Archive of Our Own ^beta

I.

 Gwaine was beat. The heavy Camelot armor chained with the summer heat saw to that –and as if that wasn’t enough, setting up camp after a full third day of travel in a row knocked him flat on his arse. After plopping himself down by the other knights, he was all but tearing his gloves off with his teeth, sitting around to wait for their dinner.

At the very least the sunlight had given way to some cloud coverage.

“This heat is something else,” he said, dropping the gloves beside him on the log where he sat. “Could definitely use a drink right about now.”

“When couldn’t you use a drink?” Arthur asked as he stood over the group with his hands on his hips.

“A question for the ages, I’ll tell you,” he answered, earning a chuckle from the other knights.

Merlin did bring some drinks over for the knights – a few cups filled up from the traveling casks of ale on one of the big horse-drawn carts. Traveling with the full retinue included a full staff, and the full kitchen supply came with them. Even a cook! Must have eased the burden on Merlin at least a little, Gwaine thought as he took a glance around their camp site to spot him tending to the horses off in the distance.

Gwaine may have been sweating his weight out underneath his armor, but he still wanted to help Merlin, so he heaved himself up and trudged over, reaching out to touch the nose of the horse Merlin just unsaddled. The mare sighed and leaned into his touch after sniffing his hand from treats.

“How you holding up?”

Merlin rolled his head back in resignation. “Oh, you know, just fine,” he said, giving Gwaine a cheeky smile. “You know what a good mood Arthur’s in when he’s under stress. An absolute delight.”

Gwaine chuckled. “Princess has her moments,” he said. “Need any help?”

Merlin shook his head. “You should be bonding with your brothers in arms or something like that, I’m sure,” he said with a vague gesture toward the knights sitting around a paltry fire. With Merlin’s hand out-stretched, Gwaine could catch a glimpse of braided leather and blue stone, and he grinned a toothy smile.

“You’re wearing it,” he said, crossing his arms over his chest.

Merlin covered his wrist with his hand and held it in front of him, looking away sheepishly. “No reason I shouldn’t,” he said; he was playing coy. Gwaine could tell by the way his cheeks flushed and he shifted his weight. “Thought it would hurt your feelings if I didn’t.”

“Oh, did you?”

“Yeah. I did.” They grinned at each other, and when Gwaine opened his mouth—

“Merlin!”

Arthur’s voice cut through them. Merlin rolled his eyes and trudged over to their King; beside him Percival poked at the sad excuse for a fire. Gwaine followed at a few paces behind him.

“Is that what you call a fire?”

“It’s got flames, hasn’t it?”

The dark sky was coming on awfully fast, Gwaine thought as Merlin and Arthur went on; the sun should still be visible, even if it was overcast, but Gwaine couldn’t quite find it through the heavy, darkening clouds.

“I suppose you think you’re funny?” Arthur continued.

“Don’t think.”

“That’s evident,” said Arthur. “Go get some more wood, will you?”

“Probably won’t need it,” Gwaine chipped in, gesturing upward. “No way that’s gonna hold out.”

Arthur frowned and looked around as if just noticing the clouds for the first time himself. “There’s not even any wind,” he declared, pointing toward the woods. “Better get a move-on before it starts.”

Merlin muttered something under his breath before turning to get a move-on, and Gwaine made an attempt to follow but Arthur called him back. He wanted to go over ceremonial etiquette, yet again, with his knights. This would be an important banquet, after all (Gwaine struggled to think of a single moment in any royal’s life that wasn’t considered important).

He followed Arthur back into his giant tent, a large double-roomed pavilion with a table in the center where some of the other knights were already waiting. He took a place beside Percival, who folded his hands behind his head and looked at Gwaine with a shrug as if to say, I dunno either.

“Ceremonial etiquette,” said Gwaine with an unceremonious flop into his seat at the table. “Her Royal Highness thinks we could use some more lessons on manners.” He crossed his arms over his chest and looked pointedly at Arthur.

“Ah,” said Percival with a knowing nod, also looking back at Arthur who was taking his own seat.

“That’s precisely right, Gwaine, excellent work,” said Arthur with no small amount of ingratitude. “As I’m sure you already know, I permit a certain level of…. behavior. That is not exactly… knightly.”

“He means the drinking and the fun, lads.”

“No, I mean the back-talk, Gwaine,” Arthur sniped with a heavy sigh. Very direct. Gwaine smirked and shifted his crossed his arms, willing to hear him out. He planned to be on his best behavior, but it couldn’t hurt to ruffle Arthur’s feathers at least a little. Keep him humble. “Our invitation to the Kingdom of Slapan is unprecedented, and if we make a good impression, they could be a very strong ally.”

“And if we don’t?”

“I’d rather make the attempt, if you don’t mind.”

II.

 “Better get a move-on,” Merlin muttered under his breath as he picked up another dry piece of wood. It was getting harder to see in the dark, and unfortunately most of the ground around camp came up clean. He had to venture a bit further out than planned to get some real, viable wood for a fire – without using magic to dry it, at least. Sighing, he paused to look up at the rapidly darkening sky.  At least Gwaine had his back.

It was odd, though, for sure. Storms that came on this quick usually had some kind of warning, and today was nothing but sunshine and high heat. Not even much wind, to everyone’s chagrin; there was no one who wasn’t hot and crabby, and surely some rain to break the heat would have relieved a little bit of the tension. The gentle roll of thunder above him now meant rain, so maybe he’d at least sleep easy.

Though something was starting to seem off about it.

Well. He could spend some time worrying about it once he got back to camp. For now, he had this worthless task of bringing back–

A crash of light and thunder enveloped the sky overhead. A blanket of rainfall engulfed the forest.

Startled, Merlin dropped his armful of labor onto the ground and looked up at the storm clouds. What a worthless task, bringing back wet wood for the fire.

“Couldn’t hold out just a little bit longer?” he demanded as the water beat against his face before reaching down to pick at least some of it back up. He cast a quick spell to dry it out and tucked as much of it as he could under his jacket, feeling suddenly exhausted and hoping, possibly, just maybe, the wood wouldn’t be sopping wet by the time he returned to camp.

The gods were not on his side, however. The rain curtained his vision and beat on his head and back and shoulders, even through the trees and bushes. Merlin threw himself under a tree with a large canopy to try and get his bearings; surely, he hadn’t gone too far from camp in such a short time? But, disoriented by the rain, he had to try and remind himself which way he even came from, let alone how far. That way, maybe? He squinted to try and see through the rain, spotting the outline boulder he vaguely remembered leaning on.

That way for sure.

Hugging the wood to his chest (he wasn’t going to give Arthur anything to use against him), he broke out into a run, using his free hand to pull and push on saplings and trees to propel himself forward.

And propel himself forward, he did – forward, and onto the ground as thunder crashed and lightning flashed through the sky once more.

He landed on top of the wood under his chest, making him cough to try and catch his breath while the heavy rain continued to pound against his back. Winded and shaken, he looked back at what tripped him; it was the rest of the wood he dropped back when it started. Groaning, he rolled onto his back, letting the mud and rain soak him all the way through.

“Fine,” he said, throwing his arms out at his sides. “You keep it, you win.” He hoisted himself up and used the rainwater to wipe the mud off his chest and arms, then kicked the firewood away from him. If he’d only gone back to where he started, then he had to be going in the opposite direction, right? He frowned, setting forward in what he thought, this time, was definitely the right way – though, with no light in the sky, he couldn’t tell which way that was.

“Alright,” he said, leaning up against a smaller tree. “Come on, Merlin,” he muttered to himself, then incanted a small spell to try and track Arthur. It didn’t work. He leaned more of his weight against the tree, one arm supporting his weight while the other hung limp; this rain was really exhausting him. He said the spell again, this time in a tired whisper, his eyes locking onto his right where he could sense Arthur, see him in his tent with the knights. He fell to his knees a moment, feeling more wiped out than he had even in all the heat of this three-day journey.

That way, then.

He pulled himself up from the ground and took one single step.

Next thing he knew, he was on his back sliding down a huge, muddy ledge. He cried out in pain as he struck a tree, jamming his shoulder and knocking his head before rolling the rest of the way to the bottom.

His vision went black.

When he opened his eyes again, he had no idea how much time had passed; all he knew was that the rain was still hammering down, his head hurt like hell, and he could barely move his arm.

This storm was not natural. His exhaustion was not natural. Whatever was happening, all of this, it wasn’t right.

Surely someone would come looking for him if he didn’t come back. He was sure he hadn’t traveled so far that it would take them very long. For now, he just needed to find shelter – at least until the rain let up.

As he pushed himself up on a nearby rock, he looked around, hoping to find maybe a cave or another especially wide tree. He had damaged his leg in the fall so he found himself limping just a few steps at a time, leaning on whatever tree or stone could lend him a hand. After another short walk filled with wincing and gritted teeth, he spotted what seemed like, in the distance, the light of a fire in a cabin window. Narrowing his eyes to try and see it better, he began moving faster, the weight on his left foot threatening to give out at the new quickened pace.

He wasn’t wrong about it. As he neared the light, he saw a cabin come into focus through the rain. He approached the door with no hesitation, eager to get out of the downpour. There was no answer, so he knocked a second time. Nothing.

“Hello?” he called as he opened the door. It was starkly empty, save for a bearskin rug, two stools by the fire, and a few cabinets and cooking tools against the wall furthest from the fire. “Anyone here?” No answer. He closed the door behind him and walked in, leaning against the wall.

“Anyone at all?”

A glance to his left showed an open doorway into an empty second room. He leaned away from the wall just far enough to see in: there was a bed with no one in it.

“I only want to dry off,” he said again, moving slowly toward the stools. Someone had been here recently if the fire was still burning as big as it was, but there was not a soul to be seen. “I’m just…” He took a seat on the stool closer to the fire, scooting it nearer to feel the heat; even as hot as he’d been before, now soaked to the bone, he was beginning to shiver.

He resigned himself to an empty cabin and ripped off his jacket once he was satisfied that no one was here to kick him out, draping it over the stool beside him. It was dripping, sopping wet – despite being out of the rain, he could still feel the phantom weight of the pellets against his shoulders and face, and his breeches felt like they were still soaking through. Water was still running down his back and arms. He kicked his boots off and lined them up by the fire, then pulled off his shirt, pausing once it was off to twist Gwaine’s leather token around so the bright blue sapphire was at the inside of his wrist. In the interest of modesty for when whoever lived here DID return, he left his trousers on – but he was feeling tired.

So tired.

Sighing heavily, tired of holding up his sore arm and leaning against his aching leg, he lowered himself to the bear rug. It was cold and soggy from all the water he’d tracked in. His eyes were bleary from exhaustion, and still a little foggy from the rain it seemed. He closed them and laid his head on his arm, trying to allow himself to feel the warmth of the fire.

He was so soaked through that he simply couldn’t dry off. Shivering, aching from the effort, and hurting in his head, arm, and leg, he fell asleep.

A dreamless sleep.

He woke up to the sound of birds. The rain had stopped? Wincing, he pulled himself up, only to realize he was in his own bed in Camelot. He brought a hand to his head, but when he felt around for the bump, he realized there was no pain, nor in his arm. He pulled the blanket off his lap and flexed his toes; no pain there either, but his legs looked smaller, skinnier. He felt smaller.

Had he been out for a while?

He kicked his legs over the side of the bed.

“Ah, you’re finally awake,” said Gaius, looking at him with a smug expression, the corners of his lips twisted up in a told-you-so smirk as if he’d been right about something all along. It felt hollow, and Merlin’s gut didn’t like it.

“How long have I been out for?” he asked, wondering if maybe he’d blacked out in that cabin; he certainly felt tired, but he didn’t feel like he’d been asleep for long enough to be brought back to Camelot without his notice. “Where’s Arthur? Is everything alright?”

Gaius chuckled. “It’s well past noon,” he said in that same frustratingly knowing tone. Was he scolding Merlin for sleeping in? “I’m sure Arthur’s no worse off than you are. The two of you sure didn’t hold back.”

“What?” Merlin wasn’t sure he understood.  “No, I mean – wait, what?”

There was a knock on the door. Gaius gave no more answer than one raised brow, then went for the door.

The person who passed through it, however, set Merlin a few steps back.

“Ah, just who I wanted to see,” said Uther Pendragon, looking straight at Merlin.

III.

 Gwaine rolled onto his side and let out a raucous yawn when his shoulder was shaken, swatting the hand away.

“Your turn,” came Percival’s voice, nudging him this time with his toes.

“I’d rather not,” Gwaine said, pulling the blanket over his head.

“Don’t think that matters, really,” said Percival. Gwaine rolled onto his back, looking up at him with narrowed eyes.

“Fine.” He hoisted himself upright. “Bloody torture, every time,” he muttered as he got to his feet and began redressing himself in his armor, looking around to see the other sleeping knights while he pulled his red gambeson over his head. “Give me a hand, will ya?”

“I’d rather not,” said Percival in Gwaine’s own drawl, though to his credit, he did help him pull his chainmail up over his head.

Once he was dressed and ready, he poked his head out of the tent and wrinkled his nose up at the heavy rain. It had let up a little, but he didn’t particularly want to soak himself through his armor and have to ride out in the heat all soggy and wet. The chafing would be next level. “What about breakfast?” he asked, looking back at Percival inside the tent. “Merlin up yet? Could use a bite.”

“Merlin?” said Percival, thinking about it for the first time. He shrugged. “Haven’t seen him.”

“No?” He frowned. Merlin definitely would have made a fuss after coming back in that torrential downpour; Percival would have noticed. “S’he still out there, then?”

The taller knight seemed to understand the implication. He frowned. “I guess so,” he said, and then, after a pause, “Should we tell Arthur?”

Gwaine considered that for a moment. If Merlin was back, Arthur would have a conniption at being woken early; on the other hand, if Merlin was still gone and they didn’t wake him, he might well enter an entirely moodier conniption fit – and Merlin would still be gone.

“I’ll check his tent first,” said Gwaine. Percival nodded in agreement.

No Merlin.

The rain was slowing, but still pattered heavily against the tents overhead. He looked back and shook his head at Percival. “I’m telling Princess,” he said with a quick rush back out again. He heard Percival’s footsteps following.

Arthur was already awake, looking intently over his map with Leon at his side.

“Merlin hasn’t returned,” he said. Arthur frowned at Gwaine, holding a spot on the map with his finger as he followed him with his gaze.

“I know.”

Gwaine was surprised by that. “Then what are you—” doing just sitting there? He didn’t finish the question knowing it would only rile Arthur up, and that wasn’t what he wanted. “Is anyone looking for him?”

“Not yet.” He looked back down at the map.  “I think we’re off track.” He waved for the two of them to come in and tapped the point on the map he’d been holding. “We’re supposed to be here. But I realized from the tree formations that we’re actually much further south.”

Gwaine followed his finger on the map, trying to understand the deeper meaning, but Percival spoke up first.

“So, we’re lost?” he asked.

“It’s almost like…” He frowned and shook his head. “I think the path was altered. I remember taking this turn. The sign clearly said Slapan.”

“What’s this got to do with Merlin?” Gwaine asked, his own feathers starting to ruffle this time around.

“We have a lot of lost ground to cover.” He sighed and ran a hand through his hair. “If we want to be back in time for the Slapan Moon Festival, we need to move as soon as this storm lets up.”

“And leave him behind?”

Arthur seemed genuinely flummoxed by this thought. He gave pause and crossed his arms, looking down at the map as if that might answer Gwaine’s question. “He’s probably just lost, useless…” He trailed off. The consolation consoled no one, especially not himself, it seemed. “You want to go after him?”

Gwaine nodded and gave a quick glance at Percival who, too, was nodding.

Arthur gave a moment’s consideration, rubbing his stubble as he Gwaine allowed the alternative to sink in.

“Alright. Bring two horses. Hurry to catch up once you find him.”

Gwaine and Percival prepared to ride out immediately. Arthur told them not to worry about the guard, he would take care of that – the sooner they rejoined the party, the better. Gwaine suspected Arthur was afraid something bigger was afoot but didn’t want to say it. This invitation to the Kingdom of Slapan was important, and to think of it as a trap meant a bigger disappointment than he would ever let on.

As rode out, the rain began to let up. It was almost as though the downpour was left behind them, covering the camp’s perimeter. The further they got from the camp, the lower the intensity.

Unfortunately, anything they might have used to track Merlin was washed away by the rain. They were left with no tracks, broken branches everywhere, and squelchy trails that were difficult for the horses’ heavy hooves. They had to go slow.

“Let’s try separate paths,” Gwaine said, pointing down one route that looked easy enough for Merlin to have taken on foot. “I’ll go this way, you go that.” He gestured the opposite direction with his head.

A few hours passed. There were a few broken branches, but probably from the heavy rain more so than anyone who may have passed this way. He was considering dismounting to take a look on foot when he heard Percival call out, “Gwaine!” and he immediately turned his horse around.

Percival was already on the ground when Gwaine came around. There was a small stack of wood about the right size to place in a fire pit.

“Merlin, you think?” Gwaine asked as he hopped off his horse.

“Yeah.” Percival lifted the wood and held it out to Gwaine. “Probably dropped it when it started raining, do you think?”

Gwaine squinted up at the sky. It was little more than a drizzle now, where before it had been heavy enough to leave welts. If Merlin was here when it started, he was already pretty far from camp. Where, then, would he have gone?

“Think there’s shelter nearby?” he asked, moving toward a few bushes to look around as if Merlin could be hiding underneath.

“Gotta be,” said Percival.

“Right.” Gwaine stepped through the bushes, looking for maybe some root cover or a cave or anything, really – a downed log, for heavens’ sake – anywhere to spot Merlin as safe. “Check over there,” he said to Percival, pointing to a few downed trees that look like they’d been struck by lightning. Setting off further from the bushes, Gwaine reached a muddy ledge. His heart sank.

“Oh, no.” As he stepped forward, the ledge revealed a giant, muddy gorge where the small plants and undergrowth had been torn up by something, or someone, having slid down it. “Perce! Over here!”

The gorge ended at the base of a tree. “Merlin!” Gwaine shouted before sliding down beside the trail, his feet ploughing up plants and mud. With how soft the ground was, it was no wonder Merlin slipped.

At the base of the tree below, there was a tangle of branches and deep breaks in the mud, as if that someone slowed to a sudden halt. Merlin must have collided there. At last, they had a trail to follow.

Percival joined him at the bottom, his eyes immediately finding what Gwaine was getting progressively more worried about. Merlin was clearly injured dragging one of his legs behind him as he left his trail. He had continued to dig out and gorge the ground even when he was bipedal.

“He’s hurt,” said Percival, and he and Gwaine began following the trail in silence, their pace much faster now than it had been before.

“Merlin!” Gwaine shouted out again; they picked up the pace into a run. “Merlin, where are you!”

Percival ran ahead of Gwaine, launching off when they both caught sight of a flickering light through the parting trees. There was a fire nearby.

A smokeless fire. If there had been smoke, they’d have followed it in the first place. They reached the fire, and beside it, they Merlin him lying curled up on his side and blue in the face.

“Merlin!”

Gwaine rushed to kneel by his side, grabbing his arm to try and shake him awake. How had Merlin managed a fire in that rain? Why hadn’t he sought shelter? Why was he sleeping right in the middle of a giant clearing, barefoot and bare chested? And why were his jacket and tunic lain out beside him? “Merlin, wake up!”

He didn’t stir.

“Merlin!” Gwaine bit his gloves off and touched Merlin’s forehead. “He’s cold,” he said with a quick glance back up at Percival. “Merlin, we’re here, we’re here.” He couldn’t stop himself. His heart was pounding in his chest, Merlin was soaking wet, freezing cold, and not waking up.

“See if you can catch up!” Gwaine shouted. “Get Gaius here! Merlin, please…”

“I’ll go as fast as I can,” Percival said before running back to their horses.

“It’s gonna be okay, Merlin,” said Gwaine, pulling Merlin into his lap. He ripped off his own armor as quickly as he could and pulled Merlin close to his chest. The damp air was chilly on their bodies and the rain was still sprinkling just a bit, but Gwaine ignored it, doing the only thing he knew how to do to try and prevent Merlin from dying of hypothermia.

Once he began to calm down and resigned himself to being in this position for some time, his eyes went to Merlin’s wrist where he could see the bracelet he had gifted him. He smiled to himself.

“You mean too much to me,” he said quietly, closing his eyes tight as he wrapped his arms around Merlin’s chest. He pressed his lips against the top of Merlin’s head and breathed out into his cool, damp hair. “You mean far too much to me.”

IV.

Merlin was beginning to think he might be in a dream. When he woke up back at Gaius’s, he must not have actually woken up at all – in fact, he was probably still lying there, asleep, dreaming all of this up. Or else why would be he here, following Uther Pendragon through the corridors of Camelot’s castle? This man, who was supposed to be dead, rather instead looking quite alive and well and in need of Merlin’s services?

“Are you sure it wasn’t Gaius you’re looking for?” he asked as he struggled to keep pace with… the King? Was he King? Wasn’t Arthur king? He shook his head as if he was trying to remember something that kept slipping from his mind; he was struggling to keep pace, too, as if his legs were shorter than he remembered – as if he was somehow smaller than his body was accustomed to.

Uther chuckled like they were old friends – equals. As if Merlin’s good humor were companionable to him. The level of familiarity was jarring.

“Why would I ask Gaius for help with Lady Helen’s greeting ritual?”

Merlin gave a nervous laughing in return. “Right. What a silly question. Gaius. Greeting ritual.” Greeting ritual.

“You really do make me laugh, Merlin.”

“Thank you… Sire,” Merlin said, using the honorific with uncertainty. It didn’t feel wrong, per se. But neither did it feel right.

“You’re very welcome, Merlin.” And then they were entering the throne room. Uther took his seat naturally on his throne, and then Merlin stood…. Awkwardly. Beside it. Next to him. As if his station warranted it.

“Your highness, may I present to you Lady Helen of Mor.” Merlin narrowed his eyes at the mention of her full title. He knew it well. Had it not been for the witch posing as Lady Helen of Mor, he would never have served under Uther in the first place.

No, that didn’t seem right. He wasn’t Uther’s servant, was he?

Lady Helen stepped in, her sharp face and dark hair as captivating as Merlin remembered.

“You are as beautiful as they say, My Lady.”

“And you, as noble.” She curtsied.

“Lady Helen, may I present to you our Court Sorcerer, Merlin.”

The words left Uther’s mouth for sure, but Merlin wasn’t sure he heard them right. Court what?

“Your Highness, I—”

“Merlin, don’t be coy, please, greet the Lady.”

“Er…” He stepped forward and bowed. “My Lady…”

Uther furrowed his brows. He appeared dismayed and leaned over with a quick gesture for Merlin to approach. “Where is the showmanship we discussed?” he asked. Then, when it was clear Merlin had no idea, “The flowers…?”

“The… flowers, Sire.”

“Yes, Merlin. With your—” he gestured vaguely with his hands “—magic.”

Merlin felt his face go pale. “Oh, right, Sire, sorry,” he said, thinking he must play along. This was definitely a dream. This was some weird alternate reality, and he had to go on with it for now, and when he got back to Gaius, he would tell him everything.

“The flowers,” he repeated.

He straightened his back and returned his attention to Lady Helen of Mor who was watching them with pursed lips and raised borws. With a bit of the old tongue and a quick flash of gold eyes, the room filled with shimmering light in the shape of blue and gold shimmering vines wrapping all throughout the banquet hall. The courtiers in the audience all oohed and ahhed while the vines grew blossoms, flowering as quickly as they appeared. They reached Lady Helen and encircled her, stacking flower on flower – all blooming once the buds reached her, revealing butterflies and ladybugs and dragonflies. None of this was consciously done; as soon as the words came from his mouth, the whole room was illuminated by magic – Merlin’s magic, specifically. At the will of the king, by specific request, and so beautifully done as if he had practiced it many times before. He looked down at his own hands which had orchestrated all of this as if he’d never seen them in his life.

“Merlin,” said Lady Helen, snapping him out of his thoughts. “They’re lovely, thank you.”

Uther clapped along with everyone else in the hall. He beamed at Merlin, gave him a brief nod of approval, and then he was up and leading Lady Helen from the room.

“Think you can impress my father with a trick like that, do you?”

Merlin turned to see Arthur, petulant and young, as youthful and bratty as the day they met.

“Oh, I can do loads more than that,” said Merlin, the old comeback coming easily from his heart to his mouth. Arthur barked a laugh and crossed his arms over his chest. He was in his long leather jacket, with a beautiful jewel-encrusted gold-and-leather accented sheath hanging from his belt.

“That was truly beautiful, Merlin.” He turned to see a woman with hair in a bright blond halo braid around the crown of her head. Merlin knew that face from one memory only – when was it? Only one memory?

“Ygraine,” he whispered breathlessly. Arthur knocked him upside the head.

“That’s Your Highness, Merlin.”

Merlin looked between the two of them, his heart pounding in confusion.

“But she’s—” She was what? Merlin furrowed his brows, trying to remember what he thought she was.

“Honestly, Merlin, something’s seriously wrong with you,” said Arthur.

“Leave him be, son,” said Ygraine, reaching out to take both of Merlin’s hands in her own. They were small and soft and unfamiliar yet somehow also comforting. “Merlin, if I may? I’d like to have a word with you.”

“Er… yes, of course, Your Highness,” said Merlin. Didn’t Arthur think anything was off?

She walked with him arm-in-arm to one of her private entertaining rooms, where tea and sandwiches were waiting for them. She took a seat at the table and gestured for Merlin to do the same.

Merlin accepted the invitation, if only because it would be rude to stand in her presence. She was very regal in a way Uther never managed; her presence alone commanded a feeling of reverence from Merlin, and he felt like he shouldn’t be allowed to speak out of awe. He could see how any man could love her. How her death could spark a war.

“Merlin. I know my son can be a bit… difficult.”

“Bit of an understatement,” said Merlin, immediately covering his mouth once he realized his tone. Ygraine not only commanded respect, but inspired comfort; he had let his guard down. “I’m sorry, your Highness, I—”

“I understand.” She said with a small, fond smile as poured the tea for both of them. Merlin felt so unsettled. “That is why I need you.”

“Me?”

“Yes.”

“He wants to become hard, like his father. But you could soften him.”

“I don’t follow,” he said, letting his tea sit while Ygraine lifted hers with small, delicate fingers. “What does that mean?”

“He needs someone like you by his side.”

“But I serve his father,” he said, remembering after he said it that it still didn’t quite feel right. Ygraine only gave a small laugh in response, shaking her head.

“You need him too, I think,” she went on to add. Then she looked past Merlin, and he followed her eyes to the door as it creaked open. In walked another woman he felt like he recognized – she was petite, with dark hair and strikingly blue eyes – the bluest eyes he had ever seen.

“Congratulations, Merlin,” she said as she walked in the room as if she created it, taking her place standing behind Ygraine’s chair. “That showmanship – a job well done.”

“Thanks,” he said, shifting uncomfortably as he tried to place her in his memories. He picked up his tea and began to sip. Ygraine went on with her request – something about keeping an eye on Arthur, being patient with him, supporting him, it was all awfully vague, and Merlin couldn’t stop the unease in his gut at seeing that other woman’s bright, bright blue eyes. He only heard, in all honesty, about half of what she said.

He hurried out of there as soon as he could, his heart pulling at his chest in two entirely different directions. On the one hand, he felt so proud of himself for what he’d done for Lady Helen and in front of the King and Arthur. On the other hand, he couldn’t figure out why he didn’t want to leave the queen alone in a room with that woman.

And why did he think Ygraine was elsewhere? Where else would she be?

“Something’s wrong, Gaius,” he said as he finally returned. Gaius looked up at him from the book in his hands. He was seated at the table with a pensive frown and raised brow, which served as a great comfort to Merlin. “Something’s seriously wrong.”

He sat down across from Gaius, picking off a piece of bread from his plate.

“And are you going to tell me what that is?” he asked, folding the book shut as he turned his attention to Merlin.

“Gaius, Uther knows I have magic,” Merlin said, leaning in with a low whisper. He sat back, looking to Gaius with indignation and disbelief. “And now the whole Kingdom does too. I don’t even know how I knew to do it…. I just… did it.”

“Yes, I was there,” said Gaius, watching Merlin impatiently. “You’ve been practicing for weeks.”

“See, that’s it, Gaius! I haven’t been practicing anything. And why would Uther – why would Ygraine –” He paused, for a moment trying to remember what was worrying him about it. “What was I saying?” Merlin asked, narrowing his eyes at Gaius.

“You’re looking at me as if I know,” said Gaius with a fond chuckle. “Have you been at the wine, Merlin? Did you hit your head?” He pushed the food left on his plate toward Merlin, offering him the leftovers.

Merlin took a piece of fruit off the plate and turned it over in his fingers, sighing. “Gaius, Uther should have killed me after finding out I had magic,” he said, though after his display in the banquet hall, he wasn’t sure where that thought was coming from.

“What utter nonsense.” Gaius rose and began cleaning up the mess on the table, including a few herbs and books and poultices. “You’ve been using your magic for The King,” he gave Merlin a pointed look, “for years now. You sure you weren’t at the wine?”

Merlin popped the small tomato in his mouth, sighing again. “Why did I think Ygraine was – dead?” he wondered aloud.

Gaius reached forward and touched Merlin’s forehead. “You better get a full night’s sleep tonight, Merlin,” he said with another laugh. “Especially if you want to be clear-headed for your performance at the banquet tomorrow.”

“The banquet…” Merlin repeated, standing with Gaius’s glass of water. “Right. Of course.” He frowned, looking up at the door to his room. “I suppose… I will need rest, won’t I.” If Gaius said it, it must be right. He paused before departing and decided to ask one more question. “Gaius. The sorceress standing by the Queen.”

Gaius almost seemed impatient at Merlin’s unending questions, which made Merlin frown. “Yes? What about her?” he asked.

“That was Nimueh, wasn’t it?” He couldn’t recall her name earlier, but it came to him now and it didn’t sit right on his tongue.

“Who else would it have been?”

Merlin shrugged. “I suppose I don’t know.” Either Gaius was affected by whatever was going on around him, or Merlin really did need rest. “You’re right, Gaius. It’s time for bed.”

“It’ll all feel right in the morning,” Gaius urged him, all but pushing him through the door to his bedroom.

The book Gaius had gifted to Merlin was sitting out right in the open on his desk. When went over to look at it, he found that it was lying on a page about flowers. Practicing all week, huh? He sat down to read.

V.

 Gwaine heard Gaius and Percival approaching before either of them could be seen. He was still by the fire, holding Merlin with his back against Gwaine’s bare chest hoping to warm him up. Merlin did nothing since Percival’s departure, no shifting or fidgeting, no heavy breathing or snoring – not even any indication that he could feel Gwaine’s contact. He wasn’t sleeping; people stirred in their sleep. And he wasn’t simply unconscious, either. Gwaine could feel it, something was off, though he couldn’t say what or why. He just knew there was a bigger explanation.

The rain had stopped at the very least, and Gwaine was thankful for that.

His and Merlin’s skin were both still dappled with droplets. He shifted his back straight and held Merlin closer as Gaius approached, resting his chin on Merlin’s damp hair.

“We found him like this,” he said, frowning. “He’s not warming up.”

Gaius looked unsettled, for lack of a better word. He approached them with an expression that was very pensive, marked with his trademark raised brow and deep frown. He examined their surroundings, then eyed the fire and heaved a sigh. Gwaine knew his outstretched hand could feel no heat from the flames because Gwaine hadn’t felt it either. Gaius knew the fire was magical, and he knew Gaius could tell – but the old physician said nothing and knelt in front of the two of them while Percival stood behind.

“He’s cold, Gaius. Cold as the dead.”

Gaius frowned deeper and reached out to press his fingers to Merlin’s forehead.

Gwaine frowned, started to speak, “He must have spent the night…” There was still a part of him that seemed to struggle to understand. “Right here, Gaius,” said Gwaine. “Right in this clearing, with no shirt, no shelter.” Gwaine gestured around. “Gaius. Merlin knows better. He was hurt, but here – he wouldn’t just – this fire was burning when we got here.”

“Was it.” It didn’t sound like a question. He opened his medicine bag. “Tilt his head back.” He fed Merlin a red potion that Gwaine didn’t recognize.

“It’s magic, Gaius. Why would Merlin come this far for firewood?”

“Indeed.” Non-committal as ever. Gwaine huffed, looking to Percival for backup, but he just shrugged. “These should help his temperature,” he said as he put the bottle away and pulled out a bundle of herbs. He went to light them on the fire, but the flames flickered away from them like smoke. Gaius gave pause.

It wasn’t giving off any heat, and it didn’t light the herbs on fire.

“Gaius?”

“I fear you are right,” he conceded. “I know these flames.”

“Gods, Merlin, you’re so cold,” said Gwaine, pulling him closer to try and keep him warm. He closed his eyes, listening for more information from Gaius.

“Those who practice the ways of the old religion have used flames like these to lure men into a deep slumber.”

“So… what does that mean? Can we wake him up?”

“I’m not sure.” Gaius reached out to touch Merlin’s forehead again, frowning deeply. “Often times, the spell is used to lure them into a dream world that mimics reality. A world where they will wish to stay.”

“Does that mean we can follow him in, then?” asked Gwaine with renewed vitality. There was hope. There was something he could do.

“There… is a way.” Gaius was holding back.

“Anything, Gaius. Anything at all. You used to practice – if you know something we can do, we need to do it. He would do it for us.”

Gaius frowned as if something Gwaine said had struck a nerve. “It does indeed involve more magic.”

“Whatever it takes,” said Gwaine. A nod.

“Lay him down,” said Gaius, then to Percival, “See if you can fetch us some wood for a fresh fire.” Back to Gwaine, “Now lay on your side and stare into the flames.”

He let Merlin go with no small amount of hesitation, but Gaius was firm and Gwaine didn’t doubt he would have Merlin’s best interest at heart.

“You are going into this knowing it’s a dream. It is possible for you, too, to become lost.”

So he laid himself on his side, and he stared into the flames while Gaius recited some old spell behind him. The flames danced in his vision, and he began to drift, fast.

When he opened his eyes again, his arse was parked in a wooden chair with his feet propped up on a heavy wooden table. With a pint in hand, he seemed to be involved in a game of dice – and judging by the coins on the table, he was winning.

That’s not quite right, he thought, looking around. He remembered this moment. He remembered this pub. He used to frequent it plenty enough, but that was after his family lost their fortune – it was not the place he would have come to in a finely tailored jacket and highly polished boots. He frowned, letting his feet fall to the floor.

“What is this?” he asked aloud.

The man across from him laughed. “A sore winner and a sore loser, are you?”

He put his pint on the table and shook his head, letting himself fall into the moment. If he was following Merlin and ended up in this kind of place, then this had to be some sort of dream. That meant he had to play along. “Alright. Last roll,” he said, remembering this night with this gambling partner – and how it felt to lose more than only this night’s winnings. His hand instinctively went to his necklace, and he froze when it wasn’t there. This isn’t real, he reminded himself. “Snake eyes. All or nothing.” The man looked at him disbelievingly.

“Even the clothes on my back,” he added with a smirk. The same bet he’d made back then.

“Suit yourself, my lord,” said the man. The sound of the small stones clacking against each other filled the space between them, and the guy smirked at him as if he knew something Gwaine didn’t. Then they clattered onto the table, tumbling over the uneven grain before settling down and showing their faces.

Gwaine felt the corner of his lips twitch. He put his hands on his hips as he stood up, unable to stop himself from smirking down from the man in his memories who had almost taken his father’s ring from him that night.

“I suppose I’ll be taking my leave, gentlemen.”

“Nobles!” said the man in disgust, pushing his night’s winnings across the table to Gwaine. “You’re all alike!”

Nobles, huh? Gwaine thought, his mind going to his missing necklace. An alternate reality where he had noble clothes, let others call him my lord, and didn’t wear his chain. He frowned, not wanting to consider too much about this world. All he knew was that he was in Essetir and he had to get to Camelot.

He left tavern with his winnings feeling heavy and tired. The sun was only partially set, but he would ride all night if he had to. Outside, he found a familiar mare who whinnied at his arrival. He smiled and patted her nose, wishing he had an apple to give an old friend. Alas.

“Let’s head out,” he said as he grabbed her saddle, ready to hoist himself onto her back.

“Gwaine!” His breath caught in his throat. He looked over his shoulder to see the face of a man he had all but forced himself to forget. “My son. Are you quite finished gambling our fortune away?” He put his hands on his hips and laughed as if they had only spoken just this morning. Or even yesterday, or the day before, or even in the past few years.

“Father,” he breathed, letting the saddle go.

This isn’t real, he reminded himself. This is not real.

“I was, er – I wanted to take a trip.”

“Where to?” The man who looked like his father approached, reaching out to touch the horse’s nose. “Ah, it’s no matter. Come home. Your mother and sister are too much for me to handle on my own.”

“I really –” He swallowed hard, unable to tear his eyes away from his dead father’s face. Play along. This isn’t real. “I must go.”

“So serious, son.” His father laughed once more.

“Tonight,” Gwaine said, finally pulling himself up into the saddle. “Right now, in fact.”

His father only laughed harder, and Gwaine couldn’t believe how long it had been since he felt like someone’s child. It knotted in his stomach; knowing this wasn’t real made the pain of seeing him even worse, especially when he wondered what Merlin might be faced with, not knowing that it wasn’t real. He would be armed with no speech from Gaius, and unprepared to face the dead.

The horse took a few steps, but his father called out to him to stop. He pulled the reins but did not turn to see his face.

“Come back soon, alright?”

Gwaine gave a nod, then gave the horse a kick in the direction of Camelot.

VI.

 There was always chaos before a banquet. Servants running around with things like floral arrangements, throw rugs, and plates of food. There were people walking around with banners, hoisting them up onto the walls in elaborate, decorative designs that depicted the red and gold Pendragon crest with the added blue accent of what looked like magic.

Merlin’s gut was anxious, but he wanted desperately to busy himself in the madness of the servants to help out with the preparations and hide, but Uther had other plans for him.

He clapped Merlin on the back and gave him a friendly, paternal rub, steering him toward Arthur whose deep frown told him he wasn’t too excited either. “Don’t forget the fire, Merlin,” he said, before leaving the two of them together.

Merlin crossed his arms as he watched Arthur shift uncomfortably. He recognized it as the same look he used to have when Morgana had something she could hold over him. I have the upper hand, he realized with no small amount of satisfaction. He remembered Ygraine’s request. Soften him.

“Afraid of the fire, are you?” he asked, wagging his brows.

Arthur placed his hands on his hips, holding a steady, determined look in Merlin’s direction. “I’m only afraid of your incompetence, Merlin.”

“Oh, good save, that,” said Merlin.

Arthur actually chuckled at that. He crossed his arms over his chest and relaxed a little, eyeing Merlin with a kind of familiarity and camaraderie that unsettled him. We could have been friends. The words flashed through his mind, and left almost instantly.

“I just wish we’d had a chance to rehearse together,” Arthur admitted. “Father put this whole thing together so quickly. This Helen of Mor has really left an impression on him.”

Merlin had almost forgotten to be wary of that name. He nodded, not sure if he should or even could say anything to Arthur about it. Thought, truthfully, he wasn’t sure what there was to warn him about – a gut feeling? As far as he knew, there was nothing wrong with this Lady Helen.

“I believe we have some time before the ball,” Merlin said, not hating the idea of practicing whatever it was he read in his notes last night. It turned out he had been practicing for some time, and had written lengthy notes in the margins about his movements. Some type of choreography with magic. He just hoped whatever their spectacle with fire and sword was, it came to him as easily as the floral reception at Lady Helen’s arrival.

They made their way to the courtyard to practice.

The prince pulled his sword from its elaborate sheath, and Merlin paused to admire it, thinking, That’s new. Something about the sword itself was familiar, though, and it said power to him, which Merlin knew would be perfect for their feat.

Arthur seemed to be, however, at a complete loss when it came to their movements. His stumbling movements hardly embodied any such power. For Merlin, prattling off the cants he read in his book the night before was easy enough, he only had to remember the order. There were a few hand movements involved, but his performance was at worst lukewarm – which Merlin considered not bad.

Arthur, however, had picked up his sword and was attempting to make a show of strength that complemented the display of magic. A lot more motion and work was involved. Merlin was delightfully surprised to see that most of the spells brought forth colorful lights that took the shapes of things like birds and butterflies (“could this be any girlier?” Arthur complained when he fell out of step), but Arthur was clumsy with his pacing and by the time Merlin reached the more impressive displays – lions made from fire, and a large glowing embodiment of the Pendragon crest – Arthur had lost the rhythm completely.

Merlin didn’t want to stop. It was an entirely new feeling, watching Arthur move around surrounded by his magic. It was as if Arthur’s fighting and Merlin’s spells were meant to be performed together – as if this was the only right thing they should have been doing all along, even if Arthur was struggling to get the hang of it.

“Why is he making a show of strength for a singer?” Merlin asked once Arthur became too agitated to continue. Best to take a break.

Arthur, glistening from the heat of Merlin’s magic, took a seat on a bench on the sidelines and wiped the sweat from his forehead with the back of his glove.

“Who knows what he’s thinking.”

“I think I know what he’s thinking,” Merlin said with a sly grin.

“That, I don’t care to think about.”

They both laughed. Merlin sat beside Arthur on the bench, looking down at his hands.

“It feels good,” Merlin thought aloud. “Practicing this with you. I’ve got this nagging feeling in the back of my mind that you hate my magic. Don’t know why, but I can’t shake it.”

“’Course I hate it,” Arthur teased, bumping Merlin’s shoulder with his. “I hate everything about you.”

“There he is, that’s the royal prat I remember.” Merlin grinned at him.

“You may be Court Sorcerer, but that doesn’t mean you can talk to me like that, Merlin.”

“Then who would?” asked Merlin. “Certainly not George. He’d let your head get as big as his.”

Arthur groaned.

“Alright, Merlin,” he said, slapping his knees as he stood himself up. “One more time for this ridiculous display.”

The display would look better once Lady Helen began her singing, Merlin kept telling both of them. Arthur kept telling him to shut up every time he said it – but the thing was that even with their practice rounds, they both still felt quite silly about the whole thing. Arthur was practically dancing with his sword. Maybe with some music and the right context, their timing would get easier.

Luckily, Merlin was right. The music was the missing component. It wasn’t like Arthur was dancing with his sword – he was dancing with his sword, and Merlin’s magic was actually dancing with Arthur. The sight of it with the music was breathtaking, and Merlin could think of no moment in his entire life that felt more natural than supporting Arthur this way. Even when he looked out and saw the familiar faces of some of the knights, his heart began to soar; the people loved this.

A commotion at the entrance to the hall jarred Merlin just as he was really beginning to feel like they were getting the rhythm. The doors burst open and the music stopped. He and Arthur stood there suspended in movement, looking out into the mess of commotion.

In came a man fighting with the guards, pushing them off of him.

“Get off of me—” The man shoved one of the knights away, then shouted, “Merlin!” waving at him where he stood on the stage. The guards grabbed his hands and pushed him down to his knees. “Merlin!” he shouted again.

The entire court turned to look at him, including Arthur and Uther and Lady Helen of Mor. He looked between the three of them, throwing his hands up in a disclaimer of the drama. “Who is he?” Merlin asked, looking to the guards.

“Bring him here,” said Uther lazily as he sat back in his seat at the head of the banquet. Merlin moved to Arthur’s side to watch as the guards dragged him back up to his feet.

“Get off me,” he snapped, trying to jerk away from their hands. He walked over on his own and stopped just short of the table before Uther. He did not kneel. “King Uther,” he said, gazing directly into his eyes. It came from his mouth as if he had not expected to see him. Uther shifted in his seat with a look on his face that read both as boredom and displeasure, and Merlin wondered why someone would behold the King of Camelot with so much disdain.

“Tell me who you are.”

“Name’s Gwaine,” he answered, looking at Merlin as he answered. “’M here for Merlin.” There was no respect or reverence in his tone, but he looked at Merlin with his brows furrowed. “You holding up okay?”

“Are you.” Uther looked to Merlin, waving for him to come down. Merlin approached, but kept his distance from the dark-haired man, watching him with caution. “Merlin, do you know this man?”

“I don’t believe I do,” said Merlin, his eyes roving from his boots to the man’s flowing hair. He didn’t recognize him, but there was something familiar about him. He had the instinct to stand beside him in a different way he wanted to stand beside Arthur. And he looked at Merlin with so much familiarity that it made his chest tighten.

“So. Gwaine, are you?” Uther frowned, unimpressed. “Guards, arrest this man.”

Merlin wanted to protest – what was this man’s business with Merlin and why did Merlin feel so drawn to him? – but it all happened so fast. He reached his hand out, but by the time it was up, the guards already had him in shackles.

“Wait!” he called out, struggling against their hold. “I just want to talk to Merlin!”

“And bamboozle our best sorcerer? I think not.”

The last thing Merlin saw before the man was removed from the room was Gwaine looking at Merlin with disbelief, repeating the word “sorcerer” as the great doors closed behind him.

“That’s enough of that,” said Uther, rising from his seat, all of that disapproval washed from his face. He smiled warmly to their royal guest. “Lady Helen, please forgive the interruption. Don’t let one degenerate ruin our festivities.”

“Of course, Sire,” she said with a gracious curtsey. Merlin gave a glance to Arthur, and he seemed to be preparing himself to restart their movements once more.

It was different after that. Merlin couldn’t stop imagining that look on that man’s face as he repeated that word – sorcerer – as if he hadn’t known Merlin had magic. Why had that reaction felt more normal to Merlin than doing this performance with Arthur? And why was he even here? Why was he asking Merlin how he was holding up, and why did Merlin yearn to be near him?

The display became confused, with Arthur side-eyeing Merlin and Merlin stumbling over his spells. Merlin wasn’t even paying attention to what he was doing, and when the performance ended, he navigated his way along the head table to his seat next to Arthur. George poured their wine, which Merlin began to drink mindlessly feeling like I shouldn’t be here. Instead, he wanted to go down to the prison cells to go talk to that man. That – Gwaine.

He jolted out of his thoughts when Arthur smacked his leg, bringing his attention back to Uther who was standing mid-toast and looking directly at him.

“Lost in thought, again. That’s our Merlin,” said Uther, and the entirety of the court laughed as if this were some shared in-joke. Merlin laughed uncomfortably and lifted his glass in acknowledgement.

“Thank you, Lady Helen, for your outstanding, courageous performance, using your voice to help bind this show of magic and strength like only my son and our Court Sorcerer can display. So, as I was saying, I hoped everyone would celebrate this tremendously good news with me. To the union of my dear son Arthur and our beloved Court Sorcerer, Merlin!”

He raised his glass, which everyone in the room mirrored. Merlin began to sip before Uther spoke again which was a bad choice.

“To their marriage!” he declared.

He spit his drink back out.

Merlin managed to forget about the strange visitor after that. “To our what?!” he hissed at Arthur, who looked surprisingly calm at the announcement.

“I’m as surprised as you are,” said Arthur, though he was smiling graciously at the cheers of celebration and congratulations much better than Merlin could manage. 

Getting through the rest of the night was struggle. After what happened when Merlin tried talking to Gaius last night, he didn’t know if he could trust him with his confusion again. So instead, he went straight to Arthur, pushing open the door to his chambers as if he’d done it every day for years.

“What in all the kingdoms was that?!” Merlin demanded to know, slamming the door behind him.

“Sure thing, Merlin, come right on in,” said Arthur, who was sitting at his desk with a document in hand.

“He can’t just – just do that, can he?” he went on. He paced the room, feeling embarrassed and angry and confused.

“Merlin, sit down.” Merlin continued to pace. “You’re making me nervous, Merlin. Sit. Down.”

Merlin sat.

Arthur set the document on his desk. “Father already had this agreement with the sorceress Nimueh drafted up. He seems to think our union would create some sort of all-powerful heir.”

“And how would we manage that?” Merlin asked incredulously – then remembered the name Nimueh. “Oh. Magic.” It still didn’t feel natural to see Arthur considering magic as a viable option. Then, he wrinkled his nose. “But who would— no, neither of us, we’re not doing it.” Arthur didn’t say anything. “Are we?”

“Do you ever shut up, Merlin?” Merlin frowned. “I don’t want it any more than you do.” Merlin released out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding and rolled his head back, laughing.

“Who do you think that guy was? Sir Gwaine?”

“Hm?” Arthur looked confused. “Oh. That. I already forgot. Who knows.”

“Already forgot?” How could anyone forget? Merlin kicked Arthur’s chair. “Should we go talk to him?”

“And why would we do that?”

Merlin shrugged. “Why not?”

Arthur rolled his eyes. “I am going to try and get us out of this engagement, Merlin. I suggest staying out of trouble, if you can manage. The less you anger the King, the better.”

Right. So… he wouldn’t tell Gaius or Arthur. “Got it,” he said, sighing.

“And Merlin?”

“Yes, Arthur?”

“Get the hell out of my room.”

Merlin grinned. “Yes, Arthur.”

“Yes, Sire,” Arthur corrected.

“Yes, Sire.”

VII.

Gwaine fought as the guards dragged him down the stairs and into the familiar dank, wet dungeon of Camelot Castle. He kept arguing, “I just need to talk to him,” but the guards only laughed at him and pushed him onto the ground of his cell. None of them were familiar to him – Uther’s men, he thought, wondering if he even paid attention to any of them in that short time he was in Camelot under Uther’s reign. What is Merlin facing? he wondered, pulling himself back to his feet using the iron bars of his cell.

“At least remove these, friend,” he said to the guard locking his cell, holding up his bound wrists. “What am I gonna do in here?”

“Now it’s friend, is it?” The guard sneered, then smacked the bars with his sword and walked away.

Gwaine sighed and shrugged, looking down at his bound hands thinking he didn’t have much use for them while he was in his cell anyway.

A quick glance around told him he was alone down here. No other prisoners? Maybe this dream world was sparsely populated. The distance between Essetir and Camelot seemed oddly short, though Gwaine didn’t know if that had been how hard he was pushing his horse.

Shit, he thought, realizing he hadn’t tied her up. Then laughed at himself remembering this was a dream. It wasn’t real.

Gwaine kicked the bars in frustration, let out a heavy breath, then found a spot on the wall to sit down. If it wasn’t real, and Gwaine knew it was a dream – why didn’t Merlin recognize him? He frowned, and sighed again, letting the weight of his head fall back against the cool stone.

Then there was that whole sorcerer bit, too. Oddly, it fit. Even coming from Uther’s mouth. Damn that Uther. And damn his own father, too, showing up like that… Riding away had left a hole in him, even knowing it wasn’t real.

If I know Merlin, Gwaine thought with patience and fondness, he’ll come down here to see me.

He wasn’t wrong.

A few hours passed, and Gwaine was pacing his cell when he heard a commotion down the hall. The fire from the torches flickered around the corner, and he heard a body hit the floor. Moments later, Merlin appeared.

“Was wondering if you’d make it.”

Merlin narrowed his eyes but didn’t approach the cell. No memories at all, huh? Gwaine’s chest tightened.

“You used magic to knock ‘em out?” He gestured down the hall with his head.

“Sleeping spell.”

“Ah.” Gwaine nodded. “So… sorcerer, huh?”

“Yeah. Why shouldn’t I be?”

Gwaine licked his lips and approached the bars, leaning against them with his shoulder. “Just never knew.” Gwaine shrugged. “Thought you would’ve told me, is all.” It felt a bit weak saying it to someone who didn’t know who he was, but he couldn’t stop himself. “You still got that bracelet on, huh?” Well, that was one good thing, he thought. This was the right Merlin, at least he knew that.

Merlin held up his wrist; it was unmistakably his, with the wide leather braid leading up to that large bright sapphire set right in the center. “What about it?”

“Nothing. Just, I gave it to you. And you don’t even remember me. Breaks a guy’s heart, you know?”

There. Merlin finally showed a bit of something in response. Gwaine smiled as Merlin took a step closer, inspecting Gwaine fully.

“What did you want to tell me?” he asked, grabbing two bars on either side of them. He peered through them at Gwaine, less critically and more curiously. “Something’s wrong here. I don’t remember a lot of things apparently, and now I’m engaged to the Prince. His mother, the Queen, she wants me to soften him, and then you show up and no one knows you—” Merlin cut himself off, breathing out through his nose. “And you’re the only one who didn’t know I have magic.”

Good. This was all good. Merlin may not remember him, but he was still himself and he had the right instincts, just—

“Wait. Engaged?”

Merlin frowned and pulled back from the bars.

“Sorry, sorry – I just. You really don’t remember me, Merlin?” He reached up to run a hand through his hair, a difficult and clumsy movement with both of his hands still shackled.

He shook his head. “Why are you here?”

“For you. To bring you home. This,” he gestured vaguely, “it’s all a dream.” Merlin crossed his arms. “Look, I’m not good at explaining things, I don’t know much about magic, just – alright, in my world, you mean something to me. And me to you, I think. I hope.”

“But you didn’t know about my magic.”

Gwaine sighed. He was going to have to slow down. How far back should he go? “In the real world—”

Merlin wrinkled his nose at that wording.

“Alright, alright. Where I’m from. Well, first of all, Uther’s gone, but when he was around,” he made a throat-cutting gesture with his hands, “sorcerers got the axe. I guess you’re hiding it? Who knows. But I certainly didn’t, and your – your betrothed didn’t know it either.”

“And Ygraine?”

“Arthur’s mum?”

Merlin nodded. “Where… Where was she?”

Gwaine gave Merlin a confounded look, then it hit him. “If she’s alive, then the Purge never happened,” he said to himself, eyes widening in disbelief. “This Uther – he likes magic. Merlin. Back home, Camelot’s queen died. In childbirth. Magic or something, I don’t know… Uther blamed all magic users.”

Merlin sighed heavily and returned to the bars, seemingly ready to listen. Something about that answer satisfied hin, “Start from the beginning. Tell me everything. Including why you think I’m your Merlin.”

So he did. And he did the best he could, with Merlin occasionally asking questions, or even correcting him on names and places which was a frustrating trait from someone who supposedly didn’t remember.

“And what was I to you?” Merlin asked finally, after Gwaine thought he’d talked them both to death.

That question felt loaded. Gwaine wanted to reach out and touch one of Merlin’s hands but he held back after reminding himself that he needed Merlin to trust him. He shrugged. “We… hadn’t gotten there yet,” he admitted, his voice growing quiet.

“What does that mean?”

“Well…” No longer able to hold back, he took Merlin’s hand and pulled it past the bars into the cell so he could look at it. Merlin complied as Gwaine pushed his sleeve up, showing the token. “I gave this to you, and you… well, you accepted it, so…”

Merlin pulled his hand back, blushing deeply. “So… you were courting me?” he asked, fingering the bracelet without looking to Gwaine.

“Aye.”

Merlin gave the first smile Gwaine had yet seen since he came down here. But then, quite suddenly, his expression hardened.

“So what you’re telling me is you feel this way, and yet you still want me to return to a world where I can’t use my magic.”

“I…” Gwaine exhaled.

“Where I have to live in fear? You want that for me?”

“No, I—” He did, didn’t he? “I suppose I don’t have an answer for that,” he admitted, his stomach turning in on itself. He tried to swallow, but his mouth was dry. “But, Merlin, this isn’t real.”

“And why do you get to decide that?” Merlin’s hands were at his side now, and he stared at Gwaine with a kind of darkness he’d never seen in Merlin before. “Or are you just trying to lure me away from Camelot so you can land an invasion?”

“And you would defend against it?” Gwaine asked curiously.

“Always have!” He didn’t doubt that was true.

“I’m sorry, Merlin, I—”

“No. I’m done here.” The last thing Gwaine saw were Merlin’s eyes glowing gold, and the next thing he knew he was waking up to the guards slapping the bars of his cell with their swords.

“Up! You’ve got a visitor.”                                                                                            

Gwaine squeezed his eyes and sat up, trying to make sense of the transition. Merlin had used magic to knock him out, hadn’t he? Holding his head, he turned to see the guard and his so-called visitor. His heart stopped when he saw his father standing before him.

Gwaine may have been the type to land himself behind bars for some time now, but he had never let his family see him like this. His brain kept shouting, It’s not real! But his heart began to pound and his breath hitched as he rose to his feet.

“Father.” He straightened his shoulders, hands still bound before him.

“Un-bind his hands,” said his father impatiently. The guard just looked at him. “Come on now, let him have his dignity. A man can’t see his son like this.”

“Go on,” came Arthur’s voice from behind them. Must be supervising.  Gwaine held his hands out, and they removed the shackles, revealing the bruises and cuts they left on his skin. He rubbed them without a second thought.

“What are you doing here, son?”

Gwaine stayed silent. There was no answer he could give that would make sense to a fictional version of his father or Arthur. Instead, he breathed out and looked at the ground, his chest tightening even harder with anger.

“Come home.”

“I can’t,” said Gwaine. His hand went to where his necklace should be. He felt so bare without it. With a dry throat, he added, solemnly, “Give my best to Mother, will you?”

“What is this ridiculous thing you’re doing?” said his father again. This startled Gwaine; he’d never known his father to lose his temper. The man was a font of patience. He clenched his jaw, listened as he went on, “No son of mine rides off to Camelot in the middle of the night to have himself arrested.”

“And no father of mine would stand by without wanting to know why,” he said, unable to stop himself from talking back at that illusion of his father. “I don’t know who you are, or you,” he shot a glare at Arthur, “but this is garbage, all of this, and whoever you are, if you can hear me, Merlin knows better.” He grabbed the bars, looking straight at Arthur. “He’s not fooled, Princess. He’ll get himself out of this.”

“Why you little—” His father approached the bars, but Arthur stepped forward and tapped his shoulder.

“Excuse us,” he said, and the guard led Gwaine’s father from the cells.

“Engaged, are you?” Gwaine sneered.

Arthur crossed his arms over his chest and sighed, looking small and tired in his long, brown leather jacket. He also looked younger than Gwaine had ever known him, more baby-faced.

“Not me.”

Arthur’s form shifted, and standing before Gwaine was a sorceress with strikingly blue eyes. “Merlin could be happy here, you know,” she said gently.

“You don’t care about that,” said Gwaine, watching her mouth twitch into a satisfied smirk.

“Doesn’t matter, does it? There’s nothing you can do about it down here.”

“Who are you?” He squinted his eyes to get a better look at her in the dark. “Why do I know you?”

“Oh, just a little someone.” She smiled wanly. “Did Gaius help you?” Gwaine said nothing. “Figures. He does love to get between me and my plans. It’s a shame, though. This time he’ll fail. You’re nothing more than an unforeseen complication.”

“What do you want?”

She shrugged. “You’ll be dealt with shortly. Rest well, Sir Gwaine.”

VIII.

Gaius was no help to Merlin. He simply offered a heartfelt congratulations, and it felt so wrong in his gut that Gaius wouldn’t even question the fact that Merlin didn’t like Arthur like that. He had nothing to say about that “rabble” who was arrested during the banquet, either. Merlin didn’t dare tell him he’d gone down to see him – he didn’t dare tell anyone that.

Gwaine.

The name felt good when Merlin thought about it. Comforting. But how could he trust someone who told him he belonged in hiding? And all of that stuff about Ygraine and Uther and that sorceress… The Purge, he called it.

Those words, the Purge, they were sitting in his mind when he was approached by George.

“Her Highness wishes the pleasure of your company,” he said with a deep bow. Merlin didn’t know why, but he wanted to push the servant over and see him keep his composure then.

“Alright,” he said instead, thinking it would be in poor taste to knock someone like a servant over since they were so far beneath… his station? He hated how much Gwaine was in his head, making him question his discomfort in his own life. Of course a servant was beneath him, he was Court Sorcerer and had always been such.

When Merlin arrived, Nimueh and Arthur were both already there; they were standing together with Ygraine, sipping wine.

“Merlin, come in,” she said, waving him over.

“Yes, Your Highness,” he said, shuffling his feet as he approached.

“Please,” she said, pouring him a glass. “Call me Ygraine. We’re going to be family now.”

“About that…” said Merlin, glancing over at Arthur who simply shrugged. “I don’t think I understand why all this is happening.”

Nimueh stepped forward at that. “Merlin. Do you not agree your heir would make the most powerful leader this kingdom has ever seen? The prowess of a lion,” a gesture to Arthur, who gave Merlin a dumbfounded look, “and the power of Magic itself.” She gestured vaguely to Merlin. “I know a ritual that can help the two of you create that life…” Gwaine’s voice was suddenly in his head, and he thought of his tale of Ygraine’s death – a life for a life.

He took a step back.

“But… Arthur and I don’t—”

“I’ve tried telling them,” said Arthur, his breath reeking of more than one glass of late-morning wine. “Who would want to marry Merlin?”

Merlin nodded vigorously, holding his hands out to emphasize his agreement. “For once, he’s said something smart,” Merlin said, and Arthur feigned offense.

“Isn’t that usually my line?”

“Thought I’d give it a try.”

“Alright then.”

“Both of you,” Ygraine interrupted with a laugh. “Do you not see this? What’s happening between you?” She reached out to take both of their hands, bringing them together. Merlin withdrew before any contact was made.

“And you want this for your son? You want him to marry someone — someone like me,” Merlin asked. He stepped over to the window.

“Merlin,” Nimueh said before he had the chance to look out. He paused and frowned at her. “You are young. You may not understand the importance of such a decision—” he turned his head toward the window again, but she grabbed his wrist, pulling his attention away more directly “—but in time.”

Merlin yanked his hand away. Her touch made his blood cold, and for a moment it made him afraid. His thoughts were interrupted by jeering in the courtyard, and this time he finally looked out the window. What didn’t she want him to see?

Someone was being escorted to the executioner’s stage.

“What’s this?” He pushed the window open. The man in the guard’s custody had dark hair. “Gwaine…”

“Serves him right,” said Ygraine. Merlin couldn’t believe he heard that right. He turned to look at the Queen, and for a moment, he thought her eyes looked just like Nimueh’s. “Even his own father thinks him an imposter.” Merlin squared his shoulders and clenched his jaw, turning to eye Nimueh.

But instead of saying anything, he rushed out of the room and broke into a run, trying to make it to the courtyard as quickly as he could. Gwaine was onto something, and they were trying to silence him. Serves him right? Those weren’t Ygraine’s words…

He ran down the halls and passed the throne room, pushing past servants who seemed like they were deliberately blocking his way. If he was fast enough, he could make it, stop the axe man’s swing, prevent them from killing him.

He threw himself through the doors and was greeted with the schwunk of the axeblade hitting the wooden block. His ears and throat filled with cotton and for a moment all he could hear was the ringing of the axe reverberating with his own heartbeat.

“Gwaine…”

He froze in place, watching the crowd as they jeered as if they were all the same person, making the same movements, all with the same thoughts. His eyes went up to the window, where Nimueh and Ygraine both stood watching him with eyes so strikingly bright they glowed like four enchanted sapphires.

He shook his head at them, looked away, and then he walked.

He walked down the steps of the courtyard. He walked past the market stalls, barely even noticing any differences between them – it was like they were all carrying the same vegetables. If he had looked at the merchants manning them, he would have seen each man was identical with different clothes but the same face. He walked through the gates of Camelot, and into the woods where he could be alone.

What had he seen? Had they really executed him? That quickly, and without a trial? Did Merlin really serve a king that merciless with his magic? Did Merlin really even serve the king?

It all didn’t make sense. He kept walking, walking through the trees, walking through his thoughts, his chest tightening more and more with each step.

If I don’t even know him, then why do I care? He stopped and leaned against a tree, bringing a hand to chest, gripping at his shirt as he fell to his knees.

Before he knew it, he was sobbing into both hands.

Gwaine was dead. He had watched Gwaine die. Gwaine’s head…

He choked on his tears, his chest heaving harder and harder until it felt like he couldn’t breathe. He fell to the ground, gasping for air, hitting his chest to try and get his lungs moving again.

Gwaine was dead, and he was likely the only one who knew what was going on. And – and what else? And Merlin wanted to see him again, to feel him again, to be in his arms…

After a few minutes, his sobs petered out into a more broken kind of weeping. He wrapped his arms around his knees and buried his face in them.

He just watched Gwaine die.

What was he to Merlin?

He buried his face deeper as he felt himself weeping harder, shaking his head, trying to think why this hurt him so much.

When he lifted his head, he looked down and saw that bracelet on his wrist – the token. The gift from Gwaine. Some gift. His chest filled with heat, and he was angry at the notion. How dare he? How dare Gwaine come into his world, and tell him everything is wrong? Just trust me, believe me, you’re better off with me, in hiding, fearing for your life? His breathing hitched and he grabbed at the bracelet, yanking it off and throwing it against a tree, and he watched it fall to the ground.

Then that was it.

A flash of white light hit Merlin.

He fell back against the tree, grabbing at the ground to try and stabilize himself as every single memory came flooding back into him. Nimueh. Uther, Gaius, Ygraine. And the last thing he could remember was trying to dry off by the fire in the cabin under the rain.

Arthur. Someone lured him away from Arthur. Gwaine was trying to get him back.

So you were courting me? Aye.

“Nimueh!”

He rose to his feet and wiped the tears from his face, and he began marching right back into Camelot. 

IX.

Gwaine bolted upright gasping for air, his hands shooting straight for the spot at his throat that was struck by the axe. “Merlin!” he shouted, eyes darting around, panic-stricken.

Gaius rushed to kneel beside him, a hand on his shoulder as he shushed him and soothed him.

“Easy, Gwaine.”

His eyes went to Gaius’s, and he grabbed the old man’s wrist, holding onto it as if holding on for his life. Percival appeared beside Gaius, putting a hand over Gwaine’s white knuckles; the warmth comforted him, and he loosened his grip on Gaius’s wrist.

Gaius’s eyes shot over to Merlin’s. Gwaine followed the gaze and felt himself sobering quickly.

“Gaius…” he said quietly, his chest still tight from the fear of execution. Even knowing it was a dream, the fear of death was real. His hands went back to his throat, which he rubbed as he tried to catch his breath, eyes going from Merlin then back to Gaius.

“Is he…?”

Gwaine shook his head. “I barely even got to talk to him.” He looked between Percival and Gaius, wondering how much he should say – but he trusted Percival implicitly. He wasn’t from Camelot either, and as such had a different view on magic than many of the other knights. He also loved Merlin as much as anyone else.

“Merlin has magic.” He meant it as a question, did you know…?, but he said it only as fact. When Gaius lowered his gaze with one arched brow and a guilty frown, Gwaine smiled. It was weak, and his voice was still somewhat breathless as he said, “I’m glad he has you.”

“Where is he?” Percival asked.

Gwaine shook his head, turning his gaze back toward Merlin. “I think it’s up to him now,” he said, looking down at Merlin. At least he didn’t look so blue anymore. “Being killed got me out of it...”

“Killed…” Percival looked amazed.

“Merlin is the target of whatever magic is at work,” said Gaius. “He may be affected by events differently than you were.”

“He didn’t know it was a dream,” said Gwaine, sighing. “Uther was there. And Arthur’s mother—”

“Ygraine was there?” said Gaius with interest.

Gwaine nodded. “No Purge. Magic everywhere. Merlin was using magic openly when I got there. Uther called him court sorcerer.” He wrinkled his nose, still hating the sound of that phrase coming from Uther’s mouth. It felt dirty. Gaius frowned deeply. “When I told him it was a dream… He didn’t want to believe me, Gaius. He asked why I’d want him to come back to a world where he has to live in fear.”

“Must be hard,” said Percival.

Gaius gave a soft chuckle and shook his head, smiling fondly. He reached out and put a hand over Merlin’s which laid limply at his side on the ground. “Fear is hardly the word I would use to describe Merlin,” he said as he caressed Merlin’s hand with his thumb. “Fool-hardy is more like it.” He frowned and heaved a sigh. Gwaine could see that all these years of looking after Merlin and his magic bound them close together.

“He hasn’t taken this off since you gave it to him,” said Gaius, his tone shifting as he picked up Merlin’s hand to examine the bracelet.

Gwaine felt his cheeks heat at that; Merlin must have talked about it to Gaius. His hand instinctively went to check for his necklace as his chest, and he fingered the ring and the charm absently as he said, “He had it in the dream.”

That was interesting to Gaius. His brow shot back up and he turned to Gwaine with a piqued, “Did he?”

“Yeah,” said Gwaine, his fingers stilling over his charms. “But he didn’t know where he got it.” Gaius narrowed his eyes contemplatively. “And… I didn’t have this.” He lifted the charm around his neck then dropped it, moving over on his knees to get a better look at Merlin, but his head felt woozy and he fell back onto his rump.

“Easy,” said Percival, still kneeling at his side.

“He had the bracelet, but no memory of it,” said Gaius, lifting Merlin’s hand to examine the bracelet. “Were there any other remnants that carried over?”

Gwaine shook his head, speaking up only when he realized Gaius wasn’t looking at him, “No, nothing.”

Gaius ran his finger over the strikingly blue stone on the bracelet. “Where did you get it?” he asked as he began to untie it.

“I…” Gwaine paused, looking to Percival as if he might have the answer. “I don’t remember,” he said, then, thinking harder, “A woman sold it to me in the market.”

“A gem this valuable,” said Gaius, holding it up to examine more closely. “At the street market?”

Gwaine reached for it and Gaius handed it to him. “Her eyes looked like this,” he said, remembering the old lady – and then, haltingly, the sorceress in the dream. “She was there, Gaius! The woman who sold it to me was in the dream!”

If Gaius could have frowned more deeply, that was the time. “Nimueh,” he said with a kind of knowing that didn’t sound good.

He began consulting the books Percival had apparently retrieved from Camelot while Gwaine was in the dream.

For a lone horseback rider, the journey there and back was only two days – a journey that had taken their entire company three days one way. He returned with not only Gaius’s books, but extra provisions as well as another horse at Gwen’s behest to help make their return swift. While he was out, they had also learned that they couldn’t remove Merlin from the clearing around the fire – it was like walking into an invisible barrier when Percival carried him in his arms.

Gwaine got up to read over Gaius’s shoulder but was unable to interpret the text, so he instead moved his attention to Percival, who was hunting for dinner.

“What was it like?” he asked with his crossbow at his side as Gwaine approached.

“Good ale,” said Gwaine with a smirk, crossing his arms over his chest as he leaned against a tree. “Good gambling. All around, pretty dreamy.” Percival gave his usual wide smile that meant he knew Gwaine was pulling his chain but he wasn’t going to pry.

“I’m surprised you’d want to leave,” he said, more truthfully than he could even realize. Gwaine struggled with turning his horse away from his father, seemingly alive and well and inviting him home. Home. He could have gone home to his family. But the feeling was superficial, even if it did pull at his heart.

“I know, right? Money, booze…” Percival hooked Gwaine’s head into his crossbow arm, rubbing his head with the knuckles on the other.

“Careful, careful!” Gwaine said as he pushed against his sudden captor, unable to help but laugh.

“No more sulking.”

“Alright! No more sulking!”

“Promise.”

“I promise, no more sulking!”

Percival released his hold, sending Gwaine reeling a few steps. They both laughed as he ran his fingers through his hair and asked, “Was that really necessary?”

“Merlin will be okay,” he said. “He always pulls through.”

Gwaine nodded, his hand resting at the back of his neck. “I hope you’re right.”

They returned to camp with a rabbit.

“Would have been two,” said Percival with an accusatory look toward Gwaine, “but someone’s chatter scared it away.”

Gaius didn’t say much as he continued to study and the two knights prepped the meat, Gwaine every now and then affording glances Merlin’s way hoping for some sort of change but it was always nothing. His glances to Gaius were more sparing; the more he saw the bracelet in the old man’s hands, the more he blamed himself for this whole mess. He should have used his wits, should have seen something wrong…

Feeding their second fire to cook the meat was much more interesting than watching someone else read a book anyway.

He gathered a small amount of tinder and kindling to get it going while Percival handled the animal. They worked in silence while Gwaine whittled away at some sticks to impale the prepared portions.

“I wonder…” said Gaius, catching both of their attention. He rose to his feet and held a hand out at Gwaine, which stunned him for a moment before he realized, he wants the knife. So he handed it to Gaius who began to pry the stone from the leather band.

Gwaine’s heart began to pound.

He was both frustrated to see his gift being destroyed, but also eager to get to the bottom of this spell cast over Merlin. Once the gem was loose, Gaius tossed it away from them and into the woods. It landed in the fallen foliage, completely out of sight.

“Ah-ha.” He brought the bracelet close to his face, examining the place where the stone had been.

“Care to explain to us simple folk?” asked Gwaine, standing up to see into his hands.

“It was not the stone that was enchanted, but the leather,” he said, tossing the bracelet in the same direction as the sapphire. It hit an invisible wall, then fell to the ground. Gwaine walked over to pick it up and inspect it, finding that there was a set of runes inscribed underneath where the stone had been. “I suspect we will find that it is made from the hide of the sleeping tapir, a creature said to have power over the dreams of its victims.”

“How do we wake him?” asked Percival. “True love’s kiss?” He gestured to Gwaine, and Gaius looked between them with a pensive – yet somehow disapproving – frown.

“If only it were that simple.”

“Well, with it off of him – if that’s what was keeping him in here…?”

Gaius hummed thoughtfully. “That could work. Let’s give it a try, then,” he said as he moved over to Merlin, and Percival knelt down beside him. Gaius gave him a nod for Percival to start, and he lifted Merlin from the ground with ease.

Gwaine stood beside them awkwardly, feeling like it was his fault they were in this mess and he was doing nothing to help. In fact, he had been the one to cause of this – and then made it worse. He remembered that well of complicated feelings that darkened Merlin’s eyes when he asked Gwaine if he wanted Merlin to live in fear. No wonder he was still in there, knowing what it was he had to come back to.

Gwaine wanted Merlin back, that much was sure. But he didn’t want him to live in fear.

He watched as Percival lifted Merlin from the ground, sure to be gentle despite recently learning of his magic. That was good, wasn’t it? That was two new people who knew and who still cared about his safety. Gwaine followed a step behind, thinking that the three of them around this fire – they were a good start.

Percival stopped at the boundary and Gaius stood beside him, a caring hand on Merlin’s head. Then he crossed the threshold. The three of them collectively released their breath, Gwaine laughing with relief as he ran a hand through his own hair, watching Gaius’s expression ease more than it had since he arrived.

“Now what?” Gwaine asked.

“I’m not sure,” Gaius admitted.

Percival knelt and Gwaine hurried back to the fire to grab his gambeson which had been rolled up under Merlin’s head like a pillow – but Merlin was already coughing awake by the time Gwaine turned back around.

“Alright there, Merlin?” said Percival as Gwaine rushed to return to his side, where Gaius was already knelt. Gwaine stood beside them once more without much to do.

“Arthur!”

Of course, that was the first word out of Merlin’s mouth.

“Where’s Arthur!”

Percival finally placed him on the ground. Merlin held his head as he tried to steady himself sitting upright; Gwaine knelt beside Gaius and placed a hand on Merlin’s knee to try and help ground him. To let him know he didn’t have to be afraid.

“Merlin,” said Gaius, patting Merlin’s shoulder the same way he had done to Gwaine. He was smiling this time, and the relief carried over to Merlin who dropped his urgency long enough to hug Gaius.

He looked over Gaius’s shoulder and their eyes met for a moment, but Merlin didn’t hold it – he looked away and down, and Gwaine knew that look. It was the same look every time Merlin had a secret he couldn’t confront – those times when Gwaine wanted to help him, but didn’t know what he needed. All those times made sense now – when Merlin gave him attitude for showing up and wanting to help with Arthur. And now here he was. Gwaine wanted to say something like, “I do remember, and it’s okay,” but the words caught in his throat and Gaius spoke up instead.

“Gwaine told us about the dream,” he said.

“Then… you know I have magic,” he said, pulling his leg back toward his chest. He needs space, Gwaine thought, so he drew his hand away. Merlin was probably angry with him for wanting to bring him back to this world where he had to live in fear. He knew how selfish Gwaine truly was. He’d finally crossed a boundary, and Merlin was going to be sick of him.

“Aye,” Percival said, and still Gwaine felt like he couldn’t speak. Like something was holding him back. 

“I was born with it,” said Merlin.

Feeling like nothing he said would be the right thing, Gwaine got up and began packing their site.

“But you’re still Merlin,” was Percival’s response. Gwaine let out a slow breath, feeling like he’d said and done the wrong things already, but Merlin’s recoil had caused a dull ache in his chest that was worse than anything else that had happened thus far.

He distracted himself from whatever they were saying and doing at that point, and he hoisted himself up onto his horse. If Merlin needed space, then Gwaine would give it to him.

“I’m riding to Camelot,” said Gwaine, hoisting himself up onto a horse. “Gwen will need an update…”

No one protested – Percival and Gaius just looked at him like the bastard he was, which seemed about right, Gwaine thought. “You lot get to Arthur,” he said without giving them a second chance to react, and he kicked his horse into action.

X.

Merlin tried very hard to focus on the mission at hand. If Nimueh had trapped him in a dream, then no doubt Arthur was in danger. With two horses between the three of them and the urgency of the threat pending, Merlin rode with Percival while Gaius rode the other horse solo.

Unfortunately, their shared mare couldn’t make it the full journey without taking a break – so after camping by the river in very tense silence with almost no sleep, they carried on.

Percival was dutiful, and Merlin was very weak as he recovered from the spell. His arm and his leg still ached from his fall, so Percival did the work of gathering wood for the fire.

He was about to set it alight when he stopped and looked over to Merlin, asking, “Can you do it?”

Merlin paused, blushing but a little flattered by what seemed to be genuine curiosity. They hadn’t talked about his magic since he woke up, so he wasn’t sure what Percival was thinking.

“With magic?”

“Yeah.”

Merlin gave a little nod in answer, looking away a bit embarrassed. But Percival moved aside, giving Merlin access to the pit. He leaned in and held his hand extended, whispering “Forbaern” as his eyes flashed gold.

When he looked up at Percival, he was eyeing the fire with almost childlike amazement. “And you’ve been using these the whole time?” He dropped the flint in his hands onto the ground.

“Not… the whole time,” Merlin admitted with a bit of a sheepish smile.

Percival laughed and clapped Merlin on the back. “Too bad Gwaine’s not here,” he said. “He’d love to hear that. You’ve been using magic right under Arthur’s nose and he never even knew it.”

There it was. The gravity again. Merlin tried to smile and lean into the banter, but with Arthur in danger, acknowledging his lie, and a reminder of the fact that Gwaine left after finding out about Merlin’s magic – well, he wasn’t feeling too good about any of the things Percival brought up.

“I’ll get supper cooking,” said Gaius, breathing heavily through his nose. “Percival, why don’t you fetch some of those brown herbs that were growing downstream, they will lend a nice flavor.”

He didn’t need to be told twice.

“Nimueh meant to take my life,” Merlin said quietly once they were alone. It was his first chance to divulge details. “An heir for Arthur and me. Magically conceived.”

Gaius nodded. “A life for a life,” he said, needing no further explanation. Then, he went on to say something Merlin had allowed himself not to think about, “Who knows what she planned with the child, dream world or not.”

Then Merlin gave a dry laugh. “She doesn’t like when I foil her plans.”

“No, she most certainly does not.”

Merlin picked up a stick and poked at the fire. “Do you think Gwaine will come back?” he asked. He did the best to wipe any of his frustration that was showing on his face away with the heel of his palm when he looked over at Gaius, and he tried to share a smile. “Do you think he even went to Camelot?”

“Oh, Merlin,” said Gaius, abandoning the pot which he was still trying to prop up over the fire. “Come here.” He sat beside Merlin on the log, and Merlin pressed his face into Gaius’s shoulder and wept.

Merlin was sulking less by the time the morning came, though he hadn’t gotten much sleep. Still, he was able to hoist himself up onto the horse without a lift from Percival, and they rode together in silence to try and find where the camp should be. It wasn’t hard to follow their trail, so they knew it was only matter of time.

They found the encampment around mid-day.

It was a point of relief at first. Merlin let out a light breath, thinking that the tents were all intact and it looked like no harm had come to them. Until he realized that they had not traveled very far at all – and there was no reason whatsoever for the tents to still be up this late in the day.

“Ride faster,” said Merlin. Percival gave the horse a push. The cook was the first person they saw – she was sitting on a stool outside her tent, a ladle fallen on the ground beside her as though she’d been holding it when she dozed off. Next was one of the new recruits, a lean, angular young man with his sword pulled halfway from its sheath. As they rode further into the encampment, it appeared everyone was fast asleep – from cooks to knights to courtiers alike.

“Oh, no. No, no, no,” said Merlin as he hopped off the horse. “No!” He looked around for the strategy tent and ran across the site where Leon slept on the ground at the entrance. When he went inside, a fire burned at the center giving off no heat and no smoke.

“Arthur!”

He rushed over to the cot, trying to shake him awake but he was cold and lifeless. “Gaius,” he breathed; if he could get Gwaine into his dream, then there was nothing keeping Merlin out of Arthur’s dream.

“Gaius!”

He ran out of the tent. Percival and Gaius were still on their horses approaching the tent.

“What did you do before for Gwaine, when I was…” He gestured toward the whole camp where everyone was asleep.

He hurried over to help Gaius off the horse, but Gaius shook his head as Merlin helped him down.

“I’d rather not send you back in there,” he said sternly. “We have to find the tether.”

“Gaius, I can’t leave him in there,” said Merlin, desperation spilling over, making him beg. Gwaine was gone already, and he wasn’t going to lose Arthur too – not to Nimueh, when he’d already killed her once. “Taking him out of the dream won’t do it – I have to go in, I have to stop her.”

Gaius frowned, holding a steady gaze which Merlin met all too readily.

“I’ve already seen you lost in there once,” he said, his voice more tender.

Merlin gave a small smile. That meant he’d help him do it. “It’s alright, Gaius, I’ll be fine,” he said, knowing he’d be even more lost without the chance to do something. “While I’m in there, you and Percival can look for the tether.” Percival was still atop his horse, and Merlin was grateful for the privacy he afforded them.

“Another stupid idea, Merlin,” said Gaius, and that was all Merlin needed to hear. He helped Gaius pull his medicine bag from the horse and they hurried inside the tent.

It was a completely different experience, waking up inside the dream this time around. He didn’t have any of that lingering confusion or ambiguity about where he was. He woke up outside of Camelot in the very place he’d been after running from Gwaine’s execution – except this time he didn’t have his token. He rubbed his wrist, trying to ignore the ache of Gwaine’s disappearance when Merlin really needed his help.

He would have to lay low. When Gwaine walked right in the front door, he was arrested and executed very quickly – so if he let someone under Nimueh’s control find him, then he’d be caught. He tried to remember who in the dream had tried to keep him under control – Gaius, Uther, Ygraine. As he approached Camelot from the outskirts, walking along the walls and keeping away from the markets, he realized most of the townspeople or guards were people from the encampment – he wondered with dread if that meant everyone was sharing a dream.

He’d have to be doubly careful.

“Merlin, we’ve been looking everywhere for you,” came Leon’s voice from behind him, smiling brightly as he tapped his shoulder. That was definitely the real Leon, he thought with dread. There was no way Nimueh could replicate the sincerity.

“You have?”

“Of course. Your betrothed calls.”

Merlin’s chest tightened. It hadn’t occurred to him that they’d be in the same dream, even knowing Nimueh’s goal; the implications made his breath catch, and he tried to swallow it down enough to give Leon a believable smile.

“I was a bit… er—I went for a walk.”

“A rather long walk, wasn’t it? Come on, I’ll escort you.”

A quick route to get to Arthur for sure, but the memories of their practiced ritual was making his stomach turn. He had already unwittingly revealed his magic to everyone here.

But maybe, once he got Arthur out of this dream, he could convince him that’s all it was – just a dream.

Buoyed with his newfound plan in mind, he nodded to Leon, who seemingly thought nothing of the time it took him to reach this decision. He brought Merlin straight to the training grounds, where he was in a spar with, of all people, his father. Merlin hung back as he glanced at Uther, saying to Leon, “Do you mind being… discreet about it?” Merlin asked a bit uncertainly. “Still reeling from the news, is all,” he added quickly.

Leon just chuckled. “I think we all are,” he said, slipping into the courtyard to get Arthur’s attention. He glanced over at Merlin, nodded, then excused himself from the practice grounds.

Uther’s voice wafted in through the doorway, “Giving up already?” which Arthur laughed at and shrugged off.

Maybe he’s not my Arthur, he thought, remembering how confusing things had been back when Gwaine was trying to explain the dream to him in the dungeon. He narrowed his eyes, stepping back and out of view as he waited for Arthur to arrive.

Arthur simply patted Merlin’s arm and walked right past him with a quick, “Thank you, Leon,” as Merlin followed. Arthur took them on a roundabout route, following servant corridors and sticking to halls with fewer people. As they walked, Merlin found himself surprised at how accurate the castle was to reality. If he hadn’t been told outright it was a dream, would he have eventually accepted the terms of the engagement? Followed through with Nimueh’s plan? Even Arthur’s chamber door had the same nicks and dents they’d always had – but only the old ones. Arthur held it open for him, and Merlin noticed it had none of the scars from the many break-ins since his first year at Camelot.

“I’m glad it was Leon who found you.”

“Yeah?” Merlin turned to look at him, and it was odd to see Arthur so young again. He scanned him over looking for whatever could be the tether and saw nothing that seemed out of place – at least not while he was in his chainmail. Maybe something underneath? “You probably want to change out of that, don’t you?” said Merlin, stepping in to help him with the pauldron.

“Whoa!” said Arthur, stepping between them with a raised hand. “I know father wants us married – you don’t have to lean into it.”

Merlin blushed. “What? No!” How had he forgotten? He threw his hands up in surrender. “You’re just… sweating.” Right. In this version of the world, Merlin wasn’t Arthur’s manservant. He felt his face heating; he had never thought of the armor removal as anything more than armor removal, but the implications of undressing Arthur – he shuddered openly. “Biggest head in the whole kingdom, I swear.”

Arthur narrowed his eyes, but he let his hand down after a moment, allowing Merlin back in to unbuckle the straps that kept his armor in place.

Arthur shook his head. “I’m sorry,” he said, more subdued. “It’s just… Everyone’s been acting so strange since that guy was here.” Merlin frowned and tugged at the leather straps as Arthur began removing his gloves. Nothing seemed too far off – the armor was the same as the usual fair, and his sword sat in that finely etched sheath accented with leather and gold he was wearing earlier in the dream. Not his usual from the real world.

“Where did you go, anyway?”

“A walk?”

“A walk.”

“Yes. A walk.”

“For two days.”

So, time was progressing at the same pace here. He frowned, thinking how easy it would be for this entire encampment to waste away in their sleep.

“Had to clear my head.”

“A wonder as ever, Merlin.” He tossed his gloves onto the table. Merlin placed the pauldron down beside them, noticing the glimmer of Ygraine’s ring on Arthur’s hand. Ygraine’s ring.

No, there was no possible way it could be that easy, Merlin thought as he watched Arthur run his hands through his hair. No possible way. If Ygraine was alive and well in this world, then why would Arthur have her ring?

“Can I have that?” Merlin asked, pausing awkwardly with his eyes locked on Arthur’s hand.

“What –” He raised his hand to his face “—this?” Then he fisted his hand and took a step back. “No. It’s my mother’s.”

“It has a spot on it,” said Merlin. “I just want to—”

Arthur stood his ground. “Why are you acting so strange? Something is going on without my knowing. Why isn’t anyone telling me?”

“I could just magic it off,” said Merlin impatiently, holding his hand out flat.

“Merlin, I said no.”

His eyes flashed gold and the ring came flying into Merlin’s palm. Instead of inspecting it, he kept his gaze on Arthur, watching for any kind of realization or understanding or shock.

Nothing.

“Merlin!” he exclaimed, throwing his arms around Merlin to wrestle him for the ring back.

XI.

“There’s something you’re not telling me, Gwaine,” said Gwen from atop her horse beside him as they rode out. “What is it?”

“There’s nothin’ I wouldn’t tell you, beautiful.”

Gwen laughed and rolled her eyes, shaking her head. She was a natural Queen, more natural than any other he’d ever seen, but she certainly looked more like herself in the adventure wear she changed into after demanding to join his return to camp. “Anyone ever tell you how beautiful you look in those?” He pointed to her breeches.

“I can tell you’re hurting, is all.”

His hand went to his necklace on instinct. Which was it? Merlin’s coldness toward him, or having to grieve the loss of his father for a second time?

“Very apt, your highness,” he said playfully – or as playfully as he could – and wondered, does Gwen know about Merlin’s…? “You know, Merlin has been doing a great deal for Arthur since we left Camelot.”

“I’m sure he has.”

“I believe Merlin has also done a great deal for Arthur in Camelot…”

“You don’t need to tell me that, Gwaine…” said Gwen a little skeptically. “Where is this going?”

A world where Merlin has to live in fear, where his best and closest friends don’t even know him… Even knowing it wasn’t his secret to tell, Gwaine couldn’t hold himself back, especially knowing that doing something now could protect Merlin later. There was no way Gwen wouldn’t be on Merlin’s side. He pulled on his reins to slow his horse to a stop, and Gwen followed the cue.

“What is it, Gwaine?” she said, her brows furrowed and eyes soft.

“Merlin has magic.”

Her horse took a small step, making her sway as she searched Gwaine for any irony, nodding with acknowledgement when she found none.

“I see,” she said quietly.

“Did you already know?”

“I had my suspicions.”

“I don’t want him to live in fear anymore.”

“I don’t imagine you would,” said Gwen fondly. She gestured her ahead toward the trail; she was as eager to get to Arthur as Gwaine was to get to Merlin.

It took a few days to find the camp, but once they were on its trail, it was easy. Gwen rode ahead of Gwaine, who guided his horse to the others beside the camp where he could take his time tying her up.

It was odd to think this wasn’t the first or even second time the people of Camelot were magically cursed into slumber, but it was still unnerving to walk through the silent encampment with people sleeping at tables, by fires that had burnt out, or just straight in the dirt.

Gwen was already inside Arthur’s tent getting the story from Gaius when Gwaine entered. He looked at their king in a cozy bed covered in furs while he slept – compared to Merlin, who had been cold as ice and near to death in the open rain whilst enchanted. Even now, again under the enchantment, Merlin laid only on a thin blanket beside Arthur’s cot, with nothing but his flimsy jacket laid out over his chest for warmth.

Thinking back on all the times when Merlin had been cagey and aloof because he had to keep his abilities to himself when anyone wanted to know what was going on, Gwaine hated seeing this more than ever.

“I want in,” he said. Gwen and Gaius both looked at him with the same measured expression and he approached them, kneeling beside Merlin and resting a hand on his forehead. Not cold. That was good. “Send me back in, Gaius.”

Gaius gave no answer save for a thoughtful, tired sigh.

“Is it safe for them?” Gwen asked, turning back to Gaius with the authority she had settled into as queen.

Gaius shook his head. “I don’t believe it is,” he said.

“Don’t care,” said Gwaine. “Got nothing left if he doesn’t come out of this.”

Gwen put a hand on Gwaine’s shoulder. She was looking down at him with what looked like approval. He was glad to have told her. “Merlin will pull through,” she said, which was not what Gwaine expected to hear. “If what you’ve told me is true, then you have to trust him.”

Gwaine rose to his feet and pushed her hand away. “Gaius?” He stepped close to the old man who held his gaze. “You want him alone in there? With no backup?”

“I’m sorry, Gwaine. After what happened last time, sending you back in there could put him in jeopardy.”

Shaking his head, Gwaine stormed out of the tent, past Percival who was only just entering.

He let out a yell of frustration when he was followed, throwing a swing at Percival to try and relieve the tension growing in every inch of his body. He needed a fight, or a drink – or both.

Percival caught his fist.

“Whoa there, little man,” he said, shoving Gwaine a few steps back. When Gwaine took another swing, however, Percival blocked it with his shoulder and this time pushed Gwaine with a hand on his face.

“Hit me again,” Percival said.

Gwaine shouted louder this time, grabbing Percival’s wrist to pry the hand away and shove it back toward him. He didn’t swing again. Instead, he stormed off toward the food supply, scrounging for ale.

“Mind telling me what that was?” Percival asked, still following. 

“No matter what I do, it’s the wrong thing.” He grabbed a wineskin from another knight’s hip and popped it open, taking a nice, hearty swill. “Give him a gift, it’s cursed. Follow him into the dream, get arrested.” He took another swill. “You know why I went back to Camelot? Merlin wouldn’t even look at me. And besides that, I thought Gwen might have been tricked like me to give Arthur some kind of stupid trinket and – guess what – she’s smarter than that!” He passed the wine to Percival who took it and drank as he listened.  “Waste of time. And now Merlin’s in there without me.” It was high time Camelot kicked him to the curb. Maybe he could find a tavern in this neck of the woods and camp out there until he got kicked out from there too. He could probably pawn his cape for more than a pretty penny.

“Wow.” Percy gave him a pitying look as he held the wine out. Gwaine grimaced, thinking to himself that this was what he was reduced to. “So you swung at me because you have a death wish.” He punched Gwaine’s arm, and Gwaine couldn’t help but return it with a weak smile.

“Yeah, yeah…”

“Merlin showed me his magic,” he said. They seated themselves beside one of fire pits that had long since extinguished, Percival patting Elyan’s shoulder who was hunched over asleep on the table.

“Yeah?” Great. The wine was empty. He pointed at Elyan’s wineskin, which Percival began to unbuckle dutifully.

Elyan smacked his hand away.

Gwaine and Percival both stopped, looking between each other and their sleeping friend.

“Do it again,” said Gwaine.

He did, and Elyan groaned this time, shoving Percival’s hand away with even more force. Grinning, Percival persisted, and Elyan picked his head up this time, saying in a low, throaty, tired voice,

“Get your own.”

“Gaius!”

XII. 

Merlin didn’t tell Arthur about the dream.

It wasn’t easy to keep him in the dark, but the reality of being able to use magic openly in front of him was frustratingly alluring. It wasn’t a reality he was quite ready to give up. So instead, he left Arthur in the dark, asked him not to let anyone know he was around, and continued to spend his time looming in the shadows trying to find some kind of tether.

Not an easy task.

In the Camelot he was used to, he was just a servant. Any corridor or room, and he was virtually invisible. The status of Court Sorcerer, however – someone who performed ritualistic magical displays at court, who held a station beside the King and was engaged to the Crown Prince – it made him very, very visible.

He was starting to know why Arthur was so crabby in private all the time.

Unfortunately, it meant that every now and then someone would find him. And he would have to politely ask them not to tell anyone that they saw him. Most complied readily, like Leon, but others needed a bit of persuasion.

It was Elyan this time. He wasn’t a knight in this world, and it didn’t seem like he wasn’t Gwen’s brother – except that Gwen wasn’t here.

It was interesting to Merlin that he hadn’t even known Elyan at this time in his life, his first year or so in Camelot – and yet in this reality, he was present and also friendly with Merlin, despite not having his status or their mutual acquaintance. 

“So, that said, if you could just… not tell anyone,” Merlin said after going off on an elaborate story about why exactly he was hiding behind the tapestry in the foyer.

Elyan seemed fondly amused by the tale, but as far as Merlin could tell, he had no connection to any of the nobles.

“Not even Gaius,” he went on to say.

He had seen Gaius walking around; he was a lot less patient in this reality. He always walked the halls like a hawk in an updraft circling for prey. Staying out of his sight was like hiding from a heavy patrol, and the feeling made Merlin so angry.

“I think he already knows,” said Elyan, gesturing behind him. Merlin froze, then glanced back to see Gaius approaching them from a distance.

Not good.

He turned back to Elyan – but when he began to speak, Elyan’s eyes rolled back in his head. He fell to his knees, unconscious, and Merlin rushed to catch him before he fell.

“What did you do to him?” Merlin demanded, rounding on this man who was not Gaius.

“There you are, Merlin.” As if nothing had just happened. Elyan’s body went limp in his arms. Merlin lowered him slowly to the ground.

As he did so, Elyan’s body began to disappear.

“What’s happening?!” Merlin asked again, rising to his feet once Elyan had disappeared completely.

“Everyone’s been looking for you, Merlin.”

Merlin was positively bristling. “How dare you wear his face,” he said, taking a step toward Gaius, watching as his eyes brightened into that same striking blue he already knew well.

“You’ve grown wiser, Merlin,” said Gaius, his lips twisting into a smirk reminiscent of Nimueh’s.

“And you’ve grown deranged.” Gaius’s face faded into Nimueh’s as her laugh rang in his ears. He thought of Lancelot returning from the dead, and how he hadn’t been himself. Nimueh already meant them harm when she was still alive.

“Tasted the freedom of using your magic for the king and couldn’t stay away, could you?” she asked, reaching out to touch his chest – but he put up a hand between them keeping her just out of reach.

“Arthur is smarter than you give him credit,” Merlin said, narrowing his eyes.

“Is he?” She reached out as if to cast a spell, so Merlin reached out on instinct, hitting her with a blast of magic that sent her flying. She cried out in pain.

It was at that moment that Arthur came into the foyer, followed closely by Uther demanding to know, “What’s all this commotion?”

Merlin stood with his hands outstretched as Nimueh pulled herself up off the ground, running to Uther with a whimper. “I’m so scared, he just came at me like that!”

Both Uther’s and Arthur’s eyes were on him.

“She’s lying!” he said, but he’d been caught red-handed and golden-eyed.

“Defend me, Arthur!” she cried out, touching his bicep. “I’m so scared.”

“Don’t listen to her—” He fell silent when Arthur drew his sword, looking at Merlin with hard, icy blue eyes. This was it. She’d taken hold.

“Arthur,” he pleaded. “Arthur, please, this isn’t real. It’s a dream, it’s all—” He couldn’t bring himself to use his magic to stop him, so when Arthur charged straight toward him, Excalibur sank right into his gut.

He grabbed his shoulders, looking him right in the eyes as something was stirring in him like what stirred in Merlin when he watched Gwaine die.

Then it hit him.

“The scabbard,” he whispered.

And he was waking up, thrashing into Gaius’s arms, coughing and holding his stomach where the sword had struck him.

“I have to go back in,” he said urgently. “She has him under control – Gaius, what if –”

He was interrupted by coughing behind him, and all three pairs of eyes rounded on Arthur who was beginning to rouse from his sleep. Facing Arthur in the dream was one thing, but facing him now, in reality, with a full awareness of what was happening, Merlin didn’t think he could stomach it.

He let Gwen rush to Arthur’s side, and instead, Merlin pushed himself away, still sitting on the ground.

“Arthur,” said Gwen, clutching his hands.

The first thing he said, however, was not her name, but,

“Merlin.”

He lifted his head to look right at him. Merlin clenched his jaw and held the gaze, trying to make himself ready for whatever was coming next.

“You have magic,” he said.

He heaved a breath through his nose and looked down, but not wanting to appear like a coward, he returned the gaze once more. “I was born with it.”

Arthur nodded and let his head fall back on the pillow. He remembered the fatigue from his own awakening, so once it became clear Arthur wasn’t going to confront the betrayal yet, he left the tent.

There was a huge number of people milling about, teetering and holding each other up, chatting with each other about this and that. As he emerged from the tent, he heard someone whisper “sorcerer” and, looking around to see where it came from, he realized that slowly, everyone’s eyes had fallen on him and the chatter had stopped.

It seemed like there was no pretending that a dream was just a dream.

He didn’t plan to leave, that was never on his mind, but he couldn’t be here for this. He left the encampment, close enough that he could be recalled should the king wish to make him confront his crimes, but far enough that no one could see him without some effort.

This was it, then. No more Gwaine, no more Arthur. No more Gaius, then, too, if he was banished the way Gwen had been. At least his mother would be happy. He picked a seat beneath a tree that had a nice, plush patch of moss underneath, and he tried to imagine having to find comfortable places to sit within his holding cell in Camelot.

He plucked a twig from the fallen foliage and began breaking off tiny pieces, trying to ignore the footsteps and snapping branches underfoot making their way in his direction. He kept his eyes on his project, breaking off every small piece from the main shaft of the twig.

“Alright there, Merlin?”

He chewed the inside of his cheek at the sound of Gwaine’s voice, breaking the stick in half and throwing it on the ground.

“Not sure you care.”

He scowled up at him, folding his arms around his knees, then looked away.

“That’s not fair,” he said, crouching in front of Merlin with his hands on his thighs. “Hey. Merlin.”  He looked to Gwaine, whose dark brown eyes were trained on him with nothing but the same softness as ever.

“Why did you leave?” Merlin asked, clenching his jaw to try and keep his eyes from watering. “I thought you hated me.”

“What? No.” He took a moment to sidle up next to Merlin under the tree, close enough that their shoulders touched. “I thought… you were angry with me,” he admitted.

Merlin rubbed under his eyes with the back of his thumb. “Well I am now,” he said, leaning into Gwaine’s shoulder. 

“This is all my fault,” said Gwaine. “I gave you that bracelet.”

“No,” said Merlin, shaking his head. “She would have found another way.”

“And you just live like that, do you?” said Gwaine, sliding an arm behind Merlin to pull him closer. Merlin rested his head on Gwaine’s shoulder. “The target of a sorceresses with a vengeance against Camelot.” He laughed through his nose. “It’s a bit poetic, isn’t it?”

Merlin didn’t answer. He was still thinking about Arthur back in the tent, too tired to yell – and the whole company knowing his secret.

“When you showed up,” he started, thinking back on how it felt to be manipulated in the first part of the dream, “I had practiced – been practicing – a display of strength and… magic,” he paused deliberately, but Gwaine continued listening without pulling away, “to show in front of the entire court.” He glanced back at the campsite. They all saw it. “It felt good, Gwaine. That was what sold me on that whole world. Using it openly at Arthur’s side like that?” He picked his twig back up to busy his hands again.

“When I was in that cell, and I was trying to get you to… I don’t know what, remember, maybe.” Gwaine started rubbing Merlin’s arm. “You asked if I wanted you to come back to a world where you have to live in fear.”

“That wasn’t me,” Merlin said as he folded it in half. He was getting antsy.

“I don’t want that, Merlin.”

Merlin rose to his feet. He didn’t deserve this, didn’t deserve Gwaine’s patience – and he didn’t want his pity. “I better go back. I’m sure they’ll be wanting to arrest me soon enough.” So he dusted off his trousers and walked away, leaving Gwaine by himself underneath the tree.

XIII. 

Soon enough didn’t come. Gwaine went back to the camp to find business happening as normal. Arthur didn’t leave his tent for the rest of the day, and there was no order to have the sorcerer arrested. There was no order at all – there was only Gwen reassuring the people that Arthur was healing, and he would address them all very soon.

The reception of the news of Merlin’s magic was certainly mixed. No one seemed to understand they’d been under a spell by a powerful sorceress that wanted all of them to burn, but many of them understood well enough that magic, bad, and now also Merlin, magic.

“You should be thanking him,” he said to one of the newer knights who he overheard speculating as to what Merlin’s motives may have been for ensorcelling the King. “He saved all our hides.”

“Gwaine.” Leon’s voice. Gwaine groaned and rolled his head back. “Don’t let the boys rile you up.”

“How can you say nothing?” he demanded. Admittedly, Gwaine hadn’t even tried to keep quiet, but he didn’t want to. Merlin had come back to camp and been denied entry to the king, and he’d been sulking off in the woods ever since. “If Arthur’s gonna sit in there with his head up his ass, then someone has to say something.”

“Gwaine,” said Leon again, this time his disapproval more sincere. Gwaine threw his hands up in defeat and walked past him, but Leon stopped him with a hand on his shoulder. “I’m worried about Merlin, too,” he said quietly. “But it won’t help anyone to pick fights.”

“At least I’ll say what I’m thinking, unlike the Princess in there.”

“Gwaine!”

The voice came from behind him that time in the direction of Arthur’s tent. He stood in the awning with his arms crossed over his chest, frowning deeply. Gwaine hoped he’d heard every syllable.

“I’d like a word.”

“Oh, I’ve got plenty for you,” he said, accepting the invitation without a moment’s hesitation.

“Inside.”

The tent was warmer this time, and the fire inside was flickering with smoke and sparks. He wanted to kick it or throw something at it and burn the whole tent down.

Arthur didn’t say anything at first. He only went over to his lunch which went mostly untouched. Everyone was saying their appetites were fairly small unanimously, but Arthur was still given more and better food than everyone else.

“Well?” said Arthur, bringing Gwaine’s attention away from the contents of his table. He looked up at Arthur who was still pale. “You said you had words.”

“If you weren’t king, I’d take a swing at you,” Gwaine said bitterly. He picked an untouched apple off the plate and sank his teeth into it. “Do you even know what Merlin’s going through right now?”

“I don’t,” said Arthur.

Gwaine frowned. Me either, he wanted to say, because Merlin wouldn’t let him anywhere near without getting up and walking away. It seemed like the longer Arthur refused to talk to him, the longer it went on and the moodier Merlin got.

“He’s waiting for the axe, your highness.” He picked up a piece of chicken on the plate that Arthur had already taken a bite from. He took a huge chunk out of it anyway. As long as Arthur wasn’t saying anything, he had not a single intention of stopping – not until Arthur was blue in the face, or every single one of his feathers was ruffled.

Arthur sighed, and he gestured for Gwaine to take a seat. He continued standing.

“I don’t know what to say to him,” Arthur admitted.

“Not good enough,” said Gwaine, apple in one hand and chicken in the other. “Don’t care.”

“He’s a sorcerer, Gwaine – I can’t just—Just because my servant…”

“Oh. Sorry.” Gwaine dropped his half-eaten food back on the plate and started walking for the door. “Thought I was talking to a King. Guess it’s just a coward’s tent in here.”

“Gwaine, wait!” Arthur called out. “Come here. I wanted to—"

Gwaine didn’t want to hear it. He didn’t want to hear about whatever betrayal Arthur was wussying out on. It was nothing compared to the betrayal Merlin felt every time an innocent sorcerer came under fire, every time Arthur enforced his father’s stupid laws. Uther was perfectly confident enough to just change the laws because of one person in such a way that killed hundreds of sorcerers and witches – so if Arthur couldn’t just make reform for Merlin, then Gwaine just didn’t want to know anything about it.

He wanted to talk to Merlin so badly, but Merlin wouldn’t let him near. So instead he settled for finding Merlin’s hiding spots and keeping an eye on him from afar. The people may have been unsure of him, but whether it was out of fear or respect, no one dared go near.

So he set out looking for wherever Merlin was now. He went north of the encampment this time, walking a little ways away from the beaten path towards the brook, following the sound of the water.

He wasn’t the only one looking for Merlin, it seemed. A ways ahead, he saw Gwen walking through the trees with a determined look on her face. Gwaine hung back far enough to follow without approaching. She, too, was headed toward the brook – which was indeed where they found him sitting out in the middle of the water atop a nice, broad boulder with his feet in the water and his boots beside him. As good as any other place to sulk, Gwaine thought fondly.

“Merlin?” she called out.

Merlin looked over his shoulder at her, then back out at the water.

Gwaine couldn’t hear much more from this far away, and he felt uncomfortable spying on them – but he also didn’t want to look away.

She said something that made Merlin grab his boots and come closer to the shore. He dropped his boots on the bank, and she took both her hands in his before pulling him into an embrace.

They deserved privacy, Gwaine thought. He turned to head back towards the encampment, glad to have seen the moment for support but sad to have missed out on it himself.

If only Gwaine could give him another token – something that would tell him he wanted to stick around.

Gaius spotted him first on his return. “How is he?” he asked, and Gwaine shrugged, shaking his head.

“Still haven’t talked to him.” Gaius hadn’t had enough time to go talk to Merlin himself, which Gwaine both hated but also understood. “Gwen’s out there, though. Talking to him.”

Gaius nodded. That seemed to appease him. “The King wishes to see you,” he said. “It seems you riled him up.”

“Good,” said Gwaine, walking in the opposite direction of his tent.

“It was the food,” said Gaius, stopping Gwaine. “That put everyone under the spell.”

“So?” said Gwaine. This wasn’t the kind of thing Gaius usually told him. That sort of talk was for Merlin or Arthur or someone else who mattered.

“It seems the hide of the sleeping tapir was included in the stew. If you would please relay that information to Arthur…”

“Why can’t you tell him?” Gwaine snapped defensively, and then, realizing he was raising his voice at, of all people, Gaius, he shook his head and ran a hand through his hair. “Sorry, Gaius, yes, of course.” He pursed his lips, eyeing Arthur’s tent with resignation.

He made his way over with a deep frown. He couldn’t remember the last time he felt so miserable as this. He entered the tent and Leon was inside, looking over the area map at his table with Arthur. The two of them exchanged a glance when Gwaine entered, some kind of silent conversation Gwaine wasn’t privy to, and then Leon nodded and walked out, patting Gwaine’s shoulder as he walked past.

“Nimueh took the shape of your father, too,” Arthur said, gesturing across the table for Gwaine to take a seat. Gwaine, instead, crossed the tent and took a seat right on Arthur’s cot, leaning back on the heels of his palms.

“Aye.”

Arthur crossed his arms and walked over slowly. “It seems… we both had to face that.”

So Arthur wanted to… what, pour his feelings out? “Since when are you so soft?” Gwaine asked. “If you want to talk about feelings, let’s talk about Merlin’s.”

“I’m not going to execute him, Gwaine.”

“Then talk to him. Gwen went. I went. Gaius doesn’t have the time, between finding the source of the enchantment and trying to convince everyone to eat their damn food – that just leaves you.”

Arthur said nothing. He began fussing with the ring on his forefinger with his thumb, and Gwaine got back up again. “Gods, Arthur. You’re not even good to be mad at. You’re just gonna stand there and let me yell at you, aren’t you?”

“Gaius found the source, then?”

“Aye. In the meat, I guess.”

Arthur nodded. “So that’s why it wore off,” he said, thinking. “On everyone else.”

“Heard you ran her through,” said Gwaine. “One of the knights saw it.”

“She...” Arthur’s whole body tensed. “She made me run him through. In the dream.”

“Your father?”

Arthur shook his head. “Merlin.”

“What?” Gwaine’s voice fell to a whisper. No one had told him that part.

“She convinced me he was the threat. I ran him through with my sword and watched him fall to the ground. Because of me. Gwaine, his blood was on my hands, my whole body, I…”

That was why he couldn’t face Merlin. It wasn’t the magic. He laughed, honestly more than a little relieved. If this sorceress had possessed Gwaine in such a way that he was forced to watch himself kill Merlin… he wasn’t sure he’d be able to face him either. “I was so mad, I threw my sheath. That was it, the… the tether, Gaius called it? And it all came back to me.”

“So you ran her through.”

Arthur clenched his jaw. “Will you tell Merlin?” he asked. Gwaine sighed and shook his head.

“Can’t tell him anything. He won’t talk to me.”

“Just tell him I’m not… well, I am mad, but I’m not… As a friend. I’m only mad as a friend. Not as…” He gestured around the tent. “Not as his king.”

“That’s not better, Princess.”

“I just need time.”

“And he needs reassurance.”

“Say whatever you need. I just…”

“Got it.”

Gwaine punched Arthur’s arm, hard.

“Ow!”

“If you’re allowed to be mad, then so am I.”

Gwaine headed back toward the brook. Merlin was out on that boulder in the middle of the stream again, his weight back on his hands and his head leaning back as his skin soaked in the hot sun. There was no Gwen in sight. This was a perfect setup, he thought.

He got to the shore and began peeling his boots off. Merlin did the same he did for Gwen – a quick glance over, and then set his eyes back out on the water. He sat up, but he wasn’t running off, so Gwaine waded on out and climbed onto the rock to take a seat beside him.

“Nice spot.” Merlin said nothing. “How you holding on?” he asked after letting the silence get to him; he wasn’t good at quiet.

“Barely.” At least he wasn’t shying away. This was progress.

“Good. Barely means you’re still holding.” He patted Merlin’s back, and Merlin didn’t smile. “Keep holding on. There’s still hope,” he said. “And I’ll still be here no matter what.”

“I can always go back to Ealdor,” said Merlin, and he seemed almost child-like in his resignation. There was an innocence about it that made Gwaine’s chest ache.

“I can come with you there.” He reached over and took Merlin’s hand. Merlin gave a small nod though he was still frowning, and they looked out at the water in silence. Just a little silence, that was all he had to get through. And if Merlin wasn’t pushing him away, and he was considering whether or not Gwaine could come with him, then that meant they still had a future. They had a present now, here in this brook. This present wasn’t bad either, not with this scenery.

The water was clear enough that the trees and mountains could be seen as clear as glass reflecting on the surface. Further out, they could even see fish trying to nip at the dragonflies as they hovered just near the surface. Bumblebees buzzed in an out of the flowers on purple stalks behind the reeds and lily pads, and some kind of fat big zipped past them too quick to tell what it was.

There was so much life and warmth, even in all the calm.

“Arthur isn’t going to banish you,” he said after the silence began to feel companionable. “Or execute you,” he added with a laugh as the implication bubbled from Merlin’s silence. “He already watched you die at his hands. He’s shaken, he was…” Why was anyone counting on him for this kind of thing? He huffed, and Merlin rested his head on Gwaine’s shoulder. “I’m sorry I left.”

“I’m sorry I never told you,” said Merlin. “There were times I wanted to.”

“A lot of things make sense now,” said Gwaine almost proudly. “Perce said you let him see your magic. I’m a bit jealous.” He felt Merlin’s cheek fill against his shoulder; that felt like a smile. “You know, I think I’m the only one who still hasn’t actually seen it.”

“Alright.” He sat up, looking out at the water. “Name an animal.”

“A fish.”

“Bit on the nose, but,” Merlin said, but he put his hand out over the water and whispered a word that sounded foreign. Water began to rise from the brook, spiraling in long, twisting strands until it took form. There were fish before them with flowing fins that looked more like butterflies, rippling and floating above the water. He turned his palm upward and the fish to swim around them and encircling them. One brushed Gwaine as it passed, leaving water on his leather jacket.

“Amazing,” said Gwaine, grinning from ear to ear when it faded back into the brook. Merlin looked over him, smiling a real smile for the first time since he’d left to go find firewood. It was hard to believe it hadn’t even been a fortnight with how much had happened.

Unable to stop himself with so much relief and happiness bubbling up in his chest, he reached up and touched the side of Merlin’s face. His eyes went to Gwaine’s, and Gwaine closed the distance between them, kissing Merlin for the first time.

Merlin closed his eyes and leaned into it, his warm breath washing over Gwaine like a warm blanket. They were like that a moment, Gwaine stroking Merlin’s cheek before Merlin pulled away from the kiss just enough to look down. Gwaine kept him close, kissing his forehead when his face lowered, leaving his lips pressed against his skin there. Gwaine, too, closed his eyes, soaking in the feeling of being alive.

“We don’t have to go to Ealdor,” Merlin said quietly. “You’d be bored there. We can go somewhere else…”

“We both know you can’t leave his side,” said Gwaine, chuckling. He pulled back to look at Merlin whose eyes were still searching. “Give him time. He’ll come ‘round.” He was one of the good ones, after all.

Gwaine walked ahead of Merlin as they re-entered the encampment, partly shielding him from prying eyes. He had somehow managed to convince Merlin to return to the camp again, even if Arthur wasn’t ready to see him. He could only try to imagine how it felt right now, to be so exposed having been an invisible part of many of these people’s lives for so long.

But it wasn’t as bad as either of them feared. People kept apart from them, but no one jeered or shouted or threw anything the way they half expected.

“Merlin.” Leon was walking past Gwaine, and before either of them could say anything, he was pulling him into a friendly hug. Merlin looked to Gwaine who gave a sarcastic shrug in support. It was warming him to see anyone else caring.

Elyan walked up, too – then Percival. They were surrounding Merlin, patting his arm, ruffling his hair. Gwaine watched as he laughed and looked between them, near to tears.

“You’re just going to ignore the fact that he’s a sorcerer?” It was the young recruit from earlier. “He’s the one who trapped us all in there! No one else sees that?”

Gwaine opened his mouth to argue, but it was someone else who barked back.

“It was the sorceress Nimueh.”

Arthur was coming out of his tent’s opening, Gwen standing behind him as he spoke. The camp went silent. “Both Merlin and I were caught under her fire. I didn’t think anyone would have any questions about that.”

“Your Highness, I’m just saying, it’s not like—”

“It’s alright,” Arthur crossed his arms and moved into the crowd; the courtiers, younger recruits, servants… The people who stood back and watched parted as he spoke. “Many of you are not yet aware that even knowing his magic had been revealed to me, he still returned to help us. Because he considered your safety above his.”

Gwaine knew it was Arthur’s safety who had come out above everyone else’s, but he held his tongue, eager to hear whatever else Arthur had to say.

“I intend to change the laws on magic on our return. We have now all had a taste of a world where magic can be used openly. I speak from a place free of enchantment when I say that that world seemed bigger with possibility.” He beckoned for his advisors, Leon, Gaius, and Merlin. “Let’s have a conversation to see how to make that happen.”

Merlin looked to Gwaine, who rubbed Merlin’s back encouragingly. Leon beamed at Merlin, and Gwaine watched their backs as they disappeared inside of Arthur’s tent.

“My family won’t stand for that,” said the new recruit, much more quietly than his previous squawking.

Gwaine rolled his eyes. “Oh, shut up.”

XIV. 

The next few days blurred together. It started out with Gaius explaining everything he learned about the source of the attack – how Nimueh was not returned but was only able to access their world through dreams. He speculated perhaps the life she was trying to create would have been her gateway to return, but there was no way to know for sure. And he emphasized to Arthur that Excalibur, which was forged from magic, was the only sword that would have been able to kill her.

“A sword which I would not possess without the guidance of Merlin,” he had said, laying it out on the table for the council to inspect.

“That is correct,” said Gaius.

Merlin spent most of the rest of their time explaining how magic actually worked – since most of the knowledge they had was either from fear or had been relayed through old, dated tales told from person to person. They all listened, while Leon most of all engaged by asking questions or encouraging him to divulge. Gaius would occasionally help fill in the gaps where Merlin struggled or expand on parts that Merlin failed to explain well.

Every now and then, Arthur would present questions that seemingly came from nowhere (what might cause an orb of light to guide someone through a dark cave?) which Merlin tried to answer with care (a sorcerer somewhere was probably worried for their life) without derailing the discussion.

He had no time alone with Arthur, however, and he desperately wanted to apologize.

Gwaine was so happy for him when he came out of the tent that first time, but the rest of Camelot’s people still seemed tense. Merlin tried to busy himself with his usual duties on that last night by tending to the horses, cleaning up dishes, and fussing with the fires – using magic for none of it. But the other servants quickly made it clear that his help was not wanted.

The next day they set out to return to Camelot. Arthur sent an envoy out ahead to see if there ever was such a Kingdom of Slapan as it seemed everyone’s memory of such a thing was gone from all of their minds.

Gwaine wouldn’t leave his side. And it seemed the rest of the knights had the same loyalty, wanting to stick close by lest someone try to come for him.

No one did try to come for him. It was endearing, and he appreciated their loyalty, but the attention was too much. He found that the more they fussed over him, the more he wanted to shrink to the back of the line.

The return to Camelot took almost a week, and each night found him with Arthur’s advisors in his tent continuing to divulge all of the magical threats he ever knew of in regard to Camelot, and how they were thwarted. Some of these stories were less flattering than others, especially when he had to explain his shortcomings as an assassin, but the more they learned, the more they seemed to trust his knowledge – and the quieter Arthur became, if that was possible.

Each time Merlin left that tent, Gwaine was waiting for him by the campfire. They would sit together and joke, and each day they drew closer to Camelot, Merlin would laugh louder but dread harder. More of the people would sit with them each night, sometimes asking Merlin questions about things they’d heard of or wanting to hear stories of things he’d done, and Merlin was so light with relief despite the growing heavy pit in his stomach that he engaged. Soon, however, they would reach Camelot and then everything would become real again.

He still expected Arthur to have him arrested at the end.

Everyone but Merlin was unanimously determined to make it back to Camelot as soon as possible.

Arthur sent a messenger ahead letting the remaining council know of their impending arrival, so a full royal greeting was ready as they rode their horses into the city streets. There were banners waving, drums blaring, and people cheering. It seemed no one knew about Merlin yet, which he appreciated very much as he slipped to the back of the party.

There were a few more council meetings to which Merlin was invited, this time filling in the rest of the council that hadn’t made the journey with information they’d already uncovered.

Then, on the third day, Arthur dismissed them.

“Thank you, everyone,” he said. “I need some time to think all of this over.” Good. A few days off, maybe, Merlin hoped. The dread of these meetings was starting to wear him down, and he wanted to hurry back to Gwaine. Maybe take a walk, go fishing… George had taken over his duties and Arthur made it clear Merlin wasn’t wanted in that capacity any longer. “Merlin, if you could stay back, I have something I’d like to talk to you about…”

“Sire?” Merlin frowned pensively. Arthur hadn’t allowed them to be alone together since everything had happened. He did not approach.

The look on Arthur’s face was strained. He shuffled a few papers around before rising from his seat at the round table, finally looking to Merlin once the door slammed shut.

“Come here,” he said.

“… do I have to?”

“For goodness sake, Merlin, I’m not going to bite you.”

“But you might run me through…” Merlin said cautiously as he approached, reaching for a document that Arthur was holding out to him. Arthur didn’t acknowledge his jab.

“I’ve been working with Gaius and Geoffrey in private to come up with this…”

“What is it?”

“A position.”

Merlin looked over the document, his eyes stopping as he realized it was defining the role of court sorcerer. “Arthur, I…”

“It’s yours. If you want it.”

“I can’t.”

“You did it in the dream. For my father.” Merlin searched his face for any sense of irony. “What you and I did, that… the display, whatever it was.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “Let’s be real, Merlin, you’re a lousy manservant.” They both laughed. “This way, at least, you can hold a job you’re, you know, good at…”

“Can I think about it?” he asked.

“Take your time.” Then, “Not… too much time. I was hoping to announce it tomorrow.”

“Do I get land?” he asked, raising his eyes to Arthur’s. “Like the nobles do. When they get titles.”

“You’re pushing it, Merlin.”

“A household for me and Gaius,” he went on. “And maybe Gwaine.” Arthur raised a brow at that. “You know. Your other knight who saved the day. That’s three of four heroes of Camelot, a pretty small reward, I think.”

“You’re really pushing, Merlin.”

“Fine, fine.” He took the document. “And, Arthur…”

“What, more?” he asked impatiently with his hands on his hips. “Do you have a list?”

“No, I’m… I’m sorry.”

“Enough of that.” He gestured Merlin toward the door. “Look it over. I’ll await your answer.”

Gwaine was pacing outside the hall when Merlin came out. Upon hearing the door, he looked up and, with a solemn look, Merlin shook his head. Gwaine’s face paled and he rushed to Merlin who, unable to contain himself, laughed.

“Your face!”

“Merlin, gods!” said Gwaine with a toothy grin, grabbing him by the shoulders. “You can’t do that to me!”

“Look.” He held the document out for Gwaine to read. Then he yanked it from his hands, laughing.

“Are you serious?”

The door opened behind them and Arthur stepped out, stopping just past the threshold. “What did I tell you about privacy, Merlin?” he said, smacking him on the back of the head. Merlin raised his shoulders in defense, but that had been the first time Arthur treated him normally since they got back. He grinned. “It’s a wonder you ever kept any secrets.”

They scurried off together like young boys running from trouble. Gwaine took his hand and led them up one of the watch towers.

“Remember this place?” he asked, taking Merlin’s hand.

Merlin took everything in, smiling at the memory of Gwaine stumbling over his words. “This was where you gave me the bracelet,” he said, looking down at the courtyard where everyone was busy with no time to look up.

“Well.” Merlin turned to look at Gwaine, who was digging around in his pockets making Merlin raise his brow. “We can both agree, that didn’t turn out so well, so…”

“What’s this?” he asked as he reached out to take the small embroidered silk bag that Gwaine pulled out of his pocket.

“Open it.”

Merlin clutched it to his chest, eyeing Gwaine as something pulled at his heart and mind.

“I already had Gaius check it, it’s safe,” he said, sensing Merlin’s reluctance.

“It’s not that, it’s… You don’t need to give me things, Gwaine.” He looked down at the fine bag, happy to receive the gift but he still wanted to make sure Gwaine knew, “I’m yours.”

“You’re all I’ve got,” Gwaine said, and Merlin didn’t quite think that was true. Gwaine had Percival, and Gaius cared as much about him as anyone else. But at the same time, he understood what Gwaine meant – even when he was surrounded, Merlin, too, still often felt lonely. “Anyway, this is just a little… I’m sorry. For the last time.”

Merlin pursed his lips thinking that he didn’t need an apology, but he untied the drawstring from the pouch and revealed a woven silver band with an amber stone set in the center.

“It’s the color of your eyes,” he said. “They flash gold when you use your magic.” He took Merlin’s hand and slid the ring onto the middle finger of his right hand. “It’s so you can see what I see when I look at you.”

Merlin smiled brightly, holding his hand out to examine it. He could never have imagined his magic being celebrated like this, not even Nimueh could make something like this up in her dreams. He threw his arms around Gwaine and kissed him. He would wear it to the announcement tomorrow.

XV.

Gwaine whooped and cheered so loudly when Arthur announced Merlin’s new post that he wore his throat down to the grit. His cheeks hurt from smiling and his hands hurt from clapping, but that was his sorcerer out there – the most important person who would ever be in his life. He couldn’t have been prouder the moment Arthur called him “Court Sorcerer” in front of the entire kingdom – and it seemed like most of Camelot agreed.

Word had spread fast about the company’s shared dream, and by all accounts Merlin was as vital to saving the day as Arthur. Apart from a small handful of naysayers, the kingdom was ready to let go of Uther’s outdated laws and embrace Merlin as the true Court Sorcerer – especially since Gwaine had been sharing tales about Merlin’s exploits and his bigger feats.

He made sure to tell all the right drunks at all the right taverns, and it seemed like now everyone in Camelot knew for a fact that Merlin was indisputably fireproof. (Accuracy of the information was not his biggest concern.)

Everyone everywhere was celebrating in the streets.

Gwaine lost count of how many drinks he’d had, and, with sore cheeks, throat, and hands, the ceremony was finally over. He hurried out of his position in the knights’ lineup and over to the doorway he knew Merlin would be coming through, and he threw his arms around him the second he was in his sight. “You guys didn’t do your little dance!” he teased, pulling away to grab him by the biceps. Merlin, too, was grinning from ear to ear and he looked so handsome in his finery, freshly groomed and smelling vaguely of flowers. “Did they… bathe you?”

“I’m not a servant anymore,” he said, puffing out his chest dramatically. “I’m important.”

Merlin was very “important” now, it seemed. Gwaine was so pleased to be at his side as people congratulated him and – the part which Gwaine really liked – sucked up to him. People carried on celebrating even after Merlin said he was far too tired to stay out.

“Back to my place?” Gwaine offered, taking his hand.

“Actually,” Merlin was beaming, “I have a bit of a surprise for you, too.”

He led them through the castle, taking Gwaine along by his hand. When they entered the wing with all the bedchambers and apartments, he was beginning to wonder what was happening.

Then Merlin pulled a key from his pocket and opened the doors to a large, grand apartment draped in blues and silvers with a table, a desk, two armoires, and a very large bed.

“Merlin?”

He shrugged. “New job comes with some perks,” he said. Gwaine’s grin split even wider.

“This is yours?”

“Ours.” A pause. “… If you like.”

Gwaine grabbed Merlin by the hips. “Oh, I like,” he said, kissing him hard and pushing him towards the bed.

They collapsed on top of it, laughing until they were worn out. Merlin kicked his boots off and pulled himself up on top of the bed, resting his head on one of the many plush pillows. Gwaine sprawled out on his back beside him.

“Nimueh said something,” he said after they laid like that for a moment. “After your execution. I went back for her.”

“Yeah?”

Gwaine rolled onto his side and propped his head up on his hand.

“Yeah…” Merlin rolled onto his side too and ran his fingers through Gwaine’s hair. He closed his eyes, savoring the feeling. “That everything in the dream… couldn’t be real. Not outside the dream. That no matter what magic I used, I could never have that.”

Gwaine smiled and opened his eyes to look at Merlin again. “Sounds like a bitch, if you ask me.”

Merlin laughed and rolled on top of Gwaine, pushing him onto his back. Then Merlin kissed Gwaine for the second time, before settling into his side with his head on Gwaine’s shoulder.

“This feels like a dream.”

“Well, it’s real,” said Gwaine, rubbing Merlin’s back with a sigh. “And you didn’t need magic to do it.”

“I love you,” he said, and Gwaine looked down at him and smiled.

“I love you too, Merlin,” he said.

They fell into a peaceful sleep like that, waking up the next morning still in each other’s arms.