Chapter Text
" Merlin !!"
Arthur’s voice thundered down the corridor, making several servants flinch in sympathy. The poor boy was in for it now. If past punishments were any indication, the king would have him running errands from dawn till dusk for being late to breakfast.
Right on cue, Merlin came skidding around the corner, limbs flailing as he crashed into a group of maids. A flurry of apologies tumbled from his lips as he scrambled past, leaving a trail of flustered castle workers in his wake before finally bursting into Arthur’s chambers.
"S-sorry, sire." He exhaled shakily, setting down Arthur’s breakfast with unsteady hands before moving to the bed, fussing over the sheets just to keep himself busy.
Behind him, there was a scrape of wood against stone as Arthur pulled out his chair and sat down. Then— whistle, thud . A silver goblet struck the back of Merlin’s neck. He barely had time to sigh before a second goblet and a wine jug followed suit.
Merlin turned, unimpressed, arms folded, his raised brow a near-perfect imitation of Gaius.
"Something wrong with you, Merlin?" Arthur asked, tossing a third goblet between his hands— where the hell is he getting them all from? His feet were propped up on the table, his expression teasing but scrutinizing, as if waiting for Merlin to snap. "You haven't called me ‘sire’ since I became king."
Merlin hesitated. Then, as if the words had been ripped from him, he blurted out, "I need a horse and a week off."
He spun back to the bed, unable to meet Arthur’s gaze. His shoulders hunched as he forced himself to breathe through his nose, bracing for rejection. He already knew Arthur would say no. He already knew he'd have to sneak out of the castle—find a horse another way—
"And why exactly would I give you a week off to go gallivanting in the woods?" Arthur scoffed. "You’re not exactly competent enough to warrant time away."
Boots scuffed against stone as Arthur stepped closer. Merlin’s mind scrambled for an excuse.
"It’s… an important errand for Gaius."
Slow. Careful. As if he didn’t know Arthur could see straight through him.
A firm hand landed on his shoulder. He flinched.
"No, it isn’t," Arthur said plainly. "Don’t lie to me, Merlin. You’re terrible at it."
Arthur gave him a light shove, and Merlin nearly toppled over.
"I’m visiting my mother in Ealdor," he tried again, voice barely above a breath.
He shook Arthur’s hand off and strode to the window, cracking it open. Cold winter air bit at his cheeks, grounding him, but his heart pounded against his ribs. He couldn’t tell Arthur the truth. He couldn’t tell him about her. His sister had been his secret since childhood—just like his magic.
If Arthur knew about her, she would be executed.
Merlin gnawed at his lower lip, searching for an escape.
"Merlin." Arthur’s voice was quieter now, serious. "I could have you thrown in the stocks for hiding things from your king. And then you really wouldn’t get anywhere. So just tell me—if there’s a lady you like—"
Arthur stopped short when Merlin’s eyes darkened with unshed tears.
Merlin scrubbed furiously at his face and paced.
Back. Forth. Back. Forth. Back.
"Fine," he snapped. "Fine. Since you’re a prat and won’t let this go— fine . I have a sister."
Arthur stiffened.
"She lives in Cenred’s kingdom. She’s been taken to the castle of Fyrien. And if I don’t go save her now, there won’t be anything left to save. So you can try to stop me, but I will find a way."
His voice was a growl, low and brimming with barely restrained fury. He took satisfaction in the way Arthur looked momentarily taken aback. Then he turned on his heel and stormed out before his resolve could waver.
Panic clawed at his chest. He had just turned his sister over to Arthur without meaning to.
If Arthur figured out the truth—figured out her magic , which he would, because she had no control over it—she was going to die.
Merlin choked on a breath, clamping a hand over his mouth to stifle the pathetic sound.
Move .
He forced his feet into motion, heading for the armory first. His fingers closed around the hilt of Arthur’s old sword, lifting it from its pedestal. He gripped it tightly, as if it alone could keep him grounded, and turned for the door.
Footsteps echoed behind him.
No time.
He veered away from Gaius’s chambers, deciding he wouldn’t need to pack after all. He needed to leave. Now .
Her message could have been sent days ago.
His stomach twisted.
Her magic was unpredictable. Flighty.
‘Help me, please, Mer’. Help.’
A shudder raked through him at the memory. He broke into a run.
The stable boy barely had time to register him before Merlin darted past and into Rhodall’s stall. The stallion whinnied, his large brown eyes warm and familiar, and Merlin managed the smallest smile. He saddled him in record time, urgency making his fingers clumsy. Swinging up into the saddle with a sword in hand was a struggle, but he managed, spurring the horse into motion.
Yelling rang out behind him.
Merlin didn’t look back.
He only urged Rhodall forward, faster, hooves thundering against the cobbled path. The wind lashed at his face, tearing at his clothes as he raced past the castle gates, beyond Camelot’s walls, and into the unknown.