merlin to the desk, where he had pulled out a map of the kingdom and surrounding lands. “You can be awfully slippery when you want to be,” he commented, spreading a hand over the map to lean forward into Merlin’s space, “but I think we’d both appreciate some straight answers for once.” 

“We ought to be able to trust one another, don’t you think?” Morgana added, her eyebrow raised pointedly.

Merlin’s evasiveness was no match for Morgana’s guilt-tripping, as it turned out. He fidgeted for another moment before his shoulders dropped.

“The dragon called out to me on my first night in Camelot. He has this...belief that when Arthur becomes king, magic will return to the land. But in order for that to happen, you have to survive, and a lot of people want you dead. Very, very magical people, and magical monsters, which can only be stopped by more magic, and…” Merlin hedged, shifting his weight before continuing with a feeble flourish of his hands. “I’m more magical than most.”

Arthur felt very cold. “So, what? You’re protecting me because a dragon told you I’d bring magic back? Is that it?” 

“I’m protecting you because I think you’re a decent person, you ass,” Merlin snapped. “See, I knew you’d think that! This is why I didn’t want to tell you!” He jabbed a finger at Arthur’s chest. “And for the record, I saved your life before I thought even that much of you, let alone believed a word out of that big lizard’s mouth.”

Arthur wasn’t sure if that made him feel better or not. 

“But what reason does he have to believe in Arthur so much in the first place?” Morgana asked. “How could he know he’d be any different from his father?”

“He could sense my magic when I arrived. Maybe he senses something special about Arthur, too?” Merlin shrugged. “Or maybe he’s gone mad from living in a hole in the ground for the past twenty years. Not everything he says makes sense, you know. We’re lucky he gave us real advice tonight instead of speaking in vague metaphors.”

“I’d hardly call ‘you’ll know it when you see it’ real advice.”

“You’d be surprised how much worse it can get. And he stayed long enough for a proper goodbye! He was on his best behavior for you, trust me.”

Arthur took a long breath, closing his eyes and pressing his hands together in front of his face as if in prayer. “Merlin,” he said, “did I just promise to set free an insane dragon?” 

“An insane dragon who likes you.” 

“Fantastic.”