Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

The world was in a constant state of rotation. It spun in circles, it wavered in and out of focus. As a matter of fact, it was almost nauseating. Not like he would've said it out loud, though, the raven was much too busy trying to determine whether or not there was still trouble afoot. Merlin couldn't tell if they were alone, couldn't identify the crunch of leaves on the ground as the result of restless footsteps or burrowing animals. He couldn't recall the last few minutes either. Only reason he even moved in the first place was because of the image that managed to flash behind his eyes: the prince and loyal manservant duo getting ambushed on their way back from a short hunting trip and Arthur getting bludgeoned over the head. The strike had been strong enough to completely knock him out of his horse's saddle, but not strong enough to render him unconscious. But what happened after that..? When did it happen?

Efforts to hastily turn onto his side and scramble up to a stand were greatly wasted when the action made the whole world rock. Merlin lost his breath, falling flat on his chest with a unceremonious "ooph". His body seemed way too light, way too disconnected from the ground as if a kite held together by a single piece of twine. If it hadn't been for the earth stuck in his nose, Merlin really considered the possibilty that he was drifting away from the planet. Ground seems comfy enough, Merlin reasoned after a moment. Letting his eyelids flutter shut, he also reasoned that Arthur was a big boy. The attack didn't seem to harbor any real malicious intent (otherwise they would've been dead already) so it was unlikely that the prince was lying around. He just...didn't hear anything that suggested otherwise.

There was no time to be napping. Taking care to ease his breathing, Merlin spread his influence outward, feeling around for a familiar sensation. Anything that screamed Arthur, or even their horses would do; find the horse, find Arthur. What he hadn't anticipated was that his prince would be much, much closer than anticipated. Merlin let out a throaty yelp of surprise as a boot came slamming into his shoulder.

He pushed up off the ground, grabbing around for something to swing when he was met with a leather toe he knew. After polishing said leather for hours on end, it would've been concerning if he couldn't recognize it. Head snapping to attention, Merlin bore a mighty grin. "Arthur!" he exclaimed, "You're okay!"

Prince Arthur Pendragon of Camelot, in all of his glory, scowled, crossing his arms over his chest. He seemed to have a welt under his left eye, a scrape on his chin, some dried blood under his bangs, and his hair was a disheveled mess. Other than that, there were no tears on his pants or stains on his tunic to suggest a serious injury. For the most part he was unharmed. That was good.

If it wasn't for the death of Uther's son or a ransom, why had they been attacked? And how did they manage to repel their assailants? Um... Better question... Merlin sat with his legs crossed under him, scratching at his temple thoughtfully. "How long was I out?"

"Out?" Arthur repeated, "Couldn't have been long. I just finished them off - no help from you, as usual. Can't believe you were taking a nap while I was protecting our arses." Ah... Even the blond didn't seem to believe that last sentence. Though he took visible offense to being worried about by his "useless servant", something else bothered him more. It was just enough to make him kneel on the earthy floor. Arthur reached out, running a gloved hand over the top of Merlin's head. Little pieces of dirt sprinkled loose. "That was...utterly stupid of you.." he mused.

"What?"

"Do you not remember..?"

In response, Merlin's brow furrowed and his jaw clenched with heavy thought. He didn't remember anything just yet. The attack couldn't have been more than a few minutes ago if Arthur only just finished the battle. Their steeds had booked it into the bright afternoon from shock - this was precisely why Merlin preferred riding horses that knew them best - and they might've been a day out from Camelot at most, maybe more on foot, so it's not like they had been out for very long either. Maybe he hit his head... Would explain the dizzy-floatiness a whole lot.

Shaking his head, the raven waited for an explanation. Arthur humored him, rising to his full height with a hand on his hip. "You're not good for much, Merlin, but at least I know you have a future in reckless diving." It wasn't an answer. Dammit, Arthur, that's not an answer!

The prince thought it was enough despite his manservant's annoyed, silent protests. Waving for Merlin to follow, he began the long walk back to Camelot. "We ought to consider ourselves lucky that it's warm out," Arthur was saying, "and that they knocked over some of our things in the process. The night won't be too bad when we stop. And our attackers..." He glared at the body he stepped over for some unexplainable reason. "Well, no one left to get backup. Don't lower your guard, Merlin, I didn't get the chance to ask what their intention was."

"Yes, sire," Merlin mocked as he hopped to his feet. A little too enthusiastically if you asked him; he caught a little more air than expected. Nonetheless, he was grabbing the one satchel that had been left behind before hurrying off of Arthur. Though his feet would be close to severing themselves from his ankles, Merlin was quickly coming to realize that his worries were just getting started.

Around noon, Merlin tripped. The satchel flew from his slack grip and his feet left the ground, long, gangly limbs flailing to recover his balance. Arthur gave an exasperated, overly dramatic sigh as he turned around. "Really, Merlin," he said, "you're truly one of a kind." Stooping to pick up the launched cargo that landed near his feet, when the blond looked up again he was just as shocked as Merlin. In a glorious harmony, their voices became one:

"AAAAAAHHHHH!"

His feet definitely left the ground. In fact, all of him left the ground, determined to never land again of its own free will. Flailing was futile, and though screaming didn't help anyone, it certainly made Merlin feel better. He twisted uselessly in the air, hovering above the earthy floor at Arthur's eye-level. Only when he couldn't yell anymore did he reach, desperately, for the prince. "For god's sake, Arthur!" he exclaimed, "You DOLT! Help me!!" Merlin wasn't floating any higher but he would've much sooner preferred having both feet on solid ground than his current, baseless predicament.

Thankfully, Arthur was action oriented. Flinging the satchel to the floor, the blond lunged for Merlin's outstretched arms, grabbing onto his wrists with a vice grip and pulling him back down to earth. He dropped to his knees. "What in the name of Camelot was that!?" demanded Arthur, looking around the forest with an alarmed expression. Though neither said it out loud - not yet, at least - there was no way that had been a natural occurrence. It was magical in nature. Merlin began to panic.

It wasn't his fault. He would've known if it was. It happened beyond his control, seemingly random and without a clear reason or purpose. They remained still for a few minutes, both panicked for their own individual reasons, before Arthur quickly sucked in a breath. Merlin looked up suddenly, noting the thoughtful expression on the blond's face. Whenever that happened, it meant he had an idea. A theory, if you will.

He chose the blunt route: "Wha.. What?"

Arthur blinked.

"What is it?"

"Nothing," Arthur said, "I don't know what's going on. Do you?"

Merlin frantically shook his head, irritated as he said, "I tripped, Arthur."

The prince scowled, instantly releasing his grip and raising his hands. "If you're going to have an attitude with me, you can float away for all I care." He started laughing maniacally when Merlin cried out, clinging to Arthur with his arms wrapped around his torso like a python. It seemed like their concerns weren't needed, however, because nothing changed. Merlin's legs didn't start to float and he stayed rooted to where he was.

Still, it was an unnecessary scare. "You're an ass," Merlin decided, pushing himself away from Arthur before climbing to his feet, "How would you feel if you suddenly had to live in the sky? I couldn't get back down on my own."

"But you're fine now?"

"Really? I hadn't noticed."

Arthur rose up to join him with a pointed expression, brow furrowed. "Listen carefully, Merlin," he said, "This isn't a time for jokes—"

You started it! Merlin silently gaped.

"—because I believe it's quite clear that there's...there's sorcery at work here."

Whenever magic was involved, Arthur sometimes became painfully like Uther. Though he believed in the young Pendragon, though he trusted him, Merlin couldn't comfortably say that he wasn't worried. He still hadn't told Arthur about that grand, treasonous secret of his, and not detecting anything magic-related nearby made him panic. He was the only magic user in the area. Had he... Had he been found out..? Even though it hadn't been his own doing there wasn't any room to defend himself should the need arise.

He only breathed a sigh of relief when Arthur put a hand on his shoulder, grip friendly and not at all threatening. "You still don't remember what happened?" the prince asked, "When we got ambushed, and when you dove in the middle of it?"

Merlin pretended to think for a moment. There was still no way he remembered, otherwise the recent shock would've served as a wake-up call. Especially if Arthur was implying exactly what Merlin thought he was. Shaking his head, he waited for Arthur to continue. The blond shouldered the satchel and turned on his heel, continuing to walk in the direction of Camelot.

"I would've expected you to stay out of the way like usual," Arthur said, "In fact, I would've preferred it if you had just...hid behind a tree. You never get involved in fights. Not like you'd be much use in one anyways, you can barely keep a sword up." He shook his head, discarded branches snapping under the heel of his boot.

Birds were singing happy tunes, the sunlight flittered warmly through the vibrant canopy overhead. One deep breath was all that was needed to feel rejuvenated; the air was so irrefutably sweet and fresh, it erased all the stress in one's body. It seemed too comfortable for the mood Arthur seemed to have adopted. The prince scrubbed his hand over his face, taking the time to roll the ring on his finger out of habit. For the time being, Merlin decided to focus on their natural surroundings. He'd pay attention to the sensations in his body, wanting to know in advance if and when he'd start to float away again.

Arthur dropped his hand to swing it at his side, continuing to explain, "A sorcerer of some sort was among them. Well, not a sorcerer-sorcerer, perhaps more of a fledgling. They didn't seem all that familiar with their magic which, quite frankly, doesn't make sense to me. It's foolish for them to have tried to pick a fight with a trained knight when they were still inexperienced. Though they are a menace to Camelot's safety—"
Merlin cringed, but pretended he was startled by the sudden rustle of a lizard in the undergrowth.
"—I'm a little...confused, that they'd be part of an ambush party while not really understanding what they were doing." He paused thoughtfully. "Maybe they didn't take their studies all that seriously..."

While Merlin wanted to, in some sense, applaud Arthur for trying to think about magic in a more open-minded way, he was growing restless. The assumptions that bubbled around in the prince's head was born from what he had seen and what he was taught; Uther wasn't the most unbiased teacher out there, so it was safe to assume that the teachings themselves held a touch of malice. This couldn't be helped, but it could be corrected. Any more of this and Merlin would scream at the top of his lungs. He would be the one to make the corrections.
But he couldn't risk outing himself yet.

Kicking a stray rock with the toe of his boot, the raven propelled it into the bushes, startling Arthur from his derailing train of thought. "What happened?" Merlin asked, mumbling a quick apology for the surprise. "With the sorcerer, what happened with them?"

"Right, anyways..." Arthur shook his head, drumming the tips of his fingers against the leather strap of the satchel. "They found their way into my blind spot. Even though it was like they barely had a presence at all, I'm still ashamed to admit that they were also stealthy enough to catch me off guard. In fact..." He paused in such a way that Merlin wondered if it seemed like he was struggling. He quickly realized why as Arthur said, "I would've been...bested.."

Merlin couldn't stop himself. God knows he tried. "Oh, wow," he said, "you really had to swallow your pride there, didn'tcha?"

The blond reared back, a growl rumbling deep in his throat. "I was caught off guard, defenseless, by a sorcerer, Merlin." Arthur reached out his hand, seemingly tempted to bunch up the front of Merlin's shirt in his fist but instead settling for a very, very stern point. Paired with his glowering expression, suddenly the former didn't seem so bad. "A poorly trained kid, a type of person I have sworn to remove in the name of my father and Camelot, was able to get behind me. They had the opportunity to kill me and I would've failed as both a knight and as a prince. As my father's own son, it would've been inexcusable. It's humiliating, so, yes, I had to swallow my pride."

He messed up. He really messed up. It would've been better if Merlin had just shut up and continued to slink around in his marsh of panicked uncertainties. Arthur could've just kept talking - Merlin shouldn't have stopped him - and now, as painful as it was, the raven realized that it would be an even longer time until he could openly reveal himself to Arthur. In one, thoughtless swoop, Merlin dug himself a deeper pit for the future. He was an absolute idiot.

Swallowing tightly, Merlin lifted his hands - the action made Arthur eye him like a cornered beast. "Lo-look.." His tongue tripped over itself. "I'm sorry, Arthur, really I am. I wasn't thinking— I didn't realize— I didn't know that it was such a big deal. You seemed tense, I was just trying to make fun of you."

Those deep, oceanic eyes were impossible to swim through, yet at the same time he couldn't look away. Arthur's gaze acted like a chain that kept Merlin tangled up. As uncomfortable as the situation seemed, they were at a standstill. It wasn't until the prince's brow twitched that Merlin realized he could finally breathe again. "It's not wise to make fun of me, Merlin, when I could easily knock you down.."

"Ye-ye-yes, sire.."

"Oh, don't get your britches all in a twist." Arthur unclenched his fist, patting the center of his servant's chest in a testing, maybe even dismissive way. "Besides, I'll let it go just this once, but only because of your heroics." He continued walking like it was nothing, making it a few yards before he continued with his retelling of the previous events; even if it took Merlin a solid minute to catch up again. "Instead of staying back and hiding," Arthur said, "you dove between me and the sorcerer's spell."

Yeah, that sounded like something Merlin would do (and had done before, but that was a different story).

"Doesn't seem like it would've killed me, but we still don't know what it does. I think it might be the cause for that weird floating fit you had.." He spared a glance back over his shoulder at Merlin and his gaze narrowed. "Or the fit you might be having...right...now..."

Merlin stopped dead in his tracks, becoming painfully aware of the lack of weight under his soles. He didn't look down; he didn't need to when Arthur was starting to look shorter and shorter. Tension disappearing, previous fears evaporating, Merlin wailed. "Ahh! Arthur!! HELP!"

During the early hours of the evening, Arthur separated to go hunting. He left Merlin to collect firewood for when they decided to stop for the night. Though Merlin argued the impracticality of lugging around branches for who knows how long, the blond had countered that it would actually be good to have the extra weight, lest Merlin start floating away again.

He had a few more of those fits between the first and now, ones that carried him higher and higher with no signs of stopping. The satchel didn't weigh him down anymore, and, with the most recent trip, the two were starting to realize that Arthur might not be able to save Merlin every time the raven decided to go for a little "walk". The branches seemed like the safest option.

It didn't happen again until Merlin stooped to pick up the fallen branch of an oak. His fingers curled around open air and the feeling of physicality - of being there - almost disappeared completelu. The sensation was stronger than ever, to the point of being utterly alarming. In his panic, the kindling he managed to gather came tumbling out of his arms. Legs kicking, arms swinging wildly for the tree, Merlin struggled to find his voice. It was a slow process, sort of numbing in one sense and weightless in another. With each trip, the dizziness got progressively worse, flipping Merlin's perception of ups and downs on its head.

If he didn't do something soon, there would be a problem. He could've called for Arthur but, by that point, there was no telling how far away the prince was. Even if he was only a minute out, it was a minute too long. It would just happen again anyways. If they made it back to Camelot, Uther would catch wind of their predicament and act rashly. That was the one constant of the paranoid king; he'd maybe target Merlin by saying he was the sorcerer responsible - a peruser of magic, maybe, but not responsible for this childish trick ultimately placed on himself - or do something utterly stupid. He'd probably have him thrown into the dungeon before the raven could even glance at his own spell book for a solution.

Merlin didn't call out into the forest for help. He relied on his instincts, on impulse. As his arm passed in front of his face, he saw the glow of his eyes reflect on his coat sleeve and whatever pale skin was exposed, an attempt on the words accumulating in his head slipping over his tongue: "Ic bebodræe þé byre, þæm mé beinnan, ġesæceþ sé galdor..!" It was sloppy but, again, it came from pure instinct and muscle memory - he had read a passage in the book about...something, for something else.. Again, instinct. In response, a gale came rushing down from the heavens. He twisted like a lopsided top, smacking his back against the nearby oak. The wind Merlin called upon kept pulling him down while the spell - the curse, more like - pushed him up. The tree was too wide for him to get a good grip on but he tried.

If things weren't already bad, they got a hundred times worse when the bushes rustled. Something new was charging into the clearing Merlin had found himself in. He didn't want to get distracted, he didn't want to divert his gaze, but he wasn't high enough that the glow of magic would go unnoticed. Not when Arthur was already so on edge. He wasn't so impossibly dense that the obvious would be glossed over - any other time, sure, but not when there was trouble. Please, Merlin silently wished, just work with me for once..! Despite experience telling him to keep his eyes open, it didn't work like that.

Squeezing his eyes shut, there was a final swell of magic that made the gale supporting him come slamming down to the earth. It tossed up loose leaves and uncovered buried roots, it was defiant to Merlin's choice of action and yet it still did enough. His weak grip on the tree's bark was yanked free and he blindly smacked around for something new to hold. A gut feeling suggested he was lower now before the wind slipped free of his influence - or, that's just what the earth told him. It also told him that the oh-so-familiar, warm energy that had a special way of making his heart soar (this was really no time for puns) now stood too close to ignore.

"Merlin!" the prince called. His prize was dropped with a heavy thud against the dirt and brambles scraped together as Arthur marched through them. Eyes closed - whether or not they still glowed was a mystery, one that couldn't be risked - Merlin was more finely tuned to the nature around them, and they told him many things. One of which was that Arthur was really close, clawing at the trunk and standing on his toes. "Merlin, reach for me!"

"Where??" he unwittingly responded.

"Are you serious— Down! I'm below you, just open your eyes!"

His refusal came out way too fast. "No way!" A moment of silence, one that was probably occupied by Arthur's surprise. Merlin frantically shook his head, "I'm scared of heights, Arthur! There's just no way! If I open my eyes, I'll lose my grip!"

There was a grunt, then a weak hold on the cuff of his jacket. Arthur's hand slipped from the fabric to Merlin's wrist, then dragged further to his palm and to the fingers curled against gnarled wood. Though he was straining, something made obvious by the way his calloused hand trembled, the blond made sure his grip was tight. He pried one of Merlin's hands free to tangle their fingers together, locking tight like chains. Using the commendable strength that only Camelot's finest warrior had, Arthur fought against the lofty effects of a magical spell with unyielding will and his determination to not let go, somehow pulling against invisible forces as he dragged Merlin down lower. Closer to the ground.

Bushes were flattened as Arthur stood flat on his feet again. He reached out to hold the raven by the collar of his jacket and fixed the awkward finger-hold they had. Once certain that he wasn't going to be let go, Merlin let out a heavy sigh of relief, head sagging. His legs weren't trying to tilt any higher but, at the same time, he wasn't coming back down. The weightlessness was still there, the world still spun at a staggering rate. The affect was still there. Merlin wasn't going to be able to walk on solid earth anymore it seemed.

Having been reluctant to open his eyes for a while, there was simply no other choice until Arthur couldn't usher him around anymore. He had been forced to remove his jacket "by order of the prince" so that the duo had a tether connecting them; Merlin held one sleeve while Arthur held the other. Merlin the kite was taken everywhere, no matter what it was that the prince decided to do. The large game Arthur caught - thankfully just a pheasant, but a hefty one - ended up being easy to carry, they just had to forgo the kindling they gathered. Besides, they wouldn't need a fire until it was time to settle in for the night.

The sun dipped partway below the horizon when they finally came to a stop. The forest filled with a dense, warm silence as the creatures settled in for the night. Whatever remaining rays of sunshine streaked across the sky was heavily saturated and vibrant, a true work of art that was quick to fade. Arthur tossed down the pheasant and got busy arranging a small space for a fire.

He was...considerably quiet, but maybe blabbering was Merlin's special skill. When he drifted a little bit more overhead than usual, Merlin decided that he should remain silent. Arthur's expression had been stern. Even tense. It was this...combination, of his hardened knightly composure and the sturdy, shielding guise of his princely demeanor that appeared when it came down to protecting Camelot's people. Merlin saw this often - it was one of the many, many things he had witnessed firsthand that made him hold Arthur in a much higher regard than Uther. That wasn't to say Uther didn't care, but the king simply forgot that without the people, there was no Camelot. Arthur was an avid advocate for such a fact.

Guilt slowly scratched at his back like a cat, prickling across his skin with the drag of pin-like claws. Merlin wasn't useless in the slightest but Arthur seemed to believe he was; especially in a fight, Merlin knew how he was viewed as the helpless, witless, defenseless servant. Considering the state they were in - no horses, minimal supplies, one knight (a prince no less), and an enchanted, floating lump of flesh that couldn't control the direction he coasted off in - an ambush would be devastating. There was not a single doubt in Merlin's mind that his prince saw it as his duty to be a protector and a means of survival. If they really did get attacked again, Arthur would have to protect the both of them AND make sure Merlin didn't get blown away in a stray breeze. With Merlin the way he was, the warlock couldn't have possibly caught something to anchor him by normal means.

Arthur dug around inside the satchel with his less dominant hand, letting a curse slip past his teeth when the flint he retrieved slipped between his fingers. It got lost among the dirt and leaves that had been knocked off their resident branches by the wind. With maybe minutes left of natural light, there was a pressing need to get a fire going. Shaking his head, Arthur dusted back any obstructions, jaw clenched tight with irritation.

Eventually, it was found. Eventually, the fire was started. The pheasant was put near the flames to cook and, finally, Arthur spared Merlin a tired, worn down look. The "weakness" disappeared quickly under the usual mask of invulnerability - he was a prince and a strong knight, of course. God forbid he get tired. However, a small smile cracked through, which allowed the rest of the mask to crumble freely. Merlin prided himself on being the only person who got such a relaxed reaction out of the young Pendragon.

"There's no way you're afraid of heights," Arthur finally decided well after the previous trip had been resolved. "You've leaned out of windows, looked down steep hills, climbed the side of towers. Just admit that you were scared I wouldn't come save you."

Merlin's face steeled itself in a deadpan. "You— You can't seriously consider those to be of the same caliber as this," he said, prepared with an excuse after having plenty of time to think.

"Sure I can. You're just an arm's reach higher than I am tall, Merlin. That's not a fear of heights." Arthur sat himself down near the fire, one leg extended in front of him and the other bent close to his chest. Merlin hovered over him like a bothersome gnat. "Though, we really ought to figure out how either of us are going to sleep," the blond thoughtfully said, "I'll stay up through the night so I can make sure we both keep a grip on the coat, and keep watch for any bandits."

Automatically, it didn't sit well - float well? - with Merlin. He pulled himself further down the sleeve of his jacket to poke into the corner of Arthur's vision. In an attempt to argue, he said, "You'll be tired and the journey will take longer. If it does, you can't stay awake for another full night."

The prince rolled his eyes but didn't try to interrupt, instead staring into the dancing fire in front of him. A new moon had risen, the flames and the stars being the only sources of light left for them to see each other by.

"Not only that," Merlin pressed, "but if you're tired, your reflexes will be utter trash. There's no way you can protect yourself like that. And what would you do if I let go and drifted off? Nothing, because there's nothing you can do, Arthur. Not unless you suddenly learned to fly. Besides, what if you accidentally fall asleep?"

Arthur chuckled once the speech was finished. He reached forward for the cooking pheasant to rotate it another way before sitting back on his hand. After a moment of thought, he finally looked over to Merlin. Their eyes locked, a royal cerulean and a blue with touches of seafoam green glowing in the light of a fire. He bore a lopsided smile - one that made Merlin's stomach do a flip. Just a quick one. "Unlike you, I actually have the discipline to stay awake during the night," Arthur assured, "Though, you really seem to lack faith in me. It's my duty to protect all of my subjects - this includes my own mediocre servant. I'll figure it out."

"How flattering. But what if—"

"Merlin."

The emphasis, the usual shut-up-already tone. Indeed, the raven bit his tongue, shrinking into his neckerchief like a scolded child under Arthur's challenging gaze.

"Unless you can come up with a better plan, don't talk needlessly. The last thing I want is a headache."

As they took apart the pheasant with their teeth, Merlin did devise what he thought to be a better plan in the end. With Arthur's hand tight around his ankle and his jacket back on his shoulders, Merlin let himself be pushed towards a pine tree with lower fanning, numerous branches. "We can both sleep without worrying," Merlin explained, using the branches to pull closer to the trunk, "if I'm under something that won't let me float too far." He nodded at Arthur to be released and, reluctantly, the blond obliged.

Though Merlin began to rise, the spot he had picked was just dense enough that a scratchy, poky barricade kept him from getting any higher than Arthur's abdomen. He stuck his hands out to the side in a theatrical 'tadaa~!' presentation. Pine needles poked his skin and the bitter taste of a stray needle made him shudder, but it was a success. Merlin grinned, awaiting some kind of approval. He definitely didn't need it - he knew he was brilliant - but the raven could at least hope that Arthur would give him credit.

It was quick: "Whatever." The dismissive response - He had been bested in a battle of wits! It was enough to make Merlin giggle. As Arthur stalked back over to the fire to lie down, the day reached its end. Tomorrow, they'd have to figure out how to reverse the spell placed on Merlin or reach Camelot and seek help there. Whichever came first, really.

"'Night, Arthur."

"Good night, Merlin."

His dreams were mysterious. Fantastic. Despite the many scares he had gotten during his waking hours, Merlin was wiped clean by the sensation of true flight. Floating aimlessly was just no fun. Having no control over which way you turned or if your were rightside-up was frustrating. In this dream, Merlin had more than just control; he had the very power that came with soaring like a falcon, his body practically weightless as he did little somersaults in the star-filled sky.

Dreams always felt weird but this one took the cake - and he had many dreams before now. When he would roll, his body moved first while his head delayed to catch up. At times, it was like he was falling but his body didn't move. In three different instances Merlin was sure he would've jolted awake. Nothing was super clear, either, instead masked by a static layer of textures. Thick like mud, moving like a current, as uncomfortable as it was to exist in such an environment, it was a small price to pay for the liberating feeling of the wind through his hair.

One more dive! Merlin told himself, grinning with glee as he rocketed his body skyward. He wished there was a moon, wished the stars were a little bit brighter so he could get a good look at the forest below, but maybe another time. Tilting forward, an excited whoop left his mouth before the raven dropped like a stone in a lake.

Almost immediately the noise was strangled and cut off violently by his own surprise. Pulling sharply out of his dive, Merlin's eyes widened to the size of saucers, locked onto a sleeping form that was floating at the same height as the pine tree below but further out than it probably should've been. Not just probably; It definitely couldn't have been so far out..!

The fire died out an hour ago. Dawn was still a few hours away. There was no light to be spoken of, and yet he recognized himself easily. Not a dream, not a dream. Merlin found that he had been repeating the same thought for the past thirty seconds. As his sleeping form, limp and heavy, got close to his foot, the thoughts became vocal. "Not a dream," he repeated, first in a whisper but quickly getting louder. "Not a dream, definitely not a dream.. Not a dream, not a dream, not a dream..!"

He made contact with his physical form and the entire world dropped to the pits of his stomach, rushing past in a nauseating blur. In a panic, his heart thrashed in the confines of his chest; that was more than enough of a wake up call. Merlin didn't know how - rather, when - he got back into his body, but he was gasping for breath as if he had been drowning.

Panic was an understatement.

Caught by a passing summer breeze, he no longer lined up with the tip of his resident tree. There were no spells on his tongue, no thoughts in his. Merlin reached helplessly for the closest branch and it seemed like, for a moment, the tree leaned towards him in return, but it wasn't enough. He was too high. He was too far out.

Once his voice found its place back in his throat, he still didn't cast a spell. Instead, he screamed in desperation, a noise so loud it scared sleeping birds from their nests and caused the stars to flicker in their shock. The wind stopped. The night went silent.

"ARTHUR!!"

Merlin tumbled without control, rolled without direction. His flailing was spinning him around like the wheel of a cart - in many cases, it tossed him further away - but at least it was something. "Think, you idiot!" He was gasping, trying to sort through his thoughts, to separate panic from coherency and instincts from rationality. The sleepiness was gone but that weightless sensation was more pressing than ever, making it impossible to actually think in a straight line. Getting back to the pine tree was his best bet; it was the tallest tree out of those around him, had more branches to aim for, and was overall the closest. Actually somehow propelling himself there was another story entirely. He didn't do well with plans, anyways.

The spell he randomly spat out earlier in the day came to mind first. Shorten it - there wasn't enough time to worry about abbreviating such a thing - and make the effort. Twisting so that his back was towards the earth, Merlin easily picked it apart from the chaos in his head. He thrust a hand out for the open sky, "Byre, ġesæceþ sé galdor!" He knew what to expect this time. He had more control on the wind than his own wild spiraling. It was a quick beckon from his palm, a straight jet that shot him downward at an angle.

At first, as spur of the moment as it was, it seemed like the best plan he had. But he had to be quicker; the time he spent to gather his bearings and reorient himself lost whatever ground he covered. Somehow, the rate at which he was rising was getting faster. The speed at which he rose kept increasing, and soon he needed two bursts to cover the same amount of distance as the first attempt. It was draining, it was tiring...

Merlin bit back an exhausted sob. Of course he'd continue until he was out of magic - that was a given - but he was faced with the threat that he'd never see his mother, or Gaius, or Gwen... Or anyone, ever again..! The last time he would've ever seen Arthur was through the branches of a tree he hoped would've prevented this from happening; the last time he clearly saw him was over the prince's shoulder during dinner. It hadn't been on solid ground or eye to eye. They hadn't been smiling bigger than their cheeks could accommodate or celebrating yet another victory against all odds. With so many words and emotions left behind on Merlin's part, it broke his heart in two, sapping his strength and his fight in one breath.

Even if I got back down now, would I say anything..?

Closing his eyes, he made a final attempt, hoping to rely on more than just the pointless puffs of air that merely kept him from getting further away. He reached out, prodded the energy around him for any kind of bump. A knot of familiarity... The pine tree was behind him at an angle, down below his line of sight. Merlin was well aware of the way magic connected him to everything so maybe he could use it like a lifeline, just as he and Arthur had used the jacket off his back.

Though he found the wisping, golden tendril of the pine tree, though he could feel it the same way he felt the blood in his veins, his exhaustion threatened to drape over the connection. It didn't severe immediately - Merlin fought with every fiber of his being to make sure it wouldn't - but the curtains were closing. Eyes snapping open, the warlock twisted back and reached out with his hand, fingers straight. The only light in the sky came from the pearly glow of stars but, for a moment, there was also molten gold.

It reeled him in, closer to the dark branches that, in turn, seemed to reach for him. However the distance was far greater than it looked, and he overestimated his own influence. He had hoped a little too much. The tendril released him not long after and Merlin's eyes went dim. With his energy sapped from his body, he was lost to a vast, dark sea.

Floating away took longer this time; undoubtedly a result of how much magic was put into the final sprint, much stronger than the spell initially cast over him. It was a bitter reminder that, had Merlin made it home, had he been in a space that kept him from floating, he had enough power to fight it off on his own. What a cruel, cruel trick it was... Just as cruel as the darkness that moved in the shape of a man, slipping past the pine's branches and making the top of the tree lean. It mocked him.

Wait...

The only considerably long branch at the top of the tree was aggressively ripped off, wood splinters flittering to the earthy floor below. It came prodding into the night air, unbalanced and bottom-heavy, swinging around like a sword in a child's inexperienced hands. The distance, like before, must've been a lie; the extended branch seemed but an arm's reach away. Merlin's eyes went wide when, despite his distrust in the trickery of the darkness against his defeated mind, he could've sworn he recognized the shoulders. Recognized the grunt of exertion when just flailing the branch didn't seem to be enough.

"MERLIN!"

The voice was just as world shattering and desperate as his own. Broken sob turning to one filled with life, Merlin making that final lurch until he just barely caught onto the rough bark, it all seemed to fall into place. Arthur reeled him in like a beaten fish, saying nothing as he dropped the branch from dozens of feet up. His thighs squeezed the trunk of the tree, ankles crossed to keep him from falling off. The blond seemed to be strong enough to keep the spell from pulling Merlin out of his hold.

Merlin trembled, not carrying about any mockery he might receive or scolding for his familiarity, when, honestly, they had been past that point for a while now. He just clung to Arthur for dear life and kept his eyes wide. If he dared to close them, he worried his mind would float away again. If he closed them, he worried that the warm body he so desperately wrapped around would disappear for good. That the familiar smell that was Arthur, his Arthur, would be replaced by the brisk bite of a cold breeze.

A strong hand - bare, there had been no time to put on gloves - cupped the back of the raven's head, fingers tangling in his hair. So high up in a tree that probably couldn't support their combined weight, they stayed like that.

"I've got you, Merlin.." Arthur softly muttered, his voice an echo in the warlock's ear. "I'll bring you back down, okay? I promise.."

As panicked as he was, Merlin kept flickering in and out of the present moment and some time far, far away. It couldn't have been easy work, yet Arthur still kept his hold on the slow, tedious climb back down. Merlin couldn't stay conscious for the journey.

The world beyond the blanket of his personal darkness was bright and intruding, stray rays of sunlight slipping past his eyelids until they couldn't be ignored any longer. Birds chirped their morning songs in greeting to a new day. The earth gave off a scent that was so clean and fresh, much more welcoming than it usually seemed the morning after an overnight stay in the forest. Merlin was comfortable lying on his back - very comfortable - and he would've stayed asleep much longer if he could've.

It was a little difficult to breathe, something constricting his torso in a warm, tight embrace. No doubt it was the satchel, used to tie him down and keep him from drifting away in the night. Or...in whatever was left of the night by the time he was rescued. Merlin couldn't remember much about getting down, just that his thoughts were filled with nothing but "Arthur, Arthur, Arthur, Arthur". It encroached in on his dreams but he had no memory of the actual context, just that he was with Arthur.

When he finally decided to open his eyes, for a moment, Merlin thought he was still asleep. There was no way that Arthur was actually asleep so close to him, rolled onto his side with arms wrapped tightly around Merlin's abdomen and head resting on his boney ribcage. That was so very...unlike Arthur, yet so fulfilling. With such an abrasive personality at times, close, overly intimate moments were few and far between. Merlin relished in every single second they offered. Consider it a personal reward; they made the day-to-day servitude well worth it in the end. A lot of things made it worth it, really, but if his Royal Pratness ever caught wind of it, his ego would expand beyond Camelot's borders.

He reached out carefully with his one free hand - the other pinned against his side - rubbing some of the golden locks topping Arthur's head between his fingers. As expected of a prince, it was still soft despite the amount of sweat, stress, and dirt it was put up against on a daily basis. Even now, the fact that it should've been greasy made no difference - it certainly didn't feel like it ever mattered to begin with.

From his awkward angle, Merlin took pleasure in noticing how long Arthur's eyelashes actually were. They had always appeared full, framing those beautiful blue eyes nicely, but now it seemed they were much more lavish than that. They were lovely. Well, a lot about Arthur was lovely. It's exactly why so many servants, nobles, common folk - men and women alike, something Merlin overheard a few times - felt some kind of attraction towards the prince. They just didn't know the extent of how lovely Arthur was on the inside, or how much more incredible he'd be in the future. Being one half of the fabled coin came with benefits, after all...

Suddenly, Merlin's head throbbed, ripping his attention from Arthur and instead to the ache that bounced through his skull. Even though he was still lying down, even though he had just woken up, refreshed and safe and on solid ground, the world was spinning faster than a windmill in the middle of a storm. Any faster and he would disconnect completely; a floating head from the rest of his body. Strength leaked from his body with each pulse of pain that radiated from within. Merlin, unable to pry himself free of his master's hold, twisted to bury his face in the dirt. He sought relief from the cool, earthen layer, desperate to let it block out the sun's glare while he sorted himself out.

With how easily his thoughts were wandering, it was any wonder he still knew where he was - but just barely. He curled his fingers into his hair, dug his nails against his scalp and gripped tightly, dangerously close to pulling out short tufts with brute force.
Away... Away... The air beckoned for him to join it, to let go of that heavy weight pinning him to the surface. As if back in the lucid dreamscape, Merlin felt like the majority of him was tumbling while the top of him, where his mind and consciousness resided, lagged behind. It either fell back without anything to catch it or leapt higher than the tallest man could reach. There was no in between.

The warlock wasn't aware that he was muttering until a certain someone called attention to it. Their grip had changed from being tight and constricting to something more entrapping. Holding one hand between Merlin's shoulder blades, Arthur leaned over him, voice a low, raspy breath near his ear. "Merlin. What's wrong?" he called, "Wake up.. You're— I don't know what you're doing, you're praying or something." Receiving not even a hint of a response at first, the prince tried again, grabbing onto the top of Merlin's shoulder to roll him over. "Wake up, you idiot, I'm not going to say it again."

They hadn't been prayers exactly... Merlin was painfully aware of that fact. It was in the way the earth had sighed against his chest, the way the world came rushing back in one fell swoop and the trees creaked in their swaying dances that suggested his magic was getting tangled up in the energy surrounding them. His eyes didn't glow, nor did they reflect gold against the mulch, so he was safe in that regard. Still, he hated the delay in his thoughts, the delay in registering the environment or the weight that was ultimately straddling his waist. Merlin blinked slowly at first. With the slight turn of his head, he was greeted with the very cloudy, murky sight of Arthur. "Wha…?" He swallowed thickly and cringed when his parched throat constricted. Despite having been awake - but maybe not consciously aware - Merlin felt the need to play with what he was given. "Arthur... How...are you up before me?"

"Oh, come off it." Arthur sat back on his heels and scoffed. "You and I both know you have a bad habit of sleeping in late."

Sure, because his sleeping late was such a big problem. If Merlin woke up any earlier and, in turn, woke Arthur up any earlier, than the whole of Camelot would be at the wrath of her sleepy prince. No one wanted that. Propping up onto his elbows, Merlin realized that it was becoming easier to focus. Arthur's shape was becoming clear and defined while the rest of their surroundings stopped moving. Maybe it's... Maybe I'm still waking up, the warlock decided, or maybe talking out loud is easier. Hm... It didn't really explain why he had jumped between being completely unbothered at first to suddenly having little clue of what was going on.

"If I get up you're probably going to fly away again, aren't you?" the blond chimed, though it was more of a rhetorical question on his part. Not waiting for a response, he moved back further, swinging one leg to the side to move from his straddling position. There was only a second between movements before he threw himself back down on top of Merlin. It had been so quick - curse his lethargic brain..! - but it was Arthur that explained in a breathy, needlessly panicked tone, "Yeah... Still floating..."

It put a slight damper on plans, not to mention an even bigger stress on the day's events, but it should've been obvious. Merlin felt his face flush warmly when the prince hummed, the rumble of his vocal chords vibrating against the raven's abdomen from how they were laying. The closeness wasn't new perse, but it was the desperation Arthur wore so openly on his features - maybe even the way he so comfortably maintained their closeness as he mulled over his thoughts in silence - that gave Merlin a fuzzy sensation. Comradery and desperation, they were both a form of what Uther considered weakness, and since the day he could walk, Arthur had been instructed to bury anything like it on a regular basis. Everyone already knew this if they knew anything about the Pendragons, but, in private, it seemed to be coming out bit by bit; just for Merlin to see. He'd wish to be cursed forever if it meant it'd happen more frequently.
Admittedly, these selfish thoughts were very, very common. He was only letting them run rampant of their own accord after realizing that they would never see the light of day again - courtesy of his unwelcomed walk among the stars.

He tilted his head back against the dirt with an audible sigh. Anyways.. It took a bit for the heat in his cheeks to disappear - it was slow, lingering like a fever - but once it reached a manageable level, Merlin tried to think of a solution. There was just no plausible way they'd reach Camelot uncontested, or in one piece if things continued as they were. The last thing he wanted was to burden Arthur. No matter what the prince himself thought, there actually were some things only Merlin could do. So, while Arthur tried his best to gather what few belongings they had while keeping the dazed servant at an arm's reach, said servant played with spells in his mind.

What would keep him from going too high, he wondered. What would keep him from overpowering his grip on a tether? Sooner or later, Arthur's might and determination would be laughable in the face of the curse that troubled them. There was only so much willpower could do in the end. Merlin thought back to what tried to pull him to safety during the night, to what connected him and the life of the forest. Not all of his magic was performed with verbal spells - it was just a conduit, really, like a puppet or wand - but if he could make it clear... If he could make clear to the magic surrounding him what it was he needed, maybe it'd do better than just hoping his instincts would hold out. A spell may help, but Merlin already knew that if he wanted it to actually work to the extent he needed, it'd require more than just some spoken words. It was a good thing he had a natural skill for these kinds of things; it was a good thing the natural world felt so familiar to him.

After a hasty, unappetizing breakfast of leftover pheasant and a last ditch effort to establish weights with rocks as the prince got busy, Merlin reached out with his magic. He made sure Arthur wasn't too close to overhear. Prodding, testing, the warlock felt for those same golden tendrils that had saved him before. Sure enough, they were there, just as careful as he was. They acted with personality, with life that made each one unique from the last. If he looked hard enough, Merlin was certain he could see faint glowing trails that tangled in the air. How beautiful they were... How serenely they breathed... When he returned to Camelot, the warlock decided he'd spend some time in the woods like this again, all to see the natural tie connecting everything that was and may be.

He reached a hand out slowly, voice rasping as he said, "Bealobend sylfum aldor, ancor be mín sylfre." The warm burn in his eyes disappeared after the spell was cast. The glow in the air seemed to swell in strength before ebbing down to its soft ember. It would go unnoticed by the naked eye, weak and unassuming once again, but Merlin could feel it coursing through his veins so effortlessly. When he closed his eyes to hide the gold in the irises, he knew the connection wouldn't be severed. Like the breath from his lungs, like the life in his heart, he was only one piece to the working mechanisms of a greater world.

It helped to erase the rapid spin of a dizzy planet. It put everything upright. Merlin knew where he was, where he was sitting... He knew where Arthur was, but he didn't dare to connect to the energy that rolled off the prince in waves. Ah... Maybe prince wasn't the right title for what Merlin so strongly felt. Instead, it was kingly. It was beautiful. Where the tendrils were just gold, Arthur was a living blaze of golds and reds. If Merlin went blind, then he'd enjoy it solely for this breath of infectious glory that resided in Arthur Pendragon.

Shrugging off his jacket, displacing some of the many, many rocks in his lap, the raven tightly gripped the left sleeve. Arthur came up to take the right and, in a group effort, pushed aside the weights. Slowly, much more carefully than before, Merlin was rising like the wind. When the jacket couldn't stretch any futher, that was when the tendrils of gold went taut, holding Merlin in place with knots around his limbs. For once, he felt undeniably safe; if he chose to let go, the connection was so strong that he actually wouldn't go anywhere!

It was a small victory. Arthur didn't comment on the scrunched concentration adorning his servant's features, instead shouldering the satchel and beginning to walk. Without the worry of drifting away or getting lost, they made up for lost time. As the energy became increasingly more familiar, Merlin reasoned they were nearing Camelot. A couple hours? Maybe more? They weren't moving very fast, rather at a casual and more leisurely pace, so it's likely they'd arrive late afternoon-early evening.

As the summer sun rose from the horizon to warm the earth, Merlin almost purred like a cat. He didn't like the cold all that much - if nothing else, he was tolerant of it - and being shined down on without worrying about how he was stepping or what lay ahead of them, he could enjoy the moment. It was also thanks to the sun that he was able to orient himself whenever it felt like the world began to tilt too much. The magic wasn't enough to keep him from swaying anymore... Which was only proving to be a growing concern.

Arthur cleared his throat. "While I'll admit you now have more of a reason to be wary of heights," he said, his voice more clear and present than the daylight itself, "I still don't think you're actually afraid of them."

"This again?" The retort came easily. Twisting awkwardly in the air to float on his back - Right..? I'm on my back now, aren't I? - Merlin scoffed.

"I stand by my case before. You've had a complete disregard for whatever situation you're in since the day I met you, and you seriously expect me to believe you're afraid of heights?"

"Those were controlled environments, sire."

"Exactly."

Merlin's eyes snapped open and his brow furrowed in disbelief. He practically glared at the blue sky. "Are you— You really are a clotpole! Does this REALLY look like a controlled environment?!" Arthur may have been an idiot, but surely not...

"Again with this clotpole thing..." Arthur shook his head, giving the jacket a playful tug. "You're not afraid of heights, but with this whole thing being magic... Well, I don't blame you. You're scared."

Scared. Of magic. Though he did get a little nervous with Arthur suddenly yanking him around and last night's events still fresh, it was almost laughable. The only reason why Merlin was still hanging around (literally) was because he himself was using magic. Again, it'd be a while before he could tell Arthur that, but at least he could relish in it like an inside joke. "Probably.." he finally answered.

Things should've stayed like that until they reached Camelot - that was Merlin's hope, at least. When the sky's blue wavered, flickering between a dull pink and back, when his connection to the passing nature around him nearly severed in half at the blink of an eye, when he almost threw up and choked on his own breath, it became obvious that things were taking yet another turn for the worse.

He didn't know where he was. Where he was supposed to be. The two males stopped talking a few miles back so now there was nothing for Merlin to hold on to. Though he looked up at the canopy of mismatched trees, it felt like he had been turned upside down; it was like he was about to fall through the leaves and hit a hard ground had it not been for his white-knuckled grip on the sleeve in his hand. The tree he was pulled past looked foreign to him - a simple aspen standing next to an oak, just as simple to name as it appeared - but stretched to follow him for a few yards.

His heart quivered like it was skipping a beat, his lungs tightened around weak breaths. The burn of energy in his eyes disappeared and Merlin began to panic. It wasn't his sky that looked down on him, nor was it his clothing that stuck to his skin with sweat. This should've been a new experience, not a nightmare.
He choked on his useless tongue in an attempt to form words. He was unable to turn himself in fear of losing the body that supposedly belonged to him. His head was spinning, he couldn't hear through the cotton in his ears. "A-Arthur..." Merlin whispered. No one answered him. Maybe he was already floating away... Maybe he was already disappearing.

Something in his nerves twinged, putting whatever remained of his senses on high alert. Even if Arthur wasn't there - Who's pulling me? Who's with me? Where are we going? Where's Arthur anyways... - he had to warn whoever had him. "Look— LOOK OUT!!"

Chapter Text

His manservant's cry of alarm came in just the nick of time as a group of bandits charged from the trees, their cover blown. Arthur prayed Merlin wasn't an idiot as he dove to the dirt, just narrowly avoiding a sudden sword thrust while maintaining his grip on Merlin's leash. He reached for the sword on his hip with his free hand. His weight felt lopsided, uneven with the human kite and the satchel hanging off his shoulder.

It was awkward, but with a heavy shrug he discarded the bag. There wasn't any time to tie Merlin to a tree or exposed root, so he would have to make do. Brandishing his blade for their attackers to see, Arthur took quick notes of the men surrounding them. Yes, surrounding; he had been caught in a tightly knitted circle while trying to even out his stance.

They didn't wear matching cloaks or tunics — an unorganized group.

None of them seemed to have ulterior motives at first glance — they were simply bandits.

Their weapons were mismatched pieces of different smithing styles — stolen goods.

None of them were truly threatening.

Arthur quickly determined that this was just a sequence of coincidences. They had nothing to do with the group that tried to curse him. They only crossed his path accidentally, taking advantage of what they deemed to be a defenseless man and his spell-ridden accomplice. No one seemed to recognize him. How ironic would they have thought it be, seeing the prince of a strictly anti-magic kingdom walking around with someone that was clearly enchanted?

He didn't have the luxury of wondering. Not that he cared. Unable to smooth-talk his way out of this situation, he spared a glance up at Merlin. The raven had a deathly grip on the sleeve of their jointed tether, but Arthur's stomach dropped when he realized that it wasn't out of security; Merlin actually looked like death, his head and limbs limp and his skin clammy. When he rotated a little, the look in his eyes screamed a distant vacancy. Something was painfully wrong.

With a battle cry, Arthur lashed out, catching one of the men by surprise with a swift gash across his chest. As the man staggered back, the prince broke free of their circle, turning quick on his heel to parry a swing at his back. Someone tried to flank him but he kicked them away before they could wave their weapon. It was a fierce battle, one against five - four, now, as the gash proved to be much deeper than initially expected. In normal circumstances it would've been an easy victory, but Arthur still had a welt under his eye that was only just now starting to serve as a problem and a wounded man to hang on to. He had to fight like hell just to keep distance between him and the bandits.

They attacked in waves, either putting all their strength against him or backing away to recuperate. For once, Arthur wished they would just do the foolish thing and face him one at a time. With a quick lurch and a wet-sounding plunge of his blade into the abdomen of the leading attacker, he clicked his tongue. Where's that stray luck when you need it most, the prince wondered before reeling back to slam his elbow into a man's jugular.

After all, whenever the odds seemed to be against him, a tree would usually shed a loose branch - one that just so happened to hit an enemy on the head. Sometimes roots would trip attackers, sometimes a stray breeze would push an arrow off course. Sometimes, he noticed, the leather of a saddle would snap and someone on horseback would fall off before they could attack. Lady Luck was always on Arthur's side in spite of everything else the world seemed to throw at him.

The jacket in his grip then went slack, falling with gravity to drag against the dirt ground. Stumbling to catch both himself and the tank of a man that came bearing down with an axe, Arthur's blood ran cold. His arm trembled with the weight of his caught sword, his knees shook with the effort of keeping his attacker back. "Merlin!" the prince roared, risking a much needed look up at the sky with fear in his stomach. He expected to see a limp form rising to meet the treetops or his gangly servant flailing in panic, but he saw neither. Had he already gone so high that he was beyond sight..?

"ARGH!! Get 'im off!"

One of the remaining men that had been approaching from the side to attack Arthur veered sharply off track, charging to the rear with their longsword raised. The distraction was enough for the prince to drop to all fours, the tank he held back stumbling forward and tripping over his hunched form. The very earth shook when he finally fell, winded in surprise and smacking his meaty hands through the dirt for his weapon. Arthur didn't give him the chance.

Ripping his sword out of the man's chest, Arthur's eyes went wide when he recognized the blue tunic adorning his savior's torso and the leather boots that kicked wildly through the air. Merlin had, indeed, let go of his tether, but he did so for such a stupid, stupid reason...
He kept his head down and his grip tight on the bandit's torso, pinning him against a thin aspen. While the bandit swung his fists, Merlin would sometimes snap his head forward for a disorienting headbutt or bring one of his drifting legs slamming into an unguarded abdomen. He didn't unpin his opponent no matter how many times he was smacked upside the head. As the second bandit came to help pry Merlin free by catching his legs, Arthur released the limp sleeve still caught in his grip and marched on with a strengthened resolve.

He meant to say it as a word of warning, to let the bandit whose back was to him know that he was coming, but it didn't come out fast enough. By the time Arthur had sunk his blade into the bandit's back, the words left his lips in a dark, threatening tone, now intended for the ears of the remaining adversary: "Get your hands off him."

The bandit obeyed in an instant, body going stiff with his arms up over his head. Once the assault had come to an end, Merlin sagged, releasing the bandit and beginning to rise like a dead fish in a pond. His eyes remained open and glassy in the exact same way. Arthur released the hilt of his trusty sword without a second thought, wrapping an arm around the raven's legs just to reel him in. He didn't let his concern show itself on his face. He didn't let his eyes glisten with wetness. Only when he had a solid grip on Merlin that kept the servant close to his chest did he speak again. "Leave my sight if you care about your life," Arthur snarled.

No rodent in a million years would scurry away as fast as the paled man did, tripping over the bodies of his comrades and the roots of trees that loomed over him. It wasn't until Arthur could no longer hear twigs snapping or undergrowth being trampled that he gratefully allowed fatigue to slip through. A thin slice on the back of his calf began to burn through the adrenaline, his knees quivered with exhaustion. Staggering on his back foot, Arthur fell on his rear, gathering Merlin's limp form into his arms.

See... A lot of Merlin's height seemed to come from an almost-equal distribution of length in his legs and torso. His ears really weren't that big. His hair ended up appearing curlier than it actually was, instead having more of a waviness to it that only got aggressively worse with moisture. His cheekbones were high, pronounced, serving as a very unforgettable feature on his face. His eyes usually looked the best—

Arthur knew deep down, no matter how badly he tried to cover it up with "new" observations about his manservant, that it was just a distraction. .

Birds sang and bugs chirped, leaves rustled in a warm summer breeze, but it all felt like silence to him. Finally catching his breath from the sudden fight, Arthur sighed, tangling his fingers in Merlin's hair as he observed the male. "You're... You've got a fever, idiot." He commentated to himself as if he was actually having a conversation, feeling uneasy with how Merlin's blank stare didn't even focus on him. Instead, those blue eyes were latched onto something far, far away. "Your breathing isn't bad, though, so that's good. You're just warm. Sweaty... Ew... And maybe I should be honored that you don't float away as easily when it's me holding you down."

The contact Merlin had maintained with the previous bandit didn't seem to help much in keeping the raven grounded. Perhaps the reason for such a thing was because the curse had been intended for Arthur, thus making him a good sort of repellent? He had no way of knowing. He just had his useless, pointless hopes and assumptions.

As the sun reached its peak, Arthur found the strength to stand. He awkwardly pulled his sword free of its temporary sheath and returned it to his belt - this was the only time he didn't have both hands on Merlin. He ignored the satchel but didn't ignore the raven's jacket, scooping it up with the toe of his boot and kicking it as high as he could manage before catching it on his fingers. Arthur paused for a moment. It was unlikely they'd reach Camelot before nightfall, but, at this point, he was fine with taking his time.

Who in the castle would be of any help, he wondered. His steps dragged across the ground as he walked. Arthur cringed at the thought of his father but calmed at the thought of Gaius. The physician probably had a better chance of helping Merlin on the grounds of him being the raven's guardian. Plus, with magic being actively involved, Arthur had a feeling Gaius would take it better; the physican was, after all, the one who calmly assessed the problems that had magical causes. The voice of reason against Uther's hate-filled rage.

It was early evening when Arthur realized he hadn't made much progress. Merlin still looked off to the distance, let his head lull to the side. He was muttering his weird prayers again - a foreign language the prince, for a moment, thought he recognized - but it became quite clear that his condition was worsening.

Arthur also realized, rather suddenly, that he was having a hard time being...himself. His thoughts were incoherent, his steps were sloppy, and walking around aimlessly wasn't taking an effective course of action. He couldn't breathe very well. All of these things, he thought, were very unlike him. Brow furrowing, he glanced at the servant in his arms. "Unhelpful as always, you complete and total buffoon," Arthur quietly said.

His nose scrunched as the scent of smoke invaded his senses. The signs of a campfire. Arthur tossed Merlin over his shoulder with a steady arm wrapped over the back of his legs - this was easier than carrying him like a child, though at the same required much more conscious effort to fight the floating effects of the spell - and drew his sword. They weren't close enough to Camelot to be the fires from hearths, or even torches for that matter, while at the same time they weren't so far out that any physically-able person would need to set up camp for the night. If the bandits they encountered made a base of operations, Arthur hoped they hadn't been so dense as to make it close to the castle.

Initially, the plan was to avoid the source completely. He didn't have the strength to defend himself and Merlin, he didn't even have the right mindset to fight in the first place; doing so would be a death wish. As he began to make a wide arch around what he presumed to be the camp in question, the trees behind the prince creaked, and the bushes rustled with a sigh from the wind. Arthur stopped, going as still as a deer when his quickly-warming brain picked up on the breath of another person. He didn't whip back to strike. He didn't even move.

"Prince Arthur," spoke a man's raspy voice, "I was told by the ivy that you were coming."

Arthur risked a glance back, eyes going wide when he saw the green-cloaked figure behind him. He had been snuck up on once again except, unlike with the young sorcerer from before, this time the prince worried. They had a gnarled, wooden staff in one hand and a pendant hanging around their neck that glowed despite the dying sunlight. At first, Arthur wasn't sure the voice he heard had come from the man behind him; they had long, light hair like an elderly man, but their features were pristine and full of youth. His posture was straighter than a king's, his eyes were a soft gray and half-lidded. Despite the fact that he had caught a weapon-wielding knight by surprise, this stranger showed a complete disinterest in their circumstances.

"The...ivy..?" the blond finally asked.

"Yes. Well, the whole forest is quite loud with talk of you and Emrys, but the ivy in particular spoke the clearest." He spoke in riddles, but that's only what they sounded like. There was no way Arthur could've known how serious he was being. The man gestured for the prince to follow as he made in the direction of the campfire smoke, walking past him without a care in the world. When Arthur didn't follow right away, he stopped to point at the servant over his shoulder. "I might be able to help you, young prince. Regarding your...unfortunate cursing. And even if you don't trust me, I will tell you that I found a stray horse. I'm guessing she might be one of yours. You may take her back to Camelot."

His father was practically screaming all sorts of hateful profanities in his head, enough to be deafening and almost fill his vision with a red that wasn't his own. Arthur dared to listen to them first, because it was becoming quite obvious that this wasn't just a simple man. He had to have been magic in some way. Who else would hint that they could help - or at least know of a way - to fight a curse? Who else would speak about nature in an almost personified way? Who else would mention names that had nothing to do with the present situation? The only help Arthur in his right mind consider would be the horse, but... He really wasn't in his right mind. Far from it.

Slowly, Arthur blocked out the voice in his head. His footsteps were almost unsteady, uneven. He still had yet to decide whether or not he'd trust the stranger, but he had to consider everything. If there was maybe a chance Merlin could be saved wouldn't it be best to learn from someone of magic directly? Right? Arthur would keep his sword out and brandished in the light of the evening, picking his way through the thin grass with care.

The camp was...not a camp, at all. It had a single firepit, a small rucksack no bigger than a gourd lying next to a fallen trunk, and a horse whose reigns were tied to the branch of a tree. Arthur recognized the horse as being the sweet, tawny mare Merlin had been riding - fate was quite kind to have reunited them again - so at least he had a right to take her with them; despite the fact that the mysterious stranger had ultimately given her back by then. The prince didn't sit down immediately, watching the man ghost around his little camp with an eerie calmness. He waved his staff over the ebbing fire and spoke a single word, the flames jumping up with renewed life. This confirmed Arthur's suspicions.

He was in no state to attack or even antagonize a sorcerer, but the reality of the situation did little to fight his instincts. Tensing on his back foot, a growl tore past his teeth. "Who... What is your name, sorcerer..?"

"Rutger," came the easy response. Seemingly unaffected by Arthur's hostilities, the man whose name claimed to be Rutger sat down near the fire, legs crossing under his robe. "Considering the negative connotations that come with the title of 'sorcerer', perhaps it would ease your heart to know that I am a druid first before I am anything else." He looked up, bearing a warm, welcoming smile at the prince. "I am not here to hurt you or your friend, young prince. The minute you have your doubts, you may strike me down."

The way he spoke gave off a feeling of pure sincerity, something the prince would dare to say was unfamiliar in many ways. Arthur began to calm down as he listened. It wasn't that Rutger told him his intentions weren't to harm, but it was the fact that he called himself a druid. Uther may have hated any and all people of magic, but Arthur still believed that the druids were a kind people. They didn't threaten the crown like his father always said, they just wanted to live in peace. He couldn't fault them for that.

Arthur came up to the fire and sat opposite of the druid, laying Merlin in the thin grass beside him on the right and his sword on the left. He kept his hand steady on the raven's chest to kept him from drifting away. It was only enough to keep him grounded until Rutger cast another spell; one that had the grass growing heavily and wrapping carefully around Merlin's body. Still, that didn't mean Arthur removed his hand. Due to his manservant's unyielding, blank stare, being able to feel both the rise and fall of his chest and the beat of his heart was the only way Arthur could be certain that he wasn't dead.

Death... The prince almost shuddered at the thought. He wasn't going to even consider the possibilty if he could help it.

Tearing his gaze away from Merlin, Arthur sat straighter. "If you're a druid," he asked, "why are you alone? I thought you lived in small groups."

Rutger nodded. "We do, but my presence was required elsewhere. I shall return home once I have completed my task." At Arthur's hesitation, the druid let out a deep, brass laugh, waving his hand by his face. "Yes, I realize how ominous that sounds. I beg for your forgiveness, young prince. I simply meant that destiny called me out here, and I will leave once I have answered her call."

While there was still plenty of tension between them - most of which appeared one-sided on Arthur's behalf - their conversation felt...casual. He would remain suspicious but there didn't seem to be any reason why either man would attack the other. Even when Rutger's eyes glowed a soft, gentle kind of gold and he waved his hand over the ground, even when he said, "Blóstmá," to cast a spell, Arthur didn't feel too worried - much to his own surprise. A small bush grew up from below Rutger's palm, swelling to the same size of the rucksack before it bore clusters of white blossoms. Those blossoms turned to plump black berries, mirroring the rather big bush that grew to the west.

At Arthur's pointed gaze, the druid gestured for him to pick from it. "I don't have much in the way of food to offer you, Prince Arthur," Rutger said, "and your horse is only carrying supplies for setting up a camp during the night, so I hope you like fruit."

"You could've gotten those from a larger, fuller plant." Arthur found himself nitpicking. He didn't know if the reason was curiosity or irritation. "Do you simply use your magic for convenience? Is that all it is for you?"

"Of course not." Rutger paused to pick off a few berries for himself, taking his time as the sun dipped into the horizon. The birds were giving their final performance of the day while the insects lurched into a operatic frenzy. They only had minutes before night came to cover them all in a sweet coolness. After licking clean the tips of his fingers, the druid shrugged his shoulders. "I think I'm just trying to prove a point," he said at last. "Before I help you, I wanted to help myself. Magic isn't bad, Arthur Pendragon. That's something you'll come to learn very soon, I hope, if Emrys truly does understand you."

Again with this 'Emrys' character... In return, the crown prince scoffed, wearing disgust on his face just like he would any kind of mask. "You're not the first person to tell me that, and yet here I am, beside myself with worry because magic is the very thing that's poisoning my servant." Arthur threw a hand up. "If magic wasn't so bad, then why can it do things like drive a man mad over the course of maybe two days? He's never once muttered prayers in his sleep, he's never had such an empty gaze. Magic..." His fist opened and closed repeatedly, grasping the air as if in search of the words to say next. "Your people may be the only reason I won't call it evil. Don't get ahead of yourself, sorcerer."

This made Rutger smile, catching Arthur by surprise. "If I'm not the first person to tell you that magic isn't bad, it means you've heard it before," he pointed out, "It means you've listened before, sire."

If his father had been there to hear such a claim, Arthur was almost certain that their relationship wouldn't keep him from being thrown in the dungeons. It had all been spur of the moment - he had very little recollection of the words that left his mouth - and now the prince was in a mild panic, desperate to defend himself. Had Rutger not held Merlin down with knots of long grass, the poor raven would've floated away when Arthur lifted both hands. "Listen here, druid, I simply meant that that no matter what you tell me— Stop laughing!"

Rutger didn't. If anything, he laughed harder at Arthur's exasperated expression. At this moment in time, the druid pulled away his hood, revealing just how long his soft chestnut brown hair was as it pooled on the ground beneath him. The gesture seemed friendly amidst their discussion, diffusing the tension that threatened to boil over. It was as if, by taking down a physical divide between them, it would be okay to not have to defend themselves. More specifically, so Arthur didn't feel like he needed to explain his words. Even if it had been spur of the moment, the words had always been there. He didn't dismissed them completely. He didn't necessarily retract the statement either.

Slowly, the prince sat back, finding that Rutger wasn't going to listen to his justifications. That was fine. Instead, he directed his attention back to Merlin, putting his hand back in the center of his chest. His breathing had slowed rather drastically, his blank stare clouded and hazy while his head was lulled limply to the side. His eyes were half-lidded and threatening to close.

"There was another thing you said that I think contradicts what you're truly thinking." When Arthur looked up, he was met by a very thoughtful, analytical gray stare. "You called this young man your servant."

Arthur chewed his cheek, brow furrowing and fingers curling against the fabric of Merlin's tunic. "I'm not mistaken," he argued, "Merlin is my servant."

"So, he goes by Merlin, does he..?"

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"Nothing. Prince Arthur, I believe you're jumping ahead of yourself here." Rutger winked, wagging his finger near the side of his nose in a playful way. "I never said you were wrong, nor that you were mistaken," he said, "just that you were contradicting yourself."

Letting out an exasperated sigh, Arthur rolled his eyes. "You're seriously trying to point out every single error I might've made..." He grumbled a bit more, a little annoyed by the direction of their conversation. All he wanted was to get home to Camelot, to sleep in his own bed and wake up the next day to Merlin's incessant prattling, but now his detour had ultimately pushed their arrival time to late morning at best. And he had nothing to show for it. Shaking his head, Arthur complied for the druid's own amusement, "Very well then, Merlin is my servant. However, he is a loyal acquaintance. Loyal to a fault.

The druid nodded, taking his staff and laying it flat over his lap. "I suppose that's better," he said, "It lines up with your thoughts, but it still isn't completely truthful."

"I don't know what you're implying," Arthur said sharply, "but I really don't have the patience for these mind games." He didn't have the patience, but he also didn't have the heart to say any more. When Rutger's smile broadened, Arthur licked his lips nervously. "Look... Rutger…" Why was it becoming so difficult to speak? Why was he nearly exposing himself all of a sudden? He cleared his throat with a forced cough. "You said you might be able to help me with this curse, and I'm starting to think that maybe you can't. If that's the case, I'll simply take my horse back and ride to Camelot. I'm certain someone there can do something but I can't stay out much longer. As prince, I have a duty to return to my people."

The druid shook his head, his grin turning almost sorrowful. "Yes, I suppose that's true..." When he looked up again, his gaze never reached Arthur's, instead gluing itself to the fire. His irises were so pale that they were merely a canvas, a floor for the reflections of flames to dance across. It was mesmerizing to say the least, but a cheap trick to say the most; now it was Arthur who couldn't look away. "It's because you're a prince that you won't speak freely," Rutger said, "and that's okay. That's just how things are. But you've put that same lock on your heart. I'm not here to judge you, Arthur, nor am I here to manipulate your greatest weaknesses. I am simply here to help you. So, I implore you to let me help."

He was aware...almost, of what Rutger wanted to get out of him. Their conversation had been following an almost clear direction. The intent wasn't malicious, it was actual, pointless concern - a breed of which was just as unnecessary as the gesture itself. Arthur wouldn't give him the satisfaction. He simply couldn't. He had spent so much time barring it up that bringing it out for one person to hear, not to mention the wrong person, would leave a massive wound. After all, there was a reason why Arthur fought to avoid titles of familiarity with his servant; why he had to correct himself constantly. Clenching his jaw, the prince steeled his gaze.

"He's only a servant, right?" Rutger locked their eyes in a battle of wills then, his own body language much more standoffish than he ever displayed before. His posture straightened, his gaze darkened, and his jaw went stiff."Prince Arthur, even if he's a friend, you're expending too much effort to keep him around. You would most likely be unharmed, well-rested, and completely stress free by now if you let him go. I'm not just talking about right now, but in the future as well. He's surely troublesome, causing issues for you by getting himself cursed—"

"Now wait just a minute—"

"—and as we sit here talking, he's getting closer and closer to never coming back down. Ever. What are you to do if there's no way to break this curse?" There was a pause but only for dramatic effect. The druid watched, almost pleased, as Arthur felt himself unraveling at the seams. "What you'll do," Rutger continued, "is get a completely new servant. But that's not so bad, is it? You'll become friends with him too, just as you did Merlin, and he'll likely keep out of trouble. No pesky sorcerers like myself will come bothering you, no rogues will have you defending more than your own body, and life will be so much simpler!"

His face was flushed, his breathing was haggard. Calm down, Arthur tried to remind himself, You have to stay calm. He's trying to get a reaction out of you. Trying to rile you up. His own thoughts were soon drowned out by the the thunder of blood rushing to his head. When he risked a glance at the raven at his side, seeing that those glassy blue eyes were now shut sent Arthur completely over the edge. "Rutger, I'm giving you one chance to shut the hell up and take back what you've said."

Rutger smirked, brow arching. "Just admit that I'm right, your majesty." The title carried so much ice, so much bitter poison, that Arthur physically recoiled. "Manservants are replaceable. Merlin is replaceable." This time, when he paused, it was because the druid was waiting for something.
He definitely got it.

Snapping his sword up from off the forest floor, Arthur brandished the blade over a sweltering fire. Its tip didn't reach physically, but the way it was held, the way he leaned forward, suggested a much greater length. The prince let a cold rage leek through his pores and swallow his posture, but he didn't dare to move his hand from its safe, comforting place on Merlin. "You don't understand him at all," Arthur snarled, "and you don't understand us in the slightest."

"Oh, but don't I?" Rutger leaned forward in return, drumming his fingers against the knots of his staff. "What is there to understand? I can see into your mind, Arthur. You're thinking about it even now. You insult him, you toss him around and you belittled him. He's saved you more than your own knights yet you still won't look his way."

"I see him now," Arthur argued. He brought his sword down to the grass, knowing very well what Rutger saw as mistreatment. And mistreatment it was, but it was all in self-defense. How else was he supposed to resist that unguarded smile? That clumsy, lanky man that somehow got in trouble for every little thing and still gladly defended what he thought was right, even if it meant arguing with the crown prince of Camelot on the daily, was someone he couldn't just brush off, so he had no choice but to actively shove. No, it wasn't really an excuse. Always in private, he would be called out by those closest to him. Like Rutger they acted as if they understood, as if they knew the dynamic was his and Merlin's relationship. They never knew the reasons behind his behavior - they never would.

He didn't want to think about getting another servant. He didn't want to think about how much easier his life would've been had Merlin not lasted as long as he did despite Arthur's abuse. Merlin saved him multiple times before, when he was first placed in the position of his manservant as well as soon after when he drank from a goblet he knew to be poisoned, then he both saved and continuously protected the prince despite the curse placed on him. Who knows how many more times that clumsy, irresponsible, completely-unaware-of-personal-safety, lazy Merlin had saved him before this very moment in time?

Shaking his head - and figuring it too late to save face - Arthur dared to bring down his defenses, lowering his head and watching Merlin instead. "He's more than a simple servant," the blond said after a while, "and he's a better man than I ever let him know. I'm not going to ever need a new manservant because I refuse to let him be taken from me by a some stupid spell."

"Because he's your friend."

"No. Because he's much, much more than just a friend."

The fire died down to a soft, homey glow, its coals providing more light than a natural burn ever could. Arthur blinked a few times to adjust to the new lighting before lifting his head. Rutger was staring back at him, having shed all hostilities and instead wearing a knowing, gentle smile. "You're a very stubborn young man, sire," the druid mused in a whisper. "You're too protective for your own good. I look forward to the man— Nay, the king you will some day be. But, until then, does Prince Arthur have something he'd like to ask of me?"

Not Prince Arthur. No, he was well beyond that point now. Sitting straighter, Arthur paused to give himself the confirmation, the personal reassurance that such selfish thoughts would be okay: Camelot will have her prince come sunrise tomorrow. He had a duty to Merlin, one that superseded everyone else even if for just a single moment. Especially now that the prince had pried away the bars that hid his deepest, innermost thoughts free. The affection he only wished could've stayed down, the one still without a name.

"Can you break the curse?"

"I cannot."

Arthur choked.

He didn't even get the chance to yell at Rutger for leading him on or to even fully process what had just happened, because the druid wore the most shit-eating grin Albion had ever seen. "I cannot," the brunet repeated, "but you can." Arthur bit his tongue and waited for the explanation. Sure enough, Rutger obliged, lifting his hands as if for emphasis. "The sorcerer who cast it was still learning, so he didn't know how to properly cast spells that aren't easily undone. It's something that comes with experience, something that is improved - for better or for worse - with time. Not only that, but he wasn't that strong yet. It's an easy fix."

It felt almost like he was being taught by Gaius. That older-tone of voice really played into the feeling, plus Arthur was learning about things he never even considered before. It was utterly mind boggling that he could break any-- Wait. Suddenly, things weren't lining up with what he already assumed to be true from things he overheard in passing like with the griffin or dragon, or other magical problems that had arisen.

Arthur frowned, looking down at Merlin. Every other beat of the raven's heart seemed to be skipping, which wasn't unlike how it'd been behaving before, but with his eyes closed and the fact that his breathing was getting softer really gave off the impression of death. Moving his hand from Merlin's chest, he instead brushed aside the damp, wavy bangs that stuck to his forehead. "I thought..." Arthur lifted his head again. "I thought magic could only be undone by more magic. There have been some cases where this seems to be wrong, or happened to work out favorably in the end, but is that wrong?" After all, at the end of the day, the griffin was killed by a lance and curses just seemed to have been parlor tricks with more power behind them.

"It's not," Rutger argued. Seeing the look of disbelief on Arthur's face, he added, "You're very fortunate, Prince Arthur, to have a great and powerful force on your side." Hesitating a moment, the druid seemed to be thinking of what to say next while the prince tried to answer a million of his own questions that had no clear understanding to them. Everything Arthur knew seemed to be...missing a greater link. He knew nothing of a powerful force that was on the side of the Pendragons, especially if it could repel magic (with magic, undoubtedly). Shouldn't that very force be against Camelot?

The druid stood up at last, jabbing the end of his staff into the dirt. Arthur watched him curiously. He noticed that the fire was full again and the grass tangled around Merlin grew thicker, as if for one last time. His eyes narrowed and Rutger pulled up his hood once more. "Listen to what I say very carefully, young prince," the man said, "because the decision of what may happen next rests on your shoulders."

Arthur swallowed.

"Magic is everywhere," Rutger explained with a careful tone, "It is in everything. It is the lifeblood of many creatures. There are those who possess a stronger connection with it than most, and that doesn't necessarily make them users of it. Understand this. Believe this. It is a fact of the world you reside in; look at all those children we druids have taken in for proof. They themselves may not be able to to cast spells or manipulate magic to their whim, but it is there, and it comes out on its own. When the time comes, Arthur Pendragon, remember that even those who cannot cast spells have also been prosecuted.

"I'll tell you only what I believe is necessary, because I see that you simply don't know." When he hesitated, his gray eyes flickered to the unconscious, spiraling Merlin. "Make of it what you will but trust yourself. He trusts you. Emrys trusts you. So shall I."

Arthur found his shoulders raised like a cornered, defensive beast, growing tense with how uncertain the situation was becoming. Emrys was brought up again - Another time, the prince silently decided, I'll learn about this Emrys character another time - as was the topic of trust. Whatever Rutger was about to give him as far as information went was, apparently, enough to make the prince question everything. The anticipation was maddening.

Rutger tapped his staff against the dirt. The fire jumped like a heartbeat. "Merlin has..an affinity for magic," he confessed, "He's sensitive to it, it makes him more attuned to the environent around him. If he's ever suddenly noticed when something is approaching, or knew where to go when lost in the woods, or had an unyielding trust in his decisions, it's that sensitivity. Like a gut instinct with way more influence over his actions than what's reasonable." He began to fidget a little when Arthur didn't react right away. "He has enough magic to break the curse, but only you can actually do it."

A moment of silence, followed by a longer, tense pause when Arthur couldn't find the words to speak. It was obvious, however, that he wanted to ask a million things at once. He quickly shook his head. "What do I need to do?" Arthur asked. "If I am to break the spell and get Merlin back completely, what do I do?" It might've been a trick of his imagination, but he could've sworn he saw Rutger give a sigh of relief.

The druid nodded, saying, "I'm sure you've read the storybooks, my prince. A loving kiss to wake the sleeping princess, yes?"

Arthur turned an aggressive shade of vermillion, hidden only by the dark of night and the shadows cast by an lively fire. His heart raced faster than anything on the planet, tripping over itself with a sort of clumsiness that would get it killed in battle. His lungs were tight - the air was hot. Still, the prince wasn't sure he heard correctly. "A... A kiss, you say..?" Arthur repeated, "Surely you must be joking... What does that have anything to do with breaking curses??"

"He's floating away," Rutger solemnly said, "He's disconnecting from the waking world, he's drifting between reality and something far, far beyond our reach. While the curse makes him physically float, at the same time it's separating his consciousness until there's no way to discern what's a dream and what's reality. What's true and what's fake. The kiss is to ground him in the physicality of existence, of this world, while jumpstarting the reactions and emotions that come with being alive."

He bowed his head. "This is why I tried to help you understand what exactly it is you feel for Merlin. Love comes in many forms - platonic, romantic, familial, everything in between - but if you don't know which it is you feel, how can you possibly hope to ground another person?" Rutger waved his free hand dismissively, as if knowing exactly how ridiculous the words coming out of his mouth were. "It sounds prophetic," he admitted, "I assure you, he won't die if you simply kept him locked away, young prince. You'll still have him around, but he'll just be lifeless. My estimate is that you have until noon before it becomes irreversible. If you realize that you can't ground him, rest easy knowing that you won't have his life on your—"

Arthur groaned loudly, pressing the heel of his palm against the side of his head. "You're giving me a headache," the prince grumbled, "Seriously... Drone on any longer and I won't be able to think straight. How am I supposed to make my decision then?" He kept his tone light but, just barely below the surface, Arthur was at a complete loss. He wasn't completely sure how he felt about...well, anything. There was a lot to think about. A lot he didn't understand. A lot he wanted to understand. It had become clear the moment Rutger stood that their time was up; he only had a chance to ask the important questions.

Knowing now what needed to be done, he was faced with one more concern. Leaning forward, Arthur raised his brow. "You're pretty talkative for a druid, Rutger. How do I know you won't use what you've learned about me to completely uproot Camelot?"

Rutger offered a friendly, lopsided smile. "If I tried to harm you in any way, Emrys would defeat me with little more than a single blow. Besides..." His eyes flashed gold and a quick spell left his mouth - faster than Arthur could follow. A thin mist began to envelop the druid, growing thicker only around his form until his robe couldn't be distinguished from the rest of the rolling clouds. "You're not a bad man, Arthur Pendragon. If it's you, I will believe in the future you make. Until we meet again, my great king..."

Surely, his father would have his head. Before the druid could be swallowed by the mist and vanish from sight, Arthur nodded. "Until next time, Rutger."

Left alone to a deep, navy darkness and the warmth of a homey fire, Arthur found that he couldn't follow his thoughts. He had tried to act with dignity and indifference - the words of a sorcerer wouldn't be enough to phase him, you see - until his company disappeared. Now that he was by himself, the prince felt very, very bothered. There were many things thrusted upon him without a word of warning. Information he probably would've never even learned had the stars not aligned in such a way; some of which bothered him more than the rest.

It ought to have been obvious which of the bunch took the cake for 'most disconcerting thing ever'. Lips pursed tightly, the blond spared a glance down at the man lying next to him, to the face he still cupped carefully in his palm. Rapid like the thunder of wild hooves, Merlin's eyes were darting beneath his eyelids, the skin sullen and pale. Borderline lifeless and clammy to say the very least. Rutger had said that, should Arthur never find his answer, it's not like Merlin would actually die… But if this was how the raven would continue to exist then he was as good as dead. This, after all, wasn't Merlin. Not his Merlin.

Arthur let the fire die. He let the flames sweep low, let the embers be the only glow for the night as he began to stretch himself out next to Merlin. There was no way he could sleep - the prince knew this painfully well - but he could rest, could let his brain do all the heavy lifting while he simply kept watch. Curling onto his side and moving his securing hold from Merlin's cheek to across his shoulders, Arthur closed his eyes. His breathing slowed yet remained strong, his highly trained senses tuned to his surroundings, and he just...thought. He stayed like this all night.

Dawn would come and he would still be without an answer. Any form of love, Rutger said, could break the curse, but it was true that Arthur didn't know what he felt. Or, perhaps, deep down he really did know, just didn't have a word for it. Couldn't have a word for it.

If the crown prince of Camelot was certain of one thing and one thing only, it was that Merlin was his friend. A true friend, the rarest kind of friend that not once seemed interested in stabbing Arthur in the back or usurping his control, often times being the driving force that grounded Arthur in times of distress. Even if doubts somehow surfaced, they'd be farfetched; Merlin cared just as much for the common people as Arthur did for the people of Camelot, he never sought to do harm, and he was perhaps the biggest girl in all the five kingdoms. Such a pansy as he couldn't have ever wanted to be in control, but he was still honest to a fault. He still spoke his mind no matter the consequences. He was a refreshing face and a new personality that made Arthur grateful for the day Merlin came to serve him.

Beyond a friend, what was Merlin to him? How did Merlin view him? Camaraderie was one thing - one thing that would've sufficed when it came to breaking this curse - but Arthur still had questions. He claimed that Rutger didn't understand them but that was merely something he had in common with the druid. Where do my affections come from? Arthur wondered, letting his eyes open slowly as the air began to warm itself. Don't be so dense... Why did you hide it? Surely there must be a reason?

For all the times Arthur risked his neck for Merlin, for all the times he risked his reputation as prince and as a Pendragon, there had to have been a reason... Had Rutger told him that, in order to save Merlin, he'd have to give his own life in return, then the blond would not have questioned it; Camelot and her people would only be an afterthought. Slowly propping himself up onto his elbows, letting the twigs fall from his hair and his vision brighten with a cresting sun, he looked at Merlin. The manservant appeared so much more peaceful than he ever had before...

"You would've done the same for me..." whispered Arthur. He crossed his legs beneath him, watching with the stare of a protective eagle. "Actually, how many times have you tried to die in my stead, Merlin..? What haven't you told me?"

It was becoming quite clear to the prince why he would do his best to help Merlin. For all the times he sought out danger for remedies or faced bandits to get back that which was rightfully his.... He knew why he did it. Such devote loyalty, born from deep trust rather than fear, was so rare. Uther had loyalty because of his iron grip, from his power and unyielding control on his subjects. Some were loyal to him because of a shared history, but many more feared his anger. Arthur was not one such person, yet he could understand where they were coming from; his father was not one to be crossed. Having someone like Merlin in his life just felt so....so....right. The raven may not have been able to hold himself in a fight but, if past events told him anything, then Arthur had a sneaking suspicion that this wasn't the first time Merlin had thrown himself in harm's way. Merlin was loyal to him and him alone, to the point where he'd undoubtedly give his life for Arthur's no matter what.

So... That's where his own gift of loyalty came from, but what of these affections..? Thanks to Rutger, Arthur thought back to all the times he had wanted to gather Merlin in his arms and protect him, all the times he wanted to steal those lips - just to shut him up, of course, don't misunderstand - and refuse to let him go. Whenever it seemed like they'd never return from their journey, Arthur wanted to curl around the raven and fall asleep to the sound of a strong heartbeat that was full of life, not soaked with vigor or a thirst for victory. Whenever it seemed like Merlin might die, he wanted to cry to the heavens. Whenever he thought that he'd be the one to die and Merlin be the one to live, he wanted to say that it was for the best. He would never have added how much it would've pained him to live without Merlin.

He didn't realize his vision had gone blurry until warm droplets were already falling from the tip of his nose. With a heavy sniff, Arthur wiped his face on his sleeve. Just once. "Look at me," said Arthur, "I'm turning into a girl just like you..." No response. Of course not. The dawn gave way to a much warmer morning than the previous day, and the sun was quick to rise. However, it didn't quite feel right.

The birds weren't singing. The wind wasn't sighing. Even though the colors were lush and vibrant, it was as if the whole world was muted. They were... They were mourning, weren't they..? Arthur placed his ear against Merlin's chest and held his breath, listening for the sound of a gently breathing heart. As each beat got further and further between, it became clear that noon was being generous.

What of his magic?

It slammed into him all at once, an unforgiving reminder of the one thing he couldn't possibly gloss over. Arthur had merely dismissed the druid's words in a hasty attempt to get some answers, but now he was left at the disposal of his predisposition to ingrained ideals and his own personal emotions. To brush off Rutger, the prince simply reasoned things like, "This is Merlin we're talking about," and "I just need Merlin," but he never truly considered what it all meant.

The druid had made it very clear that not everyone who possessed some aspect of magic could be considered a sorcerer, still he made it seem like Merlin's "affinity" for the very thing the kingdom outlawed ran much deeper than just a connection. He was much more uneasy than he should've been. He seemed much more worried about how Arthur might've reacted than what was necessary. Perhaps...
Perhaps there was something deeper lying beneath his words; perhaps Merlin really was a sorcerer.

Arthur almost laughed, the side of his face still resting against his manservant's boney chest. The idea of Merlin being a sorcerer - of being evil - was truly laughable. He'd have sooner believed that the lanky dunce was simply a boy that had a thing for accidents with varying results, or that he was a unicorn! But a sorcerer..? No, that was simply Arthur's imagination running wild.

He truly believed that.

Swear on his heart.

But, pretend for a moment that it were true...

Given the possibility that the man he had grown to lov— That the man Arthur had grown increasingly fond of was somehow more closely associated with magic than Rutger had led on, what it did it mean for the prince of Camelot to bring such a being back to their right mind? Should his baseless - Are they truly baseless..? - suspicions be true, then what did that mean for him? He spent so much time resting and pondering, contemplating and imagining, that time was of the essence.

He pushed himself upright and stared at the haggard features of Merlin beneath him. His brain tested out the name 'Sorcerer', causing the rest of the prince to recoil in surprise. Maybe it was because he was tired, or maybe it was because Rutger had gotten under his skin, but it seemed probable; and Arthur didn't like it in the slightest. He twisted to sit facing the ash-filled firepit, hugging his knees to his chest. Somewhere in the distance, a bird chirped. Whatever other noises of the forest proceeded to follow was drowned out by the storm of an entire city's people raging in the castle courtyard tucked deep within the prince's mind.

A man with black hair was hoisted up to a temporary stage where a stiff block was waiting for him, as well as an executioner. When Arthur frantically shook his head, the scene changed, only for the chopping block to be replaced by a tall, looming pyre. No matter what he did, no matter how many times he blinked or rolled his shoulders or tried to distract himself with the grass at his feet, it didn't disappear. He watched helplessly as the thin male, more pale than usual, was tied to the post. He didn't say anything, nor did he cry out, but his fear was evident on his face.

When the torch came near the kindling, he choked back a sob. His blue eyes - eyes that would've looked nothing short of beautiful had they been given the chance to glow - managed to spot Arthur. They glued onto the him of the waking nightmare and the him of the present moment, finding both men and making them one. Without a hint of malice, the ex-manservant smiled, and nodded his head. It was silent, as if to say, It's alright, Arthur. He feared the fire, yes, but he wouldn't fight back.

The thought was unbearable. Magic or no magic, Arthur would sooner throw his body and soul to the raging fires than let Merlin be killed. He'd rather be convicted of magic himself if it meant he didn't have to watch Merlin be taken from him. Would he go so far for a friend? Perhaps, but it wasn't certain. Would he do anything less for Merlin? Never. He'd face the Questing Beast a million times over, fight every form of foe until he was exhausted, but to not give himself to Merlin - whether Merlin wanted him in the same way or not was irrelevant - was out of the question.

As he had told the druid, it was because Merlin was much, much more than a friend. Only this time, Arthur truly believed it.

He untangled himself and sighed, letting fresh, gentle air fill his lungs. A breath of life, if you will... Arthur turned his body to lean over the man next to him, placing one hand down next to Merlin's head while the other carefully held his chin between his thumb and the crook of his index. He allowed himself the time to relish in the moment; it would never repeat itself. His heart would never be so clearly stitched onto his sleeve again, and he would never be given the chance to be so honest with himself in this manner.

Arthur's heart thundered in his throat, his breath became shallow. This wasn't his first kiss, but it made him weaker than ever before; only Gwen had gotten him close to such a state. He'd think about the sweet maid another time - he likely owed her an apology of sorts - so for now he'd focus on calming his body, calming the swelling storm as he tried to tear the bandage off. The princess that lay in the grass was lovely even as he danced between a soulless existence and a simple rest. He'd be even more beautiful if his lively eyes were open... Arthur dragged his thumb over the raven's bottom lip. He tilted his head back gingerly.

All the blood rushed to his head as the prince finally made to close the distance between them, making him feel weightless and dizzy all at once. He grazed his dry lips against Merlin's, testing at first, breathing in a final time through his nose. Arthur closed his eyes and finally placed a full, chaste kiss on Merlin's lips. Please come back, pleaded the prince, Come back to me, Merlin. I want you here with me... I don't...want to be without you.

The air sighed. The trees bent back to make room for the breath that filled the forest as if it were alive. And, for a moment, Arthur believed it was. A warmth coursed through his body from the center of his chest, radiating outward yet still following a path that rushed to his lungs and, promptly afterward, traced up to his mouth. He placed a second kiss against the lukewarm lips once he pulled away, his eyelids fluttering as months - years? - of desire came to the surface. It was for good measure, he reasoned, not just because he wanted to never have to separate. He opened his eyes at last as he slowly began to back up, brow shooting up when he saw the glow that illuminated the space between them. Dozens of shimmering, molten gold threads connected their lips, dancing in a breeze that was there, buzzing with energy he had never seen before.

Magic, Arthur realized. He would've had to live under a rock for twenty years in order to not make the connection, but, at the same time, he wasn't sure. It was so warm, so comforting in its touch that it didn't make sense right away. Magic was bad; therefore someone needed to explain why this was so....good. "Merlin..." breathed the prince. The threads pulsed with life and he quickly understood.

He couldn't fight the smile that overtook his features, lowering his head again and closing his eyes to place another kiss on Merlin's lips. He graciously allowed the magic to keep them connected, to intertwine between them and tickle against his skin. Only Merlin filled his thoughts, as did the playful, childish wonder at the gold that was the raven. Stiff lips became soft and tender, a breath passed through both men. Arthur almost sang his joy but instead settled for a blissful hum.

Parting again, the prince realized how right he had been; Merlin's eyes were impossibly beautiful when they glowed. The gold fit him so well, it felt so much like him. Caught off guard and left reeling, Merlin was breathlessly staring up at Arthur, face flushed with color. This was all just proof that Merlin was here. With the tendrils of magic stretching high above them, no longer forced into just a single point, the clearing filled with a new energy. The mourning ended. Everything lived.

"Should-" Merlin swallowed thickly. "Should I be apologizing..? What happened..?"

Arthur didn't want to move, instead shaking his head and moving the hand that gripped Merlin's chin to the raven's cheek. It seemed the raven didn't notice the magic that moved around them.

"Arthur..?"

The prince didn't answer. He knew what would come next; the rejection, the awkwardness, maybe even the disgust. The smart thing would be to tell Merlin to forget everything that had transpired, to move on and behave as they normally would. Arthur didn't want to say it but it was necessary. He always expected it, after all.

In attempt to create space, Arthur made to pull back, to remove his hand from Merlin's face and resign into himself. He surely didn't get very far before the raven was grabbing onto the wrist nearest to his head. It seemed he was too weak to sit up on his own, so he stayed on the ground, now-blue eyes staring at Arthur with... Was it a wistful expression? Perhaps sheepish? Whatever it was, it was gentle. Arthur didn't have the strength to pull himself free. He continued to loom over Merlin, pursing his lips and trying not to wear his disappointment so blatantly on his face.

"It was you I felt, wasn't it?" asked Merlin suddenly. When Arthur frowned in confusion, the raven seemed to piece some things together. "I felt... I felt warmth, I felt tenderness, I felt kindness and ache all mixed together. I saw gold but I heard you. You were calling me... It couldn't have been my imagination, Arthur, because I couldn't remember who I was until you said my name."

With a grunt, he tried to roll onto his side beneath the prince's shadow. He made to hold himself up by his forearm, his grip tight around Arthur's wrist. Merlin strained to look up, a wry smile pulling across his face. "I don't know what happened, but... Was it real..?"

Arthur licked his lips nervously. He had no control over his mouth because, immediately after Merlin posed the question, he answered. "And... And if it was? What would you do?" He was practically still on top of the manservant, unable to move of his own accord or remove his hand from Merlin's face. In his heart of hearts, Arthur didn't want to know the answer. It would be better for everyone if they forgot everything.

But when Merlin leaned his face into Arthur's palm, when he loosened his grip on the prince's wrist to, instead, grab onto his calloused hand, it was all for naught. He wanted to say, Just one more, to convince himself that this would truly be the last time he acknowledged the warmth in his heart. However, he was a greedy prince. A prat. A clotpole. Arthur didn't hesitate when Merlin closed his eyes.

The magic had dissipated into nothingness and yet there was still a hum that shook his core. It wasn't a terrible feeling.