Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

           Merlin decided to tell Arthur about his magic the same day he decided to court him. Not seduce. Court. Though he hadn’t served Arthur that long compared to the other servants in the castle, he had seen enough of who Arthur was, after their initial antagonism at being forced together faded away, to spark his interest. That initial spark, ignited during adrenaline and adventure, did not fizzle out as he had hoped and proved to be more profound and enduring than Merlin wanted to acknowledge. There were so many complications that came with royalty itself, throw in Merlin’s magic and any kind of relationship was just bound to be a disaster. But the comforting warmth that encased his heart every time he thought of Arthur would not be denied.

           Even in his short time at court, Merlin had seen the kind of people that flocked around the prince, trying to tempt him. Noble and common alike, they flattered, beguiled, and contrived, always in an attempt to seduce the prince into their clutches—but they never wanted Arthur. The only thing those malicious opportunists who tried to con their way into Arthur’s bed saw was his title, his wealth, and the favours they could get from him. They never saw the Arthur who was a hopeless—and helpless—romantic or the Arthur who had a biting sense of humour. They didn’t know that Arthur rarely showed his softer side, so in those small moments when he did let down his guard, you knew you were someone important, even if he sometimes said the opposite. All they cared about was what the prince could give to them; they didn’t care that Arthur was just and risked his life, not just for the nobility, not just for the people of Camelot, but for anyone who turned to him for help. And they never saw the man who desperately wanted a hug.

           Unlike all those others, Merlin didn’t want trinkets, power, or a crown. He didn’t just want into Arthur’s bed either, which possibly could have been managed and ignored. Though the physical appeal was undeniable and had been from the start—Arthur was very attractive with his golden hair and muscular body—that alone wouldn’t have compelled Merlin to think the unthinkable and try to court a prince. What he wanted was to be in Arthur’s heart.

           In the almost year that he had been working as the prince’s manservant, Arthur had forced Merlin to reassess the decidedly negative first impression he had left on Merlin with acts of bravery, caring, and loyalty. It was so unusual for a prince to trust and be loyal to a servant, and that had Merlin slowly discovering another side to Arthur, one that actually believed in honour and love. Arthur was not easy, he wasn’t always kind, but Merlin’s own natural sassiness challenged Arthur’s moods and made him Arthur’s equal. They complemented each other—and Merlin could just hear Kilgharrah laughing at him for that thought—and the second Merlin acknowledged that, at his heart, Arthur was a good man behind the privilege and title, he was lost.

           Merlin had made his decision but he knew he couldn’t approach Arthur like everyone else, all those conniving people who tried to use trickery to get what they wanted from Arthur. Merlin didn’t want a quick fuck, anyway; he wanted a partnership, as presumptuous as that was for a servant to think about a prince. That meant honesty and courting. And honestly, Arthur deserved courting. He deserved to know that Merlin was serious, that Merlin had thought this through, and, since no one ever dared to court a prince, only seeking fleeting connections, Arthur deserved to be treated like a worthy potential partner. Merlin wanted Arthur to know that his interest wasn’t some ploy, that it was genuine and sincere. However, since he wouldn’t be able to court Arthur properly if he were executed, he would have to find the perfect way to tell Arthur about his magic—one that inspired confidence and trust. Not something easily accomplished, given Arthur’s upbringing.

           Merlin was tempted to just say the words one evening after Arthur was done with his meal. He imagined them sitting before the crackling fire as the hour drew later and later, their bodies slowly moving closer together as Merlin explained his magic, stressing how much it had been used to help Arthur and the people of Camelot. He imagined Arthur looking at him with understanding and respect as he finally saw the part of Merlin that he kept so carefully hidden, his blue eyes shining, drawing Merlin in, until their words melted to kisses, Arthur’s sword-calloused hands scraping along Merlin’s neck…

           Merlin wished it would be as simple as that but he knew that Arthur was more a man of action than words. Just saying that he used his magic to help, not to hurt, wouldn’t be enough to convince Arthur. He had to demonstrate it somehow whilst Arthur was actually looking and couldn’t dismiss it as “luck.” And it couldn’t look like an accident, either. Merlin needed Arthur to know he was sharing this side of himself on purpose.

           It took a week of agonizing, imagining things going right, dreading how it could all go terribly wrong, before Merlin decided on a plan. Each day in that week, Merlin woke with a surge of energy, knowing that he was ready to tell Arthur, that he had to tell Arthur, but that energy quickly dissipated under the weight of actually figuring out how to tell him and so Merlin would put it off to the next day. By the end of the week, Merlin was exhausted, the constant strain of his decision hanging over him and wearing him down. It was as he was drifting off to sleep one night, feeling almost like he was floating though he was cushioned comfortably upon his mattress, that an idea struck him.

           It took some practicing to get the spells right, Gaius covering for Merlin’s absences as he worked. Arthur never commented on Merlin’s disappearances—though he was developing a strange habit of making loud clanging noises with whatever metal happened to be nearby whenever Merlin entered a room—and Merlin never offered any explanation. Much sooner than Merlin had anticipated, he had mastered the spells, which meant it was time to go to Arthur. Except, he didn’t. He put it off for the next day, then the day after that, then the day after that. He had thought learning the spells would take longer, he reasoned, he was just keeping to his original schedule.

           Merlin didn’t want to admit that he was scared and it wasn’t really about the magic. Revealing his magic was only step one, the next part was courting Arthur, alerting Arthur to his feelings, his interest. What if Arthur didn’t reciprocate? What if Merlin’s attentions made Arthur feel uncomfortable? What if Merlin ruined everything they already had by trying for something more? Merlin was risking more than just his life.

           A week went by, then another, and, though Merlin felt like his whole body became paralyzed every time he even thought of enacting his plan, he knew he couldn’t delay any longer—he couldn’t let a whole month go by with Arthur none the wiser. He knew, he just knew, that if he kept putting off this beginning step, he would suddenly find that years had passed and he had missed his chance, an outcome he would regret for the rest of his life. Merlin might be, possibly, maybe, a little scared of putting himself and his heart in a vulnerable position, opening himself up to Arthur’s derision and rejection, but the idea of letting the moment pass by completely scared him even more. This was going to be a big step; no matter how Arthur reacted, it would lead to a big change. It could bring him unending happiness but it could also prove to be a devastating risk. Arthur, Merlin thought with renewed resolve, is worth it.

           Merlin woke up that morning frightfully early after a very restless night, his stomach churning in a strange mixture of anticipation and fear. Fittingly, given his plan of action, his stomach felt like it was swooping around inside of him and Merlin might actually wind up having to postpone again because he was going to be sick.

           Despite waking up much earlier than usual, the morning flew by. It felt like Merlin had only blinked an eye and suddenly it was time to go down to the kitchen to retrieve Arthur’s breakfast. Another blink and he was in front of the door to Arthur’s bedchamber. One last blink along with a large, fortifying breath, and there was Arthur, the red of his sheets complementing the tan of his half-bared body exceedingly well.

           Merlin set about his morning tasks. Falling into the routine of opening the curtains, pulling out clothes for the day, and just generally puttering around, being as loud as possible so as to wake the prince who was always nearly comatose in the morning, soothed his jangling nerves and somersaulting stomach. If he just focused on the present task, he wouldn’t have to worry about how the rest of the day would go. He steadfastly did not think about how momentous this day might prove to be as he helped Arthur change, he forced his mind to focus only on the moment as Arthur ate his breakfast, and he ignored the increased shaking of his hands as the blank haze of sleep slowly left Arthur, his eyes becoming more focused as he slowly came properly awake.

           “Morning,” Arthur yawned as Merlin made to take away his empty breakfast tray. Merlin stopped, the utensils clattering on the tray slightly as he tried to calm his suddenly pounding heart. If Arthur was talking, that meant he was awake enough to comprehend the meaning of Merlin’s words, which meant it was time to put his plan into action. He wasn’t ready! How was he going to start again?

           With a big gulp, Merlin turned back to Arthur, who was still sitting in his chair at the table, not looking at all enthused about starting the day. Merlin knew perfectly well that today Arthur was set to attend council meetings with the king instead of training with the knights, so he wasn’t surprised by Arthur’s forlorn demeanour. In fact, he had counted on it. Trying to sound as casual as possible, Merlin said, “You know, Arthur,” Merlin paused as Arthur brought up his gaze to meet Merlin’s, causing Merlin to swallow several times before he felt like he could continue with the level of nonchalance he was striving for as he offered, “You look like you might benefit from some fresh air, maybe a nice walk?” Arthur leaned back in his chair with a frown, surveying Merlin critically as he asked darkly, “Is that so?”

           “Yes,” Merlin said with one too many nods, noting Arthur seemed to already be in a bad mood but, now that he had started, he couldn’t imagine turning back. Rallying his nerve under Arthur’s direct stare, Merlin suggested as if the thought had just occurred to him, hoping his words didn’t sound like he had been practicing them for over two weeks now, “Maybe we should go somewhere, maybe we should, we could go somewhere away from the stress of the castle?”

           “So, you’re saying I should leave the castle,” Arthur said in an exaggeratedly thoughtful tone and Merlin knew this wasn’t going to go his way. “And where will you be as I take this ‘nice walk’? The tavern, maybe?” Arthur asked innocently but Merlin heard the edge of steel in his voice.

           “No,” Merlin said long and low, confused by the suggestion. “I thought, well, I actually thought,” Merlin stammered, thrown off by Arthur’s cold stare, “I was thinking we would both go.” Arthur visibly relaxed at that and he sounded much less angry when he asked, “To the tavern?”

           “No!” Merlin nearly shouted before checking himself. What was Arthur’s obsession with the tavern? “To the waterfall.”

           “What waterfall?” Arthur asked and Merlin nearly groaned. He had had everything planned out and it was all falling apart. How had everything gotten so mixed up? Taking a deep breath, Merlin started over.

           “I was actually thinking that both of us could go see this amazing waterfall I found. I think you could benefit from it, freshen you up,” Merlin said in a deliberately teasing voice, hoping that Arthur would take the bait and they could get the day back on track. Arthur paused before answering, scrutinizing Merlin from head to toe and Merlin knew he failed at stopping himself from fidgeting but then Arthur smiled, all ill-humour from moments ago dissolving.

           “Are you saying I smell, Merlin?” Arthur asked dangerously and at that particular tone, Merlin smiled from ear to ear in relief and then gave an exaggerated sniff. “I wasn’t going to say anything, sire, but you do spend most of your day in sweaty armour.”

           “I do not stink,” Arthur said in outrage and Merlin felt victorious as he saw Arthur’s cross expression, knowing from his antics that Arthur was considering it.

           “Not after we visit the waterfall,” Merlin said jauntily, “Of course you won’t.” Merlin was already moving away as he anticipated Arthur’s response, easily dodging the hurtled candlestick holder that came his way. Merlin was halfway down the corridor when he heard his name imperiously hollered. He turned to see Arthur standing in the doorway to his bedchamber. When he saw he had Merlin’s attention, Arthur gave a stiff nod and said, “Be ready in ten minutes” before disappearing back into his rooms. Merlin hurried down the rest of the way to the kitchen with a relieved sigh, working valiantly to not obsess over what would come next.

           Arthur threw back his head, soaking in the random rays of warm sunlight that occasionally broke through the canopy of trees above them as he and Merlin rode through the forest surrounding Camelot. The day was clear and bright, the kind of day that always beckoned Arthur to spend its entirety out of doors, enticing him with the joyful song of the birds and the wide expanse of sky. Usually, he could accept the sun’s warm invitation by training with his knights but all he had had to look forward to that day had been council meetings and enclosed walls. He had to admit, it was one of Merlin’s rare good ideas to make his excuses to his father and sneak out to the forest. Though he found Merlin’s stated motivation suspect; his reasoning sounded very flimsy. At first, Arthur had thought Merlin was trying to ditch him again. It hadn’t gone unnoticed that Merlin had been acting a bit off, a bit clumsier, a bit more distracted than usual, and spending way too much time at the tavern. When he realized Merlin was intending for them to go off together, Arthur thought there was a chance Merlin might have finally decided to confide in him. Something was clearly bothering him and Arthur suspected he knew what it was. But he wasn’t going to press. It was a sensitive subject, after all.

           Given his suspicions, Arthur wasn’t at all surprised that Merlin wasn’t his usual, chatty self and Arthur found himself loathe to break the tenuous silence as they rode deeper into the forest. Instead, he focused on the sun above him, the trees around him, and the sedate clop of the horses’ hooves as they picked their way through the underbrush. It was a pleasant ride and Arthur decided to enjoy it despite his serious doubts about the existence of Merlin’s “waterfall.” As if he needed a waterfall to freshen up! And he knew for a fact he didn’t stink, which a very quick check as Merlin was delivering his dishes to the kitchen had confirmed. It was clear, Merlin just wanted a break from the castle and it wasn’t hard for Arthur to piece together why. Who was Arthur to deny a broken-hearted Merlin? He actually felt a little honoured that Merlin would turn to him to help cheer him up.

           Why Guinevere would reject Merlin’s advances, Arthur had no idea, but he wasn’t entirely displeased with how things had turned out. His only complaint was that, in wallowing in his misery, Merlin had been absenting himself from Arthur’s side and Arthur needed him around. He was the only one who made endless meetings bearable, his eyes upon Arthur acted as a constant challenge on the training field, and, God help him, his constant prattle had the unfortunate tendency to soothe Arthur and make him feel better. All things considered, though, this was the preferable outcome than Guinevere accepting Merlin. Arthur could only imagine the kind of nightmare that would be. Merlin was completely hopeless and sure to bungle the courtship to a spectacular degree, which would hurt Guinevere and enrage Morgana, and Arthur did not need a vengeful Morgana coming after him and his hapless manservant. No, it was best for everyone involved that things had not progressed any further than they already had.

           When Merlin finally indicated that they should stop, Arthur was not at all surprised that they were in an isolated clearing with no waterfall in sight. Merlin truly was an abysmal liar; he couldn’t hide anything from Arthur. Feeling charitable due to Merlin’s heartache, Arthur didn’t make any comment about the lack of any kind of water, let alone cascading water, as they dismounted from their horses. The instant his feet touched the ground, Merlin started to pace, completely ignoring Arthur and the horses that still needed attending to. Deciding to let Merlin sort through his feelings on his own, Arthur set about doing Merlin’s job making sure the horses were comfortable as Merlin acted like he wanted to pull his own hair out, his body nearly vibrating as he paced. Arthur shook his head sadly as he started towards Merlin. Honestly, such a simple confession wasn’t worth all of this.

           As he drew near, Arthur heard Merlin muttering as he wrapped his arms around himself, hands cupping his shoulders like he was giving himself a hug.

           “I’m just going to, just going to tell him. Yes.”

           “It’s okay, Merlin,” Arthur said compassionately, not liking just how nervous Merlin sounded. “I already know.”

           “What?!” Merlin strangled out, spinning around and freezing, like he had just found himself caught in Arthur’s crosshairs. “Whe-why-HOW?” Merlin asked bewilderedly, looking slightly dazed and completely mad with his eyes boggling like that.

           “It’s not like you hid it very well,” Arthur said reasonably, keeping his tone light and slightly teasing, hoping it would reassure Merlin and get him over whatever was causing this panic. It produced the exact opposite effect, however, as Merlin suddenly appeared distraught and maybe even scared. What had happened between him and Guinevere?

           “Look,” Arthur said seriously, punching Merlin lightly on the shoulder which he didn’t need to wince so dramatically at, Arthur was just trying to cheer him up here, “I know it hurts now but don’t worry. Guinevere is undoubtedly very pretty and unendingly kind and, yes, you would have been very lucky to have fallen into her good graces, but there are other women out there. A whole castle’s worth, a whole city’s worth,” Arthur felt a frown pull at his lips at that statement but Merlin wasn’t looking at all comforted by his words, so he pushed through whatever had caused his own momentary displeasure to focus on Merlin, “And, despite the unfortunate ears, you’re not completely terrible to look at. Your eyes, for example…The point is,” Arthur said brusquely, “Your heart will mend and though Guinevere could not return your regard, someone else is bound it.” Arthur gave a firm nod and went to give Merlin’s shoulder another punch but stopped himself this time, taking in the stiff way Merlin was holding himself. “What I’m trying to say is…don’t give up?” Arthur finished hesitantly as slowly, Merlin’s confused pinch turned into a very peculiar expression, like he couldn’t decide if he wanted to laugh or throw up.

           “What’re you talking about?” Merlin asked surprisingly calmly, given his face. Arthur felt his frown deepen as he took in Merlin’s question, said like a man who genuinely had no idea what was going on and not like one who was trying to recover from his secret being exposed.

           “You and Guinevere,” Arthur answered slowly, “Her rejecting you.”

           “Gwen didn’t reject me,” Merlin said and Arthur swore his heart stopped beating. “I mean,” Merlin sputtered, “There’s nothing to reject. I never, I didn’t, I don’t…Gwen’s in love with Lancelot!” Merlin shouted and then he was pacing once more, thrusting his hands through his hair which gave him a very wild look as the hair stuck out in every direction. Arthur took a step back, thinking Merlin needed some space and definitely needing some of his own after this embarrassing debacle, though he did catch Merlin’s morose, “Why waste time making a plan if he’s just going to ruin it at every opportunity” before he had completely moved away.

           Several minutes later, a heavy sigh announced Merlin’s approach to where Arthur was lying on the grass, indulging in a rare moment of stillness.

           “I have something to tell you,” Merlin said stoutly, “And it has nothing to do with the tavern or with Gwen or anything like that.” Arthur rose at Merlin’s words so that they were facing each other as he replied, “Alright, so why don’t you tell me what it is about.”

           Merlin opened his mouth, paused, started to say something, stopped, and just as Arthur was about to ridicule him for hurting his brain with all that thinking, Merlin took a visible breath and said all in a rush, “I have magic.” His whole demeanour changed after he said those words, his shoulders dropping down, a small, tentative smile pulling at his lips, and his blue eyes meeting Arthur’s steadily.

           Disappointment weighed heavy on Arthur’s heart. Here, he thought Merlin had actually decided to confide something in Arthur and he gets this nonsense. Arthur gave an exasperated sigh and said, “Merlin, whatever’s going on, you can tell me. If it’s not about Guinevere, that’s fine. I can admit when I’m wrong. Just tell me what this is really about.”

           Merlin just looked annoyed at Arthur’s words which he took deep exception to. If anyone was going to be annoyed, it should be him. He was the one trying to be supportive and a good friend, even though they weren’t actually allowed to be friends, and Merlin was just spouting rubbish in return.

           “I already told you,” Merlin gritted out, “I have magic. I use magic. I am magic!”

           “Right,” Arthur said doubtfully, wondering why Merlin kept carrying on about this, “The manservant to the Prince of Camelot is a sorcerer.”

           “I can prove it,” Merlin said obstinately and Arthur was getting really tired of whatever game this was.

           “Okay,” Arthur said hotly, “Do it.”

           Merlin suddenly looked nervous again, uncertain, and Arthur decided to put an end to his sick game.

           “What’s it going to be, Merlin?” Arthur asked snidely, ignoring Merlin’s upset frown, “You gonna push me back, push me down? Crush me with magic?”

           “Of course not,” Merlin said sadly as Arthur took a menacing step forward.

           “What? Is that not cruel enough? Or were you thinking something subtler? You gonna infiltrate my mind? Take away my free will?” Arthur was advancing and although Merlin looked like he might start crying, he didn’t retreat from Arthur’s anger. “Or were you planning on something more vengeful. Tell me, Merlin, were you planning on burning me alive?”

           “No!” Merlin shouted, horrified, as any decent denizen of Camelot would be, just as Arthur knew he would be. He may be sticking to this twisted lie for some unknown reason but Arthur knew his heart, knew he couldn’t be a murderous sorcerer. Arthur shook his head, his anger vanishing, replaced by a sort of dejection. He didn’t understand Merlin at all in this moment. “Then what is it?” Arthur asked tiredly, fervently wishing that Merlin had just told him the truth but not being able to bring himself to say it.

           “I practiced something,” Merlin said hesitantly, “Just for you. Well,” he added hurriedly, “Just for this moment. To show you that I will never hurt you.”

           “As if you ever could,” Arthur scoffed at that.

           Merlin ignored Arthur’s comment and held out his hand. “All the proof is here,” Merlin said precisely, the words sounding slightly rehearsed, “All you need to do is take my hand.” Arthur didn’t even think about it. He stretched out his own hand and wrapped it around Merlin’s, who used the contact to pull Arthur close.

           They were far closer than they needed to be, their chests brushing against each other as they breathed, Merlin’s breath coming out rapid and anxious.

           Licking his lips, Merlin ordered, “Stand on my feet” and instead of commenting on who actually gave the orders here, Arthur stepped forward, closing whatever gaps may have existed between them as he placed his feet on top of Merlin’s. After a steadying breath, Merlin wrapped his arms around Arthur’s torso, giving him a hug. Arthur snorted at that. If this was all just some elaborate plot to get a hug out of Arthur, there were better ways to go about it. Arthur was going to say as much but, feeling how Merlin was trembling against him, instead he decided to wrap his own arms around the lanky man and return the embrace.

           The quiet peacefulness of the moment was shattered, however, and Arthur immediately stiffened and tried to push Merlin away as he heard the unmistakable sounds of a spell being cast. Though he couldn’t recognize any actual words, he knew the sound of that magical language, even when uttered in Merlin’s clear voice. Arthur struggled to free himself but Merlin held him in place with an iron grip Arthur wouldn’t have previously credited him with and then they were rising. Arthur struggled, trying to gain his freedom whilst the ground was still a reasonable distance away but Merlin’s hold was unforgiving and then it was too late. Arthur went deceptively docile in Merlin’s arms as they approached the tops of the forest trees, thinking they would stop below the tree line and though they weren’t near any branches that he could spring to, still, his mind was a constant whirr of escape routes. Yet, Merlin’s spell took them even with the trees and then lifted the pair above them, the wind whipping around them furiously, they were so high.

           Though no longer struggling, Arthur kept rigid in Merlin’s encircling arms, cursing that he had left all his weapons with the horses. Due to their position, their heads were pressed alongside each other, their cheeks brushing and the clean scent of Merlin’s hair infiltrated Arthur’s nose; Arthur would have to pull his head back to actually look in the face of the traitor who held him suspended in the air, something he wasn’t willing to do. So instead, his glare was lost on the unending sea of green of the forest below him as he growled his accusation into Merlin’s ear, “You have magic.”

           “Yes,” Merlin replied, the feel of his lips ghosting against the shell of Arthur’s ear as Merlin worked to make himself heard above the roar of the wind. “I was born with it,” Merlin said as if that was any kind of explanation.

           “It’s illegal, Merlin,” Arthur said adamantly, “Everyone who uses it is evil.”

           Merlin’s grip around Arthur tightened before he said perfectly matter-of-factly, “It I was evil, then this is the point where I’d be dropping you, wouldn’t it?” Arthur grabbed hold of Merlin’s shirt in preparation for just that but Merlin didn’t even twitch, keeping his arms wound tight around Arthur.

           “Arthur,” Merlin said earnestly, “You can trust me. I have magic and I use it to help as often as I can. I have magic,” Merlin said again, not having the decency to sound the least bit ashamed by that fact, “And you can trust me. I won’t let you fall.”

           Arthur scoffed at that, not loosening his hold on Merlin’s shirt by one iota, not willing to have the moment he let his guard down be the moment he plummeted to his death. He would have to be a fool to trust a sorcerer and the fact that this particular sorcerer was Merlin would not sway him. All sorcery was evil, there were no exceptions. There couldn’t be.

           Merlin wasn’t speaking anymore, letting Arthur stew in his thoughts. Arthur wanted to rail and rant, he longed to have the reassuring weight of some kind of weapon in his hand as he processed this betrayal, and he wanted, very badly, to be on the ground so that he could put some distance between himself and Merlin. He couldn’t think properly, he couldn’t fully commit to his father’s lessons, with Merlin’s solid form pressed against him. He couldn’t force the level of detachment he needed to separate his memories of Merlin with this sorcerer when Merlin was so solid and real in his arms. He needed space, he needed distance…he needed Merlin to try and kill him. That would force his decision and prove his father right, that his father’s actions were in the right.

           Yet Merlin remained silent, staying faithful to his last words and keeping Arthur safe in his arms. As long, protracted minutes passed, Arthur’s hands started to ache from the strain of clenching them around the rough material of Merlin’s shirt. Arthur gritted his teeth as the pain in his hands increased, using every technique he knew to ignore the growing need to let go as his hands steadily fatigued. He stood at a precipice—almost literally—and it was only the strength of his hands that kept him from both a literal and metaphorical fall. If he let go of Merlin and his father was right, Merlin would let him fall. However, if he let go and Merlin maintained his firm grip on Arthur, then that meant Merlin, a sorcerer, could be trusted and that his father was wrong, putting everything Arthur had been raised to believe in in doubt. Arthur truly didn’t know which outcome he would prefer.

           He held off as long as he could, his hands starting to shake as he fought to maintain his hold on his only chance at making it through this encounter alive. Eventually, Merlin started talking, outlandish stories where he acted as the hero, using his magic to save the day, but Arthur refused to give his words credence. The strain in his hands rose in tandem with a growing weight in his heart, but Arthur strove for control. He was a knight, the best Camelot had ever seen; he could overcome the limits of his body.

           “You can trust me,” Merlin was saying, over and over, finished with his stories of falling branches, statues coming to life, and magical rescues, “Magic is a part of me and you can trust me.” Arthur felt the urge to break his stalwart silence and refute Merlin’s claims but pride wouldn’t let him. And then, he had other concerns to occupy himself with; his strength finally failed him and he was forced to loosen his grip.

           The pain of hands too tightly clamped closed for too long finally stretching open was negligible to the pounding of his heart as he fully expected to feel the sickening jolt of falling now that he could no longer latch onto Merlin. Arthur hurriedly opened and closed his hands, pushing past their reluctance to close and stretch, trying to get them back to a point where he could once again reliably take hold of Merlin. Eventually, it entered Arthur’s panicked mind that Merlin had not sent Arthur plummeting to his death yet. As that fact truly penetrated, unbelievably, Arthur began to relax.

           As his frantically pounding heart began to slow and the pain in his hands slowly receded, the words he hadn’t wanted to listen to, the stories he hadn’t wanted to believe, stubbornly came to the fore and forced Arthur to consider them. Merlin had once again fallen silent, only the roar of the wind as it whipped around them meeting Arthur’s ear, reinforcing just how high up Merlin had taken them both. Magic, clearly and unequivocally, and yet Merlin wasn’t using it to harm Arthur; he had the chance and he was letting it pass, keeping Arthur safe instead. That action revealed more to Arthur than anything Merlin could have possibly said and as each second ticked by with Merlin keeping Arthur secure in his arms, the safer Arthur felt, until eventually, he was ready to pull his head back a little and look upon the face of the sorcerer who had served him and (apparently) saved him for the past year.

           “Did you really do all of that?” Arthur asked as he met Merlin’s worried gaze with his own, steady one, having to shout even louder than he had been before to be heard as he was no longer speaking directly into Merlin’s ear.

           “Yes,” Merlin said after moistening his lips, increasing his volume as well, though it was still a little hard to hear as the wind tried to steal his words away. “I did.”

           “Why?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious how this impossible man had come into his life and upended it so completely.

           “Because,” Merlin said with deep sincerity, “You’re a good man, Arthur Pendragon, despite your best efforts to hide it,” Merlin added with a small smile, “And I wouldn’t see you dead. Not if I can stop it.”

           Arthur paused, really letting Merlin’s words sink in, before giving Merlin a curt nod of understanding, if not acceptance. It was all too new, and they were still way too high up, for Arthur to really know how he felt about all this at the moment.

           “Do sorcerers make a habit of flying around?” Arthur asked, wanting to change the subject and thinking of how he would have to change his knights’ formations to compensate for such a skill. Merlin laughed, distracting Arthur, his heart jumping in a much more familiar way at seeing the unabashed joy that Merlin never made any attempt at concealing. He started talking just as the roar of the wind reached a crescendo, drowning out some of what he said.

           “…Magic comes in many talents, categories, with a variety of skills associated with each talent. Magic requires practice for us to master any skill, let alone a talent. It took me a week to feel I could perform this skill. To put that in perspective, it took me only a handful of hours to successfully transform the dog statue,” Merlin explained, joy still radiating off him as Arthur actually listened to his explanation on magic without looking like he was battling murderous rage. “Though,” Merlin added, an almost shy look overtaking his joy as he continued, “it took that long because I practiced something else, too. Something I want to show you, if you care to see it?”

           Arthur had to strain to hear Merlin’s question, as his voice became uncertain as he offered to show Arthur more magic. And, as much as Arthur longed to feel the reassuring firmness of solid ground again, he was curious to know what Merlin had spent a week doing whilst not getting drunk at the tavern.

           “Alright,” Arthur gave his permission and Merlin’s smile rivaled the brilliance of the sun, in Arthur’s estimation. Still, Arthur felt uneasy at what he had just done, what he had just agreed to. When Merlin started casting his spell, that magic language falling from his lips, Arthur couldn’t help but tense. And when Merlin’s eyes flashed gold, Arthur nearly flinched, as he had never experienced anything pleasant in the presence of that flash.

           Arthur took stock as the swirl of gold slowly receded from his eyes to once again reveal Merlin’s vibrant, comforting blue but nothing seemed to have changed and he wondered if Merlin’s spell had failed. It wouldn’t surprise him, given how inept Merlin could occasionally be.

           “Do you trust me?” Merlin asked, looking hopeful. The question took Arthur off guard, though, he supposed, it really shouldn’t have as Merlin had been saying all along that Arthur could trust him. It was a question that should have an obvious answer; Merlin was a servant and a sorcerer. One, Arthur had been raised to ignore as they were only there to serve a function, whilst the other, Arthur had been trained to hunt down and destroy. Of course, where Merlin was concerned, he had never been able to do the former and the latter…was unthinkable. But did that mean he trusted Merlin? Before today, if pressed, he might have said yes but he wasn’t sure that was the case anymore. Merlin had held back a fundamental secret, had lied to him to protect that secret, and though Arthur understood why Merlin had done it and at least he was bringing everything out in the open now, Arthur really didn’t know if he could completely trust this new Merlin.

           “I don’t know,” Arthur answered honestly, Merlin giving a nod of acceptance though he couldn’t hide his disappointment. He was just opening his mouth to say something when Arthur spoke over him, words rushing out that he hadn’t actually meant to say but that he refused to take back, “But I’m willing to try.” Arthur hadn’t realized he was going to say that, he didn’t know where this supposed “willingness” had come from. He hadn’t even been aware of making any kind of decision, one way or the other, but some part of him, perhaps the part taking note that Merlin still held him close, making him feel a warmth that had nothing to do with the sun as he felt almost like Merlin was holding him like he was something precious to him, must feel some form of certainty.

           “Okay,” Merlin said reassuringly into Arthur’s ear, head once again pressed along Arthur’s, his warm breath a gentle caress compared with the whipping wind, “That’s okay.”

           Arthur felt the scrape of Merlin’s cheek against his own as Merlin nodded, probably inanely but Arthur couldn’t see to be sure.

           “Can we get down now?” Arthur asked, much more politely than he felt he ought. It seemed his mouth and brain still weren’t agreeing on what he was feeling at the moment.

           “Actually,” Merlin said, a bit of mischief in his voice that Arthur didn’t trust at all, “I thought we might stay up here a little bit longer.”

           “What have I told you about thinking, Merlin?” Arthur drawled, the playful words coming easy.

           “To do it, since you can’t be bothered,” Merlin shot back without hesitation and since there was no way he could see Arthur’s face, Arthur let himself smile, just a little.

           “Just wait until we’re back on the ground,” Arthur said menacingly, a small part of him shocked that Merlin had revealed that he used magic and yet, seemingly, nothing had changed between them.

           “But until then,” Merlin chirped, uncowed by Arthur’s false anger, “The spell I practiced, the one I just cast.” Arthur clenched his jaw at Merlin’s casual attitude towards his magic use, like it was an everyday, normal thing that he did but held his tongue and listened to what Merlin had to say. “This spell, it’ll make the air feel as solid as the ground under your feet. You can take a few steps, move around, just don’t let go of my hands.”

           “And why would I want to walk around on air that feels like ground when I can just walk on the ground without the pesky risk of falling to my death?” Arthur asked.

           “I bet Morgana would do it,” Merlin taunted, the smile clear as day in his voice.

           “Are you calling me a girl, Merlin?” Arthur asked indignantly as he’s the one who is supposed to needle Merlin with that jab, not the other way around. Merlin was not only a sorcerer; he was a thief!

           “Actually,” Merlin said with a laugh, “I believe I said that a woman is braver than you.”

           “Fine,” Arthur snapped after thinking that over for a moment.

           Arthur took a big gulp of air that he tried to hide by turning it into a sort of half-snort, ordered himself sternly not to so much as glance down at the ground far, faaar below him, and took a deliberate step back, shooting a challenging glare towards Merlin as he did so. Arthur’s foot sank lower and lower, much further than he thought reasonable if Merlin’s spell worked at all like he said it would. He was just starting to think Merlin was a liar when, it turned out, he was just incompetent and put the “floor” too low. Arthur’s foot finally hit “solid ground” a good half metre below where he and Merlin had been floating, causing Merlin to tower over Arthur as Arthur removed his other foot from Merlin’s. Arthur shifted his weight slightly, testing just how reliable the spell below him was. It certainly wasn’t at all like standing on true terrafirma. Sure, his feet were being supported and he wasn’t plummeting to his death but there was an insubstantial quality to the “surface” beneath his feet, like stepping onto land after a long time at sea and feeling the rock and roll of waves that were no longer there.

           “What now?” Arthur asked with a surly expression as he had to look up to talk to Merlin, which just should not happen. Temper turned to shock, however, as Merlin gently ran his hands up Arthur’s sides, around his shoulders in a sensuous glide, and then down his well-muscled arms, the warmth of Merlin’s hands seeping through Arthur’s shirt pleasantly. Then, they were holding hands, Merlin’s surprisingly large hands clasped around Arthur’s own. Merlin then took a step down—a very strange sight in mid-air—and started to sway. The roiling quality of the “ground” didn’t seem to unsettle Merlin as he used his hold on Arthur’s hands to move him side to side, mirroring the “ground’s” movement with an odd sort of grace. For a being who was so clumsy on the ground, up here Merlin appeared to be at ease, more confident in his movements and Arthur found himself following Merlin’s lead.

           Though the only sound surrounding them was the rushing wind, Merlin led Arthur through the steps of one of his favourite dances, pulling their bodies close, then back, close and to the side. Arthur took a step back from Merlin, keeping him at arm’s length and shouted in confusion, “Why are we dancing?” Merlin responded with a joyous laugh, throwing his head back, the sun glistening along his pale throat like the caress of a lover.

           “We’re walking on air, Arthur,” Merlin replied, “What the hell else are we going to do?”

           Arthur thought about that and, for the first time since Merlin took him up into the sky, truly took in his surroundings. The wide expanse of blue had never seemed to vast, the sun so warm and welcoming, the earth below him a tapestry of colour, like a living quilt. It was all wondrous. Secretly, as Arthur tipped his own head back to take in the kiss of the sun’s rays, he thought, no wonder people turn to magic, if this is the result.

           “Can I spin you?” Arthur asked playfully, a quirk to his lips that Merlin ignored in favour of letting go of one of Arthur’s hands, taking control of his body, and leading him through a breath-taking and perfectly executed twirl.

           “No,” Merlin said with a smirk.

           Accepting that he was in no danger and that Merlin, at his heart, was still the same idiot and friend he’d been before this reveal, Arthur play-growled and wrested control back from Merlin, twirling him and leading him through the dance steps until they were breathless with laughter and falling against each other, the wind stealing away and hiding the sound, the evidence, of their joy in the use of magic.

Chapter Text

           “I won’t stop using magic,” Merlin said softly, but firmly, once he had returned them both to the forest floor. “I don’t think you’d last a day if I did,” he added, trying to laugh, to lighten the sudden heaviness that seemed to weigh down the very air between them. Arthur felt the burdens of duty and responsibility wrapping themselves around him, weighing him down and making him feel almost like he was choking. With a heated fervency that shocked him, Arthur wished he was back in the sky with Merlin, awash in the elation and freedom he had found up there. If that was what magic felt like, if Merlin experienced that every day, it was little wonder he wouldn’t give it up.

           “I wouldn’t ask you to,” Arthur said just as softly, keeping his gaze on his hands as they needlessly adjusted his stirrups. Thoughts were pressing in on him, demanding his attention; his duty as prince of Camelot clamoured to be heard, but Arthur ignored it all, wanting to postpone the moment where he would have to make any kind of decision.

           “Will you send me away?” Merlin asked baldly, fearlessly, and Arthur turned to see that Merlin looked perfectly calm, betraying nothing of what he might be feeling.

           “Do you want me to?” Arthur asked as their eyes locked, blue boring into blue as time itself seemed to slow under the weight of the moment. A day didn’t go by where Merlin didn’t have at least one complaint about his job—he wasn’t shy about voicing his displeasure—but Arthur thought they had gotten to a point, to a camaraderie of sorts, where Merlin didn’t genuinely want to leave. Had he been mistaken? Was this Merlin’s way of saying goodbye?

           “No,” Merlin said with conviction, taking a step forward and not even blinking. It was Arthur who had to look away from the intensity of that stare and cough out a pathetic, “Good.” Without another word, he mounted his horse and waited for Merlin to clamber onto his own mount in his typical gangly fashion. Yet, as Arthur watched Merlin grab hold of the saddle, lift, and swing his leg over, there was a lightness to his movements that Arthur hadn’t seen before. He couldn’t call the action graceful but there was an ease in Merlin’s movements that, Arthur swore, hadn’t been there before, as if something tightly coiled had finally been released.

           “Would you have run?” Arthur asked as their horses slowly clopped along the trail that led back to Camelot, “I’m not going to arrest you,” Arthur reassured as Merlin frowned over at him in confusion, “But if I had, would you have run?” It was so odd to Arthur, to be sitting astride his horse, Merlin by his side like he always was, calmly talking about treasonous magic with no trace of anger or sting of betrayal. He had known, whilst dancing and laughing, uninhibited and free, far from the scrutinizing and plotting gaze of the court, that he couldn’t give Merlin up, couldn’t turn him over to his father and the pyre. He didn’t believe that Merlin had any hostile intentions towards Camelot or her people but he was curious just what Merlin’s plan was, what his intentions were in revealing this secret to Arthur.

           “I hadn’t thought about it,” Merlin said with a nonchalant shrug that Arthur didn’t believe for an instant. “Bullshit,” Arthur snorted and Merlin swallowed.

           “I trusted you, Arthur,” Merlin said seriously and once again their eyes held, neither able to look away as Merlin laid himself bare, “I trusted the honourable man that I know, who wouldn’t kill me without cause. And I haven’t given you cause.”

           “You have magic,” Arthur argued, “And it’s treason to use it.”

           “Do you think that alone is truly cause for death?” Merlin asked and Arthur saw how important that question was in Merlin. Though his voice didn’t tremble, his hands upon the reins were bone white, the ease that Arthur had observed only minutes ago vanishing and Arthur thought he could almost see Merlin winding tight again. He said he had put his trust in Arthur, trusting his honour that Arthur wouldn’t send him to his death, and now he was waiting to see if his trust was misplaced. It wasn’t misplaced.

           “No,” Arthur said. Not for you, he silently added. There were larger consequences, larger repercussions to all of this that Arthur couldn’t sort out in a single day but as he and Merlin silently journeyed back towards Camelot, he knew one thing for certain: he would not betray Merlin’s trust.

           For a day that started with the impossible, it ended almost mundanely. Like normal, the king required Arthur’s presence for the afternoon council meetings. Like normal, Arthur suffered through the monotony and sniping of greedy old men vying to win the king’s favour in an attempt to expand their own influence, wealth, and power. Like normal, Merlin stood off to Arthur’s side, a steadying presence whose surreptitious snarky comments about the posturing courtiers saved Arthur from the embarrassment of falling asleep. The day truly was like any other, so much so that Arthur might have even convinced himself that he had imagined the entire morning if not for the lingering imprint of Merlin’s strong hands about his body. Even as his father argued with his advisors about how much he could raise taxes, Arthur remembered the thrill of dancing in the sky. Arthur almost missed a question directed towards him as he focused on his hands, the memory of them being cradled and manipulated with ease filling him up until he would swear he could still feel the encompassing heat of Merlin’s skin seeping into his own. The sense memory of the morning lingered even as the inactivity of watching his father conduct meeting after meeting tried to numb him to the world.

           Finally, the last session of the day was dismissed and, like normal, Arthur followed his father to the king’s private chambers for the evening meal. It was always a formal affair, dining with the king, even when it was just Arthur and Morgana present, with the king’s own household staff organizing and running the entire meal like a military campaign. Merlin was supposed to use this time to attend to his other duties, such as cleaning Arthur’s room or polishing his armour, but Merlin was never where he ought to be. Arthur was starting to understand why.

           Like normal, Morgana arrived late and, like normal, by the end of the meal she and the king were seething. Breaking from the normal routine, however, Arthur actually listened to Morgana for once as she argued with the king about the law against magic and the injustice it placed upon the people of Camelot. Morgana was a passionate orator and shrewd. She knew how to challenge the king without going too far, how to couch her censure so it wasn’t a direct rebellion—she was a true politician, championing the cause of the voiceless, but she might as well have been shouting at a wall. Arthur had never noticed before how intractable his father was. He had always assumed that his father acted out of concern for the people, that if magic were given any leniency, their people would suffer. And sometimes, that meant making an unpopular choice. Arthur had seen his father’s stance as a lone shield bearer against the flood, having to stand proud and immobile to protect those under his care from an unrelenting force. But as the evening wore on and the battle between Morgana and the king raged around Arthur with Arthur truly taking in what was being said, the more he realized that Morgana attacked with logic and compassion whilst the king parried with fearmongering and hate.

           This evening, this battle, was one Arthur had witnessed many times before and always, when his father talked of the cruelty, the inhumanity of the magic users, Arthur saw the justness of a king worried about his people. Now, as his father railed at Morgana about the savagery of magic users, Arthur saw Merlin’s face, his delight as he twirled Arthur in his favourite dance, his goofy smile that greeted Arthur every morning. Looking over at his father, for the first time in his young life, Arthur saw a man and he felt like a piece of himself was falling away. His father was not the paragon Arthur remembered and idealized as a child. In that instant, Arthur saw the man, flawed and angry and knew he had been acting with blind obedience, not thinking for himself. Merlin, in a single act of bravery, had shattered what Arthur had assumed was a fundamental truth because that was what his father had told him. Morgana, with logic and passion, proved a more stalwart voice for the people of Camelot than any of the nobles that the king trusted and listened to. Maybe the day isn’t ending in such a typical fashion, after all, Arthur thought a little hysterically as he felt like his head might explode with all this new information and awareness bombarding him all at once.

           It was a relief when Morgana and his father finally reached a stalemate. Arthur didn’t think he could survive any more revelations within a single day. Retreating to his bedchamber, Arthur wasn’t at all surprised to find it empty, Merlin nowhere to be seen, although it did look like he had tidied up a little bit. It was still a couple hours yet before Arthur usually settled down to sleep but Arthur felt as if he had been dragging a boulder behind him all day, his muscles slow to respond and his brain in a fog. Deciding to turn in early, Arthur didn’t even bother to try and change his clothes before flopping down onto his bed, grateful that sleep quickly overtook him. It had been one hell of a day.

           When Arthur woke up, he was confused: his boots were missing. It wasn’t the unusual sight of the weak light of dawn struggling to penetrate his heavy curtains—or even that the curtains were drawn when he distinctly remembered the fall of moonlight bathing his room in a tranquil glow—that struck him as wrong, it was that his boots had disappeared from his feet. Like magic. Merlin has magic, Arthur thought sleepily, then, with a jolt, the simple statement repeated itself more forcefully. Merlin has magic!

           Leaping out of bed, Arthur almost immediately face-planted on the floor as he tripped over his missing boots, which had been neatly placed at the side of his bed. He frantically searched the dimly lit room as he slowly got up from his sprawled position on the floor, as if he were expecting a golden-eyed Merlin to slowly emerge from a darkened corner like some sort of monster from lore, a sinister sneer twisting his usually amiable features.

           Shaking his head, Arthur dismissed the fancies of his still half-asleep mind. Merlin had magic and the world hadn’t ended. Merlin had magic and that didn’t make him evil. Sighing, Arthur drew back the curtains to let in the dawn, propping one forearm against the window frame and leaning his weight into it. Perhaps I was wrong, Arthur thought bemusedly as he squinted down at the empty courtyard beneath him, maybe the world did end. It would certainly explain why he was awake at such an ungodly hour; only Morgana was evil enough to be awake this early. Thoughts of Morgana brought back the memory of last night’s dinner, a memory that might possibly be more disturbing to Arthur than Merlin lifting him into the sky.

           Fully alert now, Arthur struggled to yank on his boots as he hopped towards the door to his bedchamber, suddenly feeling compelled to talk with Morgana. He knew that this time, when most of the castle but especially the king, were still blissfully ensconced in the comfort of their beds, was Morgana’s time of day, where she could most freely be herself. And that meant sword-fighting. Making his way to the practice field, morning dew clinging to him as the sun shily started to peek over the horizon, Arthur heard Morgana before he saw her, the clang of sword meeting sword unmistakable.

           Staying to the outskirts of the field, Arthur appraised Morgana’s form and strength as she sparred with Duke Galahad, an old friend of Morgana’s father and the only man brave enough to risk Uther’s wrath in training his ward in the deadly arts.

           Though Arthur had seen her in battle before, once again, he had to admit, Morgana was good. She footwork was impeccable and though her sword was smaller and lighter than typical, it made her fast. By the end of the bout, she had hit some very solid points against the duke and Arthur knew she had earned each one. He had to hide his admiring gaze, of course, when Morgana finally deigned to look his way; he couldn’t let her know he was impressed, he’d never hear the end of it.

           “Shouldn’t you still be drooling on a pillow?” Morgana called as she made her way over to where Arthur was standing.

           “Good morning to you too, Lady Morgana,” Arthur said with his poshest accent, catching Morgana’s smile before she quickly wiped it from her face, choosing to glare instead as she asked accusingly, “What are you doing here, Arthur?”

           What was Arthur doing there? This early in the morning, the practice field belonged to Morgana, it was her realm and Arthur never strayed too close, giving her the space he knew she needed. It had been an impulse that brought him here and he blamed the still absurd hour and the lack of planning for him blurting out without thought, “You know, I could easily tell father about your clandestine sword lessons.”

           Arthur swore, calling himself all kinds of imbecile as Morgana’s playful glare turned into a true snarl, “And I could easily castrate you in your sleep,” Morgana said threateningly, even lifting her sword as if she didn’t even need him to be asleep to unman him and Arthur rushed out, “Pax, Morgana!” Still inwardly cursing, ordering his brain to function properly and say words that didn’t put him at the end of Morgana’s sword, Arthur continued, “I was just trying to say, we keep each other’s secrets. We protect each other?” Arthur hadn’t meant for that last part to come out quite so hesitantly, like it was a question rather than a statement, but he still wasn’t entirely sure what he was even doing there. He just knew it was right to talk to Morgana about what was on his mind.

           “I suppose,” Morgana said doubtfully and Arthur was relieved to see her lower her sword as she turned to stand beside him, both of their gazes taking in the practice field and Duke Galahad scraping his sword upon a whet stone at the other end of it, dutifully out of earshot. “Is there a secret you want me to keep, Arthur?”

           “I don’t know,” Arthur wavered, knowing he couldn’t tell her about Merlin but needing to talk about it regardless. There were so many things to consider and he suspected he wasn’t as well-informed on the subject as he thought he’d been.

           “If you don’t know,” Morgana said briskly, not letting Arthur wallow, “then leave me to my lesson. I have so little time, I don’t need to be wasting precious seconds on you.” With that, she started to walk away and Arthur, just as Morgana knew he would, made his decision.

           “Do you ever wonder,” Arthur called and Morgana returned to his side, ready to listen to whatever had the usually confident prince so uncertain, “Do you ever wonder,” Arthur repeated, took a fortifying breath and then finished, “Do you ever wonder why, with all that sorcerers can do, why Camelot hasn’t been razed to the ground a thousand times over?” Morgana stood, stunned speechless as Arthur came the closest she had ever heard him come to questioning Uther’s cruel rule. Swallowing nervously, Morgana found herself, for the first time, unsure of Arthur, unsure of what was going on inside his head. Needing to be careful, Morgana cast a quick look around the practice field, reassuring herself that she and Arthur remained unobserved, before carefully asking, “Do you ever wonder that?” Arthur gave an irritated snort at her deflection but, to Morgana’s mounting shock, answered the question.

           “Not really,” Arthur answered but he didn’t sound certain about that answer, “but now…If a sorcerer of middling power could, say, float in the sky, as just an example, just something that I picked out of…of thin air,” Arthur strangled out, “Anyway, say an average sorcerer could do something like that, then a truly powerful sorcerer could surely level Camelot with a single breath if they wanted. Right?” Arthur turned to Morgana, half-hoping she would deny such a preposterous thought because, surely, if all sorcerers were evil and out to destroy Camelot, then they would have done it already? None of these unorganized attacks by lone souls that ultimately failed, like the final, desperate sting of a cornered bee already resigned to its death.

           Of course, Arthur could see Morgana’s answer in her eyes even before she quietly said, “I think that’s right.” Morgana waited with bated breath as Arthur took in her answer, squinting towards the rising sun as he let that settle in his mind.

           “So,” Arthur said slowly, “If that’s right, then…then we’d have to assume, to assume…” Arthur faltered, unable to finish the thought and Morgana took pity on the poor man’s struggling brain.

           “That sorcerers don’t attack because they don’t want to,” Morgana finished, her voice gaining in ardour and vehemence the more she spoke, “It suggests that the majority of sorcerers just want to live out their lives quietly and peacefully and it is the unjust application of a cruel and prejudiced law that forces those who have no other option out into the open. The fact that we are not overrun with murderous sorcerers proves that magic doesn’t automatically make you one and to punish all due to the actions of a few is madness.”

           “Right,” Arthur whispered faintly when Morgana finished her short speech and Morgana felt like she was seeing Arthur with new eyes.

           “We keep each other’s secrets,” Morgana reaffirmed, with a slight questioning inflection, testing out Arthur’s resolve. He was gratifying quick to agree, “We keep each other’s secrets.”

           “Well come on then,” Morgana said, reeling from such an unexpected start to the day and seeking out more solid ground, “We still have a good half hour before the castle starts waking up properly. Let’s see how many times I can knock you on your arse!”

           “You wish,” a visibly relieved Arthur rejoined as he followed her onto the practice field, grateful to push the weighty issues of ruling and politics aside in favour of the surety of having a weapon in his hand.

           When Merlin woke up, he smiled so wide, his cheeks actually ached: step one had been a success. He laughed up at the ceiling, flinging his arms out, as he remembered the solid press of Arthur in his arms; he could almost convince himself he still heard Arthur’s unbridled laughter echoing in his ears as they twirled in the sky. Buoyed by how well step one went, Merlin was eager to proceed to step two, opening a hidden compartment in his dresser to reveal a collection of clearly magical objects secreted in its depths. Considering them all seriously, the delight welling up within him at what they represented threatening to leave him in an undignified giggling fit, Merlin selected one of the glowing objects, a coloured stone small enough to fit in his palm.

           Merlin couldn’t contain his smile as he exited his room, drawing the dreaded eyebrow raise from Gaius as he rushed out of the physician’s quarters. Speeding through the deserted castle corridors, half cast in shadow in the weak morning light, Merlin kept sneaking his hand into his trouser pocket; Arthur was going to love this, he was sure.

           After the success of the previous day, he was more certain than ever that he had made the right choice. Though they hadn’t really had a chance to talk about it, Merlin knew by the simple fact that he hadn’t been arrested on the spot after their return to Camelot that he had been right to trust in Arthur, that he truly was the man Merlin saw in him, the man he wanted to spend his life with; his smile stretched even wider.

           His elation carried Merlin all the way to the servant’s entrance to Arthur’s bedchamber, where he was suddenly caught up short. Shifting his weight from foot to foot, making indetectable adjustments to the heavily laden breakfast tray he carried, Merlin felt the enormity of stepping across that threshold, an action he had taken countless times before but never with so much at stake. Merlin took one last, reassuring look at the tray, hopeful that he had picked the right way to begin his courtship.

           The door had never felt so heavy as Merlin swung it slowly open, sudden trepidation erasing his previous joy. With a deep, fortifying breath, Merlin stepped into Arthur’s bedchamber. Each step into Arthur’s domain felt like he was struggling through quicksand, as if the sudden return of all his anxieties and doubts were clinging to his boots, trying to trip him up and drown him; the table where Arthur liked to eat his breakfast never seemed so far away. Merlin couldn’t even bring himself to glance over at the large, four-poster bed as he suddenly second-guessed everything. Was he ruining their friendship? Was he going to make Arthur uncomfortable? Worse, would Arthur make fun of him?!

           In his panic, Merlin’s magic leaked out to comfort him, a calming, familiar presence engulfing him in warmth and acceptance, so reminiscent of his mother’s hugs when he was a child. The gift Merlin had made for Arthur glowed brighter, as if his magic were reassuring him that this was the right path, the right decision, and everything would work out in the end. Taking a calming breath, Merlin set the breakfast tray down and finally turned to wake up Arthur; he may be anxious at feeling the sting of rejection but he was brave enough to take the risk and try for happiness.

           The bed was empty. Merlin marched up right to the side of the monstrous thing, as if getting closer would somehow make Arthur appear. All he accomplished, however, was confirm what he’d already seen; the sheets were in complete disarray, crumpled and askew with no languid Arthur in-between them. Of all the days for Arthur to rise with the sun, he picked this one! Merlin couldn’t believe it, he even considered checking under the bed to see if the dollophead had somehow fallen off and rolled under it but he refrained. Glancing towards the glowing stone resting on the silver platter where he had placed it so carefully and deliberately, it felt like that constant red shine was mocking him for expecting anything different. As he had learned yesterday and every day since he arrived at Camelot, if there was a way for Arthur to screw up even the best laid plan, he was going to find that way.

           Sighing, Merlin collapsed onto Arthur’s chair, casting a morose glare to the still glowing stone as he was faced with a decision he thought he’d already made. He could wait there for Arthur’s return, whenever the prince deigned to make an appearance, and watch Arthur find the stone when he had his breakfast. But Merlin had no idea where Arthur was and who was to say Arthur hadn’t already broken his fast during his mysterious disappearance? No, the safer decision was to try again tomorrow, as loath as Merlin was to do that now that he had gotten so close. Though neighbours, Essetir and Camelot were not the same and when it came to the ways of asking someone if they were open to the idea of courting, Merlin much preferred Essetir’s approach; though the principle was the same, Essetir’s tradition was quick and straight to the point whilst Camelot’s was a bit more of a protracted process. But Merlin had made Camelot his home and he was determined to do this right—besides, though he always hid it behind jokes, Merlin thought Arthur was actually secretly jealous of all the attention the women received when courting began and wanted a collection himself. So, delaying another day, assuming Arthur didn’t reject him outright, would add another day before Merlin would get an answer and that didn’t sit well with him. Despite all the stalling he’d done at the beginning, he had finally made his move and he didn’t want to wait another moment.

           Merlin was just reaching for the small stone when a third option popped into his head, an idea he hadn’t considered before but, now that he thought about it, was kind of perfect. He could leave the stone here for Arthur to find and that would give Arthur the chance to genuinely react and process what Merlin was offering without the pressure of Merlin’s presence. If that also meant Merlin wouldn’t have to be there to see Arthur if he rejected the gift out of hand, well, that was just a side-benefit and didn’t make him a coward.

           Picking up the glowing stone, Merlin cast some intricate spellwork so that it looked like an ordinary red stone and wouldn’t transform unless Arthur touched it when he was completely alone. That done, Merlin left the way he’d come in and went back to the physician’s quarters, willing to do any task Gaius would require to keep him busy and away from Arthur for the day, even if it meant cleaning out the slug tank.

           Breakfast was waiting for Arthur when he returned to his bedchamber with no sign of Merlin. He hadn’t woken Arthur up last night and now he didn’t even stick around after delivering breakfast? After a closer look, Arthur confirmed that Merlin hadn’t even pilfered anything from his plate! It was like Merlin was avoiding him and Arthur felt a little lost at that thought. He didn’t think he had done anything to make Merlin believe he was no longer welcome in Arthur’s presence. Sure, he’d thought Merlin was trying to kill him…but he’d only thought that for, maybe a few seconds and they’d had fun after that. Merlin shouldn’t take that to heart or be upset. Arthur’s knights wouldn’t.

           With a heavy sigh, Arthur sat down in front of his breakfast, stopping his gaze from resting on the chair adjacent to his own where his unrepentant thief of a manservant often sat during breakfast. Merlin was a mystery, his recently revealed hidden talent only obfuscating things further in Arthur’s mind; he didn’t act like a servant, he didn’t act like a knight, and he didn’t act like a courtier, Arthur had no frame of reference for him. Arthur munched slowly on a cold piece of bacon, trying to figure out just what Merlin was when he realized he’d been absently staring at a red marble that was starting to glow. Like magic.

           Arthur reached for his sword, trying to call for the guards with a half-full mouth when he paused. Merlin had magic which meant not all magic was evil or harmful. And this luminous marble seemed purposefully placed by the breakfast tray, as if it had come with said tray. Arthur took in the sparkling red glow, like dancing light shimmering across water, and his manservant’s absence. Swallowing the remnants of his bacon, Arthur slowly extended a pale white hand forward, halting the motion right above the obviously magic object so that his hand was hovering over it, wondering if he was actually going to willingly touch something that could easily be a trap. Arthur snatched up the marble—discovering that it wasn’t perfectly round but actually had a flat edge on one side of it—in one quick movement and held it far in front of him. Nothing happened. Nothing sharp burst from the surprisingly heavy marble, the light neither intensified nor dissipated, there was no shriek of pain nor cackle of glee. Nothing at all happened to suggest that this was anything other than a normal marble.

           Before Arthur could bring the thing closer for a better look, however, it began to melt in his hand. It was the strangest sensation, to feel cool, solid stone turn to a warm liquid in a flash and Arthur dropped the amorphous substance out of instinct—only, it didn’t fall. Floating in mid-air over Arthur’s half-eaten breakfast, the red, shimmering liquid twisted and turned, lengthened in some parts and flattened in others, transforming from a swirling blob of goo into a softly glowing rose. Once fully formed, the rose slowly sank until it was resting right next to the silver breakfast tray, its glow reflecting off the polished dish.

           Stunned, Arthur stared down mutely at the vibrant flower that had bloomed out of a semi-squashed marble. Arthur was dumbfounded to see that his hand was actually trembling as he once again extended it forward.

           There was no heat emanating from the transformed flower, despite the glow, though Arthur still picked it up cautiously. The stem was as substantial and firm as any non-glowing rose Arthur had ever held and Arthur rubbed a petal between his fingers, marveling at the satiny smoothness against his skin which proved that this was a real, live rose that had somehow been made to give off a pleasant red light.

           Magic, Arthur thought in wonder as he memorized the graceful curves of the most perfectly formed rose he had ever beheld, is beautiful. Arthur jolted at such a traitorous thought, his eyes darting around the deserted room, as if his father would suddenly appear, like a bloodhound on the scent, seeking out any trace of sympathetic thoughts towards magic. Yet no such figure appeared and Arthur was free to enjoy the magical rose in peace, without even Merlin’s prattle to disturb his study.

           Unlocking a well-hidden, secret cabinet, Arthur went about the familiar routine of perusing his vase collection for the perfect vessel to house a flower or bouquet, though he had never done so with a flower that had been gifted to him. Arthur surveyed Merlin’s “thank you” gift in the clear crystal vase it now resided in between a humble daffodil and a delicate dog-rose, a pleased smile stretching his features. Merlin may not know it but he had stumbled upon the perfect way to say “thank you for not chopping my head off”, despite the fact he got the colour of the rose wrong. However, Merlin was of Essetir and could be excused his ignorance. Besides, deep pink and red weren’t that different.

           Closing up the secret cabinet, Arthur went about his daily duties with hardly a glimpse of Merlin. Arthur got the message; Merlin didn’t want to talk about his magic or anything that had happened the day before and Arthur would respect that.

           Arthur hadn’t mentioned the rose at dinner. Why hadn’t Arthur mentioned the rose? Was it a good thing? Surely, if Arthur had refused Merlin outright, he would’ve said something? Silence meant Arthur was considering him, right?

           Merlin took out the second stone from its hiding place, rubbing his fingers over it, juggling it from hand to hand, watching as the bright orange glow appeared and disappeared as his large, white hands fidgeted. Merlin knew that it was considered desperate and unattractive to these people of Camelot to accept an offer of courtship after the presentation of the first flower, even accepting after the third would raise some eyebrows, but perpetually existing in this limbo of uncertainty was excruciating. With a sigh, Merlin flopped back on his bed, seeking clarity that his ceiling could not provide. It was so much simpler in Essetir. Their tradition may be deemed quick and brutal by some but at least there was no waiting around in agony, caught between delirious hope and embarrassed terror.

           Why hadn’t Arthur mentioned the rose?! Merlin thought, at the very least, he would’ve gotten a teasing remark from the dollophead. Complete silence on the subject was unsettling and Merlin fell into a fitful sleep still worrying the glowing orange stone in his hand.

           Once again, Merlin was nowhere to be seen when the smell of cooked sausage finally dragged Arthur from his dreams. Arthur frowned at that since he thought he had been very pleasant during the evening meal, the only time he had actually shared the same room with Merlin the previous day. He hadn’t mentioned topics that clearly made Merlin uncomfortable, he hadn’t threatened or harassed his sorcerer manservant about using illegal magic; he had done everything in his power to set Merlin at ease so why was he still avoiding him? It’d been weeks now of hardly seeing Merlin and Arthur had assumed, after Merlin had unburdened himself to Arthur, that things would have gone back to normal. As loath as he was to admit it, he missed the irreverent idiot.

           Collapsing into his chair, Arthur stared down blurrily at his breakfast, feeling Merlin’s absence and the resulting silence as an almost physical thing pressing down on him, making him feel unsettled. But he was a knight of Camelot, a prince, and he couldn’t let such feelings distract him. There were more pressing issues to attend to, such as the new batch of nobles’ sons that had arrived to become knights. Picking up his knife and fork, Arthur set about enjoying his breakfast as much as he could; though he couldn’t stop his thoughts from returning to Merlin and wondering where the man could be.

           Arthur was nearly done muzzily chewing his meal when a soft orange glow began to emanate from the corner of his silver breakfast tray. For a second, Arthur sat immobile as he stared at another innocuous looking marble-like stone sitting unobtrusively for all and sundry to see as it gave off an increasingly bright orange light. Frowning at the carelessness of his missing manservant, Arthur picked up the magical object with a lot less hesitancy than he had the day before. As he rubbed his thumb over the smooth surface of the heavy marble, mesmerized as the orange glow intensified and swirled around like ink in water, but with direction, as if following the cool glide of his thumb, Arthur puzzled over the oddity that was Merlin. Like the day before, the marble, if that was even what he should call it, melted, twisted, and reformed into a small, delicate flower with wide, rounded orange petals.

           Arthur regarded the softly glowing pansy thoughtfully, uncertain how to react to its presence in the place of Merlin himself. Merlin was not a mouse, he didn’t have any qualms about speaking up and stating his thoughts to Arthur, even when Arthur expressly ordered him not to. So why was Merlin scurrying around him, avoiding Arthur, and giving him placating gifts as if Arthur were in an unreasonable rage when he had done everything he could to set Merlin at ease? Things were supposed to have gone back to normal, dammit, now that he knew Merlin’s secret. Arthur felt an overwhelming compulsion to crush the luminous flower before him; he brought the bloom closer, cupping it in both his hands preparing to obliterate the offensive, mocking thing, only to stay his hand at the last moment. Despite the inappropriateness of the colour—whoever Merlin was getting his advice from for these “thank you” gifts was clearly an untrustworthy sort to trick Merlin so—Merlin had clearly put thought and effort into this gift and Arthur pushed past the disappointment weighing down on him that Merlin still felt like he had to hide from Arthur to really appreciate and admire the craftsmanship that went into such a beautiful flower. Getting up, Arthur opened up his secret cabinet and placed the “thank you” pansy in the same vase as the “thank you” rose, whose glow hadn’t faded one iota, before setting about figuring out what to wear since Merlin hadn’t bothered to do his job and set anything out for him.

           “I know that smile,” Merlin said in a lightly teasing voice as he chanced upon Gwen sitting in one of the royal gardens. “Letter from Lancelot?” Merlin asked as he sat down beside Gwen on her bench.

           “He’s at a tourney in France,” Gwen answered Merlin’s question indirectly with a beaming smile, her joy almost palpable in its intensity.

           “I don’t envy him,” Merlin joked. “What a pitiable place to find yourself.” Gwen’s light laugh ruined the seriously dour face Merlin was trying to maintain, a broad smile stealing across his face as Gwen playfully knocked her shoulder against Merlin’s in faux rebuke.

           “He’s actually doing quite well for himself,” Gwen said primly as she surveyed the courtyard, “And he writes that all of his adventures amount to nothing until he shares them with me.” Merlin and Gwen watched the flight of a small wren as it startled from a nearby tree, streaking towards the horizon with a loud chirp and it made him a recall a previous conversation they’d had.

           “Are you still thinking about joining him?” Merlin asked quietly, cursing inwardly as he saw his friend’s joy transform to wistfulness, Gwen drawing herself up and wrapping her arms about her, as if she were cold.

           “Well, it’s not the done thing, is it?” Gwen replied in a quick, blasé manner but Merlin could hear the remorse those words brought her, the longing. He saw how her gaze searched beyond the horizon, following the path the wren had taken, as if seeking out something greater than could be found within Camelot’s walls. “Not for a woman to be deemed respectable, at any rate.”

           “Gwen,” Merlin started to say but Gwen interjected quickly, forestalling his apology.

           “Don’t worry about what can’t be changed,” Gwen said resolutely, straightening her back and forcing a smile as she regarded a floundering Merlin. “Tell me about your courtship,” Gwen demanded kindly, her smile becoming more natural as Merlin blushed. “What flower are you on?”

           “I just gave him the second one this morning,” Merlin replied readily, heartened to see Gwen’s delighted smile return.

           “Lancelot gave me a pink camellia as his second,” Gwen said fondly. “I have no idea how he was able to keep it so well preserved, sending it from so far away.”

           Merlin shifted slightly, feeling an unexpected pull to confide in Gwen. As a child, he had never liked hiding his magic but it had been necessary and by now he had been doing it for so long it had become second nature to distract, obfuscate, or outright lie to keep his secret. But it was as if telling Arthur had lowered Merlin’s defenses without him realizing it because he felt the words forming on the tip of his tongue, ready to spill out. I used magic to bring the camellia here for Lancelot. It felt like the most natural thing in the word to open his mouth, the first word even starting to form on his tongue, confident that Gwen would receive the news favourably, before he struggled to push them back down.

           “How did he like the rose?” Gwen asked curiously, heedless of Merlin’s momentary lapse. It took a moment for Merlin to get himself back under control and properly take in Gwen’s question. When he did, Merlin gave a worried frown.

           “He didn’t say one word about it,” he answered.

           “Oh,” Gwen said in dismay and then, realizing how that must have sounded, added, “I mean, not ‘ohhhhh’ just, ‘hm’, just, that’s unexpected. I mean, he’s usually very opinionated. But, I mean, I wouldn’t be worried, it’s considered quite gauche to accept after the first flower anyway.”

           “But to not say anything at all,” Merlin said, “That can’t be normal, can it?”

           “Oh, well,” Gwen said before fading off, clearly striving to come up with a way to account for Arthur’s irregular behaviour that wouldn’t upset her friend.

           “At least he hasn’t told me to stop,” Merlin said, infusing confidence he wasn’t quite feeling into the statement. “He wouldn’t hesitate to let me know if I was making an arse of myself.” Gwen gave out a choked laugh at that and Merlin answered with a self-deprecating smile of his own.

           “Honestly, Gwen,” he said in an exaggeratedly forlorn tone, “Why’d it have to be him?”

           “I’m sure I don’t know, Merlin,” Gwen said, falsely sweet “He’s such a charmer.” They descended into shared laughter as the sun warmed their faces and the pleasant scent of the garden wafted around them. Suddenly, Gwen asked, “What did he do with the first flower? That would give you insight into how he’s taking your overture.”

           “I don’t know,” Merlin replied thoughtfully, realizing he hadn’t seen the rose anywhere in Arthur’s chamber the previous day. Granted, it was a glowing, magical rose, it wasn’t like Arthur could proudly display it, but it hadn’t even shown up whilst Merlin was cleaning the room. “What if he burned it?” Merlin asked in sudden horror and Gwen was quick to offer her response.

           “Then he would most definitely have said something,” Gwen said firmly, “He may be dense at times but he’s not callous.”

           “You’re right, you’re right,” Merlin nodded as he took in Gwen’s calm reassurance. “I’m not giving up,” he added, mostly for his own benefit.

           “We should never give up on love,” Gwen said with a beatific smile before her gaze returned to the light blue sky. After a moment of companionable silence, both of them lost in their thoughts, Gwen spoke.

           “Have you ever wanted to see the world, Merlin?” Gwen asked, jolting Merlin out of his own circling and seemingly unsolvable concerns. Merlin considered the question, knowing Gwen asked out of more than idle curiosity.

           “Living in Ealdor, I never imagined the world could be so vast,” he eventually said. “And I never thought I’d see any of it besides my little piece until my Mum sent me to Camelot. Now, so many things seem possible that I had never even dreamed of before and…I’m eager to see the impossible become real. Have you?” Merlin inquired and Gwen almost immediately shook her head.

           “Camelot is my home, I never imagined I would ever leave,” Gwen said with conviction but then that same remorse overtook her and she added hesitantly, “But it might be freeing, in a way. To live such a spontaneous, unexpected life.”

           “I want you to be happy,” Merlin said, taking Gwen’s light brown hand within his own white one. “Even if that means saying goodbye to my friend…and ally against certain demanding prats.” Merlin smiled as Gwen huffed a laugh. “But,” Merlin said as he cast a surreptitious look about the courtyard, keeping his voice low. “Word of Lancelot’s exploits are bound to reach Camelot ears and Arthur already holds him in high regard. There may come a time, and it might not be too far off, when Sir Lancelot can return with amity and not risk of imprisonment.”

           “Merlin,” Gwen said warningly, sending her own gaze in a quick scan about the courtyard, her grip tight around Merlin’s own loose hand.

           “Just a thought,” Merlin said lightly before moving onto safer topics, for both of them, by asking her what Morgana had her doing that day.

           Arthur wanted to ask Merlin about the pansy the few times he saw him that day—there was even a point where he swore Merlin was going to bring it up himself—but he didn’t want to mess anything up. Merlin, typically, was acting inexplicably, and after handing Arthur such a dangerous secret, bestowing Arthur his confidence and gifting him with immeasurable trust—which Arthur had, with his word and actions, proved was well-placed—Arthur couldn’t comprehend Merlin’s continued skittishness. He hadn’t earned this fear! He had acquiesced to Merlin’s unspoken request not to talk about what had transpired between them, he hadn’t arrested him—he’d even been much more lenient with the idiot than normal—and yet Merlin still absented himself from Arthur’s side. Why had Merlin taken Arthur into his confidence if he was just going to spurn Arthur afterwards? Merlin had said he trusted Arthur but where was that trust now?

           He’d seen so little of Merlin that day, it almost came as a shock to see Merlin sitting in his accustomed chair at Arthur’s table with dinner laid out before him. It seemed Merlin’s stomach took precedence over everything else.

           Taking his customary seat, Arthur proceeded to have one of the most stilted meals he had ever endured whilst in Merlin’s company. It was reminiscent of when Merlin was newly appointed to his service and they still resented the other’s intrusion into their lives. Arthur couldn’t account for it and for the first time, he wished Merlin hadn’t told him about his magic; at least before, things had been easy between them.

           Arthur was tempted to act in accordance with his own desires and simply make Merlin talk but this magic business was so far beyond his scope. What if he accidentally made things worse? Thinking of how worse things could possibly get, Arthur was struck that if he did press, it might cause Merlin to leave Camelot. Such a possibility took his tongue captive and he would be surprised if more than a dozen words past between Merlin and him that held any substance.

           That night, as Arthur waited for sleep to overtake him, he wondered which would be worse: being served by this shadow Merlin, this invisible ghost whose presence was only seen through what he changed, or not having Merlin there at all.

           Arthur wished he could’ve been surprised that, when he woke on the third morning since Merlin’s revelation, there was no sign of his wayward manservant. Getting up with a groan, Arthur walked over to the table where his breakfast tray was patiently waiting, still steaming even, and sure enough, amongst the foodstuffs lay a plain yellow pebble, already starting to give off a faint glow.

           Arthur picked it up languidly, testing its weight in his hand, hardly taking note of the magic contained within it, more concerned with the message it represented. Even as he lightly tossed the stone in the air it began to melt and reform and Arthur detachedly made a game of trying to guess what flower this pebble would become based upon the whirling shapes and patterns he spied.

           Yellow iris, Arthur thought derisively as the churning substance finally stilled and solidified into a flowing, and very much alive, flower. With a bemused snort that felt more pained than anything else, Arthur carelessly tossed the flower onto the table, heedless of whether it landed in his food or not. He couldn’t mean…, Arthur refused to finish the thought. He didn’t want flowers; he wanted his friend back. He had denied such a connection for as long as he could but with the way he felt like there was a large, gaping emptiness, like a loneliness specific to one goofy, yet deeply caring sorcerer, that only got bigger with Merlin’s protracted absence, what else could he be?

           Feeling slightly defeated—a very foreign sensation for Arthur and one he was not at all comfortable with—Arthur returned his attention to the gift of the yellow iris. A love flower. Completely flummoxed, Arthur picked up the flower from its sprawl and examined it. He couldn’t, Arthur couldn’t bring himself to finish the thought and let his mind go blank, once again getting lost in the graceful beauty of Merlin’s magic in creating such a magnificent bloom, before trudging over to his secret cabinet. Only Merlin could screw up a thank you gift so completely, Arthur thought sourly, the thought reverberating rather loudly in his head as he dutifully placed the glowing yellow iris with its compatriots, their individual glows combining in a brilliant mix of light and colour. Observing them critically, Arthur realized that, technically, they were all love flowers due to the colours Merlin had chosen, though the iris was the only flower whose sole purpose was to convey love and courting. With a resigned sigh, Arthur shut Merlin’s mischosen thank you flowers away.

           Throughout the day, Arthur’s mind returned to the puzzle of the flowers and Merlin’s pointed avoidance. At the training field, assessing the abilities of the nobles’ sons who wished to join the ranks of Camelot’s knights, Arthur was almost unarmed by a callow youth as he was paying more attention to an empty bench than his opponent. The lad risked becoming cocky, attributing the feat to his own rudimentary skill and not Arthur’s distraction. As a consequence, Arthur had to put the prospective knights through a much more rigourous and brutal training session than he had planned on at such an early juncture, to earn their respect back.

           It was almost cruel, to purposefully put these untrained boys through paces and formations Arthur knew they were not ready for but at least the physical exertion gave Arthur a reprieve from the constant spin of questions about manservants and glowing flowers and the one question he couldn’t even bring himself to think.

           The day didn’t get better after that. As he pondered whether the flowers were some sort of farewell gift, he walked straight into a wall in front of Ambassador Gaulus and his retinue. A petitioner had to nearly shout his request and gain Arthur’s attention as he was too focused on listing all the possible motives, save one, for Merlin to be acting the way he was to realize he had been addressed. Even his father took a break from sparring with Morgana and commented on him abstraction during their evening meal together.

           It was taxing, to keep returning to a twisted knot that he thought he had already unraveled but three thank you gifts in a row just seemed rather excessive to Arthur, especially since Merlin had never given Arthur a gift before. One explanation was that, in a way, he had saved Merlin’s life and so such generosity and exuberance in Merlin’s gift-giving choices were reasonable. Yet he eventually had to discard that line of thinking because he never received a gift after literally saving Merlin’s life from a deadly poison.

           Evening arrived, predictably without Merlin, and Arthur returned again and again to the cabinet where his mysterious gifts waited, shining happily, unfeeling to the headache they were giving Arthur. He kept studying Merlin’s flower and colour choices, looking past the beauty of their forms to whatever messages they may contain beneath. What he knew for certain was that they were not the standard fare for showing appreciation and gratitude. Was Merlin just ignorant or was there something more?

           As he prepared for bed, alone yet again, his headache pronounced and his fortitude depleted, that one thought, one question, came to the fore. He couldn’t, Arthur thought and though he strove not to follow that line of inquiry, this time the question refused to be silenced, Merlin couldn’t have actually meant to offer him courting flowers, could he?

           In all likelihood, Arthur decided as he tossed and turned that night, trying to quiet his unending and, at this point, tedious thoughts, Merlin had just picked some random flowers he thought were pretty, with no consideration for what they symbolized or what messages they conveyed. He was just trying to thank Arthur for accepting his magic, something Arthur hadn’t really even thought about since the flowers conundrum. Arthur’s last thought before finally collapsing into blessed oblivion was that, perhaps his lack of proper consideration of Merlin’s magic was the sorcerer’s intent; perhaps this was a stratagem to deflect Arthur away from Merlin’s magic or a test to ascertain Arthur’s level of acceptance to it? Whatever it was, Arthur just wished Merlin would do it in person.

           Day four since Merlin took Arthur into his confidence and day four where Merlin’s smiling face and chipper “rise and shine,” weren’t the first thing Arthur saw and heard in the morning. Day four and Arthur’s patience was through; he had had enough. Never mind that Merlin was supposed to be Arthur’s friend and trust him, Merlin had a job to do and he couldn’t complete his duties whilst ignoring Arthur at the same time. That, and that alone, was the source of Arthur’s ire and he wasn’t going to tolerate Merlin’s neglect any longer.

           Once again, instead of Merlin, Arthur found a small stone, green this time, placed off to the side of his breakfast tray. Snatching it up wrathfully, not even waiting for it to start to glow, Arthur drew his hand back, preparing to hurl the offending marble, pebble, stone, MAGIC THING he got in the place of his friend, clear across the room. As if sensing Arthur’s intent, the green stone melted and reformed much quicker than its predecessors, transforming into a sprig of some sort of flower that Arthur couldn’t see but knew was there as the smooth petals tickled by his ear.

           Closing his eyes in defeat, his hands clenching tightly as he battled against a growl, Arthur brought the bundle of flowers, which amazingly hadn’t crushed under the pressure of his fist, into sight. Of course, the flowers, three in total, were mesmerizing. They shimmered with a multitude of greens, bright greens at the edges of the five long, thin petals that ended in points, slowly darkening the closer to the center of the flower they got. The overlap of the petals gave the flowers a dynamic shape and Arthur delicately traced the swirl of the petals with a finger, marveling that these flowers were real. Clearly, Merlin had put care, thought, and magic into this flower unlike any Arthur had ever seen before and yet Arthur resented its presence. Merlin had dedicated his time into creating this sprig rather than simply talk with Arthur; and just like the man himself, these gifts confused more than illuminated.

           Opening up his cabinet, Arthur surveyed the play of colours as he added the splash of green to the red, orange, and yellow. He was acquiring quite a bouquet but if Merlin’s intentions had been to show thanks and gratitude, he was far off the mark. Before Arthur was the start of a courting bouquet to be envied but was that what Merlin had truly intended to give Arthur? Sleep hadn’t given Arthur any further insights into the problem but staring back at him, if he were to take them at face value, were flowers of love, passion, and now this unknown, vibrant flower resplendent in the colour of good fortune and luck. Four days now of gifting Arthur with a flower, the most obvious conclusion was that Merlin was constructing a courting bouquet for Arthur. He had gone through every other possibility in an attempt to find an explanation other than the most obvious one and yet they all seemed rather far-fetched and less likely every day Arthur woke to find another flower. Why would a sorcerer give a courting bouquet to the prince of Camelot? But what else could these flowers be?

           Cataloguing the flowers before him, Arthur had never seen these green flowers before, so he wouldn’t be able to even hazard a guess as to what Merlin was trying to say with them and at least two of the flowers had other meanings when paired with different colours, so it might not be what it appeared to be; Arthur didn’t want to assume anything when it came to his confounding manservant. He was sure, considering this was Merlin, these flowers were not all they appeared to be. Yet, if they were…?

           Unbelievably, Merlin didn’t wait for Arthur to leave to come and pick up his empty breakfast tray. At the first sight of Merlin, a small, questioning smile hovering about his face, Arthur briefly forgot his earlier rancour and felt something ease within him, as if only realizing that a vise had been clenched around his insides with its release. Yet Merlin did not boldly enter Arthur’s room as he normally did. Instead, he hesitated by the door, observing Arthur and the room at large with a scrutinizing gaze without uttering a word, as if testing Arthur’s mood to determine if he would actually enter or continue to evade. At the sight of this, all of Arthur’s pent up frustration and confusion came roaring back and he snapped, “Are you waiting for a formal invitation or have you actually forgotten how to do your job?”

           Merlin’s smile vanished at Arthur’s tone and a more resigned look overtook his features. Without a word, Merlin finally entered the room, going over to Arthur’s empty breakfast tray and giving it a narrow-eyed once over before picking it up.

           “Hooow…was breakfast?” Merlin asked, trying to sound casual but failing miserably. Arthur tensed where he sat at his desk, readying the papers he would need for the privy council session later that day, raising his gaze to look at Merlin suspiciously. After days of silence, when Arthur had finally reached his limit, was this it, was Merlin finally ready to discuss his magic?

           “Everything was fine,” Arthur said casually, showing Merlin how acting casual was supposed to be done, “Nothing to worry about,” Arthur added, shooting a meaningful look towards Merlin and hoping he would get his message; Merlin didn’t need to hide. He didn’t need to communicate through flowers and hidden messages, Arthur was open to what Merlin actually had to say. Unfortunately, the look was completely missed by his magical manservant, who was staring into the fire suspiciously, as if it there was some magical fiend hiding within the flames that was going to jump out and attack him.

           Arthur waited, letting the silence stretch, knowing any moment now that Merlin was going to return to his normal, talkative self, certain his patience would be rewarded and he would not only have his friend back, but the mystery of the flowers would also be put to rest. Yet Merlin remained stubbornly silent and Arthur gave an almost inaudible sigh, wishing yet again that Merlin had never told him about his magic. He’d never really understood Merlin but at least before, he could talk to him, he knew how to interact with the man. This avoidance and talking without actually talking was wearing incredibly thin. It was time to take a sledgehammer to the whole affair and smash through whatever had Merlin acting so uncharacteristically timid, consequences be damned. He had tried it Merlin’s way and the man seemed more skittish than ever; Arthur was a man of action and it was time he acted like one.

           “Merlin,” Arthur started, noting how Merlin perked up at the sound of his name and thinking the man almost looked hopeful when he was interrupted by a knock on the door.

           “Sire,” called Sir Leon from the other side of the door, “The king requires your presence.”

           “On my way,” Arthur called, internally cursing his bad luck as he quickly collected the parchments from his desk and strode out of the room. He ignored the tight knot in his stomach, the slight deflation to his mood when he realized Merlin hadn’t come with him.

           Arthur marched as hurriedly through the corridors as dignity and pride would allow, silently cursing Leon and the haste with which he’d left his chambers that morning; he never would’ve left such an important document behind otherwise. He could still feel his father’s rebuke like it was a tangible thing stinging around his ears and wrapping around his throat as he entered the safety of his bedchamber, the only place where scrutinizing eyes couldn’t penetrate and judge.

           “What the…?” Arthur uttered helplessly, stunned to see his room looking like a griffin had stampeded through it and his manservant smack in the middle of it, riffling through a pile of dirty laundry.

           “Merlin!” Arthur shouted, “What the hell are you doing?”

           “Uh,” Merlin said, jolting to his feet, “Um, organizing,” he finally landed on, as if that made any sense.

           “Nothing looks organized,” Arthur gritted out, taking in the rubbish strewn about his room. “That’s because I’m not finished yet,” Merlin said with forced cheer, “Just wait, when I’m through with this room, you’ll, it’ll…”

           “Merlin,” Arthur said threateningly, “You wouldn’t be lying to me? Again.” Placing a hand on the hilt of his sword while scanning the room closely, Arthur finally broached the topic he’d been holding his tongue on for days. “If there’s some magical threat in the castle, you can tell me, Merlin. You don’t have to hide it from me. Not anymore.”

           Merlin stood mutely as Arthur took a quick but thorough survey of the room and when he decided that there was no imminent threat of attack, Arthur relaxed his sword hand and drew closer to Merlin, who was still studying him with a considering expression. Arthur snorted as he took in Merlin’s appearance. He looked utterly ridiculous, standing in a pile of dirty clothes, his own plain shirt rumpled, his sleeves rolled up, his jacket completely missing, sweat dampening his hair and causing his fringe to stick up wildly, and with his trousers stained horribly. However, Arthur’s humour vanished when he realized that the stains on Merlin’s trousers and hands were actually soot from the fireplace and Merlin was covered in it, which meant, subsequently, so was everything Merlin had touched.

           “Truly, Merlin,” Arthur said, ignoring his irritation in favour of finally getting Merlin to talk to him, “You can tell me. What happened here?”

           “I was just looking for,” Merlin said, his gaze boring into Arthur’s and Arthur felt a sudden urge to whoop as he saw a glimmer of his Merlin, finally, standing before him, “I was wondering if you…”

           “Merlin, Gaius needs you,” a messenger, Paul, huffed out as he crashed through the servant’s entrance to Arthur’s bedchamber, “There’s been an accident.” Arthur jolted away from Merlin at the sudden intrusion, curious to discover that he had been much closer to Merlin than he had thought, almost as close as when Merlin had held him in the sky.

           “I’ll be right there,” Merlin called to Paul, though he didn’t take his eyes off of Arthur. There was something there in Merlin’s clear blue eyes, something vulnerable, like something usually kept heavily guarded but that Merlin was allowing Arthur to see and, in seeing it now, it gave Arthur the sinking sensation that he’d been acting the fool.

           As Merlin hurried to follow Paul, Arthur was stood immobilized, remembering the pull of strong limbs around him and the confidence that the man holding him wouldn’t let him fall. Arthur blinked and the memory faded, leaving in its place a room that looked like it had been through some sort of disaster and no manservant to clean it up.

           “Merlin!” Arthur shouted but the man was already long gone.

           Merlin had started to say he had been looking for something and seeing the traces of soot wind their way from the fireplace—as if Merlin had leaned over the hearth and scooped through the ash—to armoires, dressers, rubbish jars, and Arthur’s laundry, smearing dark soot over the finest fabrics Camelot could buy. Arthur had conducted enough searches of his own to recognize an inexpert attempt to find something Arthur had secreted away. And the only thing Arthur had hid recently that Merlin might want to find were the flowers.

           Today’s the fourth day, Arthur thought dazedly as he sat down heavily at his desk. If Merlin were gifting Arthur a courting bouquet and he thought Arthur would accept, it would be reasonable to expect such a declaration on the fourth day. Conversely, if Merlin thought Arthur had thrown away the flowers and thus, rejected him? Arthur’s eyes landed on the stone-cold hearth, ash spilling around it.

           “Sire?” Called Sir Leon’s voice, forcing Arthur out of his stunned reverie. As if following orders he was not conscious of giving, Arthur found his hands picking up the parchment he had come to fetch in the first place and carrying him over to the door behind which Leon was patiently inquiring if Arthur was alright. Arthur didn’t have the foggiest idea what he was feeling and, naturally, it was all Merlin’s fault.

           Arthur existed in sort of a numb stupor until his evening meal with his father and Morgana, which seemed to be increasing with frequency the more Morgana pulled away from the king. His father was once again ranting about how those with magic would see them and their way of life destroyed, how they were always seeking to penetrate to the heart of Camelot when Arthur just started laughing. It was a high, unending sort of laugh and as much as he tried, Arthur couldn’t seem to stop. It was only as his father’s frown became more pronounced and Arthur was gasping for air that he was finally able to bring himself back under control, after which he excused himself hurriedly, claiming fatigue.

           Of course, Merlin wasn’t waiting for Arthur when he returned to his bedchamber, which was once again gleaming immaculately but for the first time, Arthur was glad. He went over to his secret cabinet and caressed the glowing petals encased within. They were beautiful flowers, worthy offerings for a prince, but what did Arthur want?

           Arthur did not rise immediately when he woke the next morning, instead he contemplated the canopy above him. He didn’t know whether he was eager or dreading to see if Merlin had gifted him another flower or not, though he could smell that the man had already come and gone. Arthur suspected Merlin used magic, the cheat, to sneak in and deliver Arthur’s breakfast without disturbing him. How else could Merlin, one of the clumsiest men Arthur had ever met, not wake a trained knight such as Arthur, who was ready for danger at any given moment, even whilst asleep?

           Magic, like the kind Merlin had used to lift him and Arthur into the sky. Magic, like the kind, Arthur suspected, that he used to clean the prince’s bedchamber and complete his other chores. Magic, like he was currently using to court the prince of Camelot? Needing to know, Arthur slowly left his bed and cautiously approached the table where his breakfast lay waiting, as if the tray contained some temperamental beast rather than mere food. But it was the brilliant blue stone that held Arthur’s attention, already glowing as Arthur made his approach. How was it that something so small and innocuous could make Arthur feel as if the world were spinning? Picking up the gently glowing stone, Arthur watched the now familiar transformation. It was enthralling, to see something so solid melt within his very hand, twist and swirl in complex, yet beautiful patterns as the magic sought out a new form.

           It was alarming to think that Merlin, with whatever small amount of magic he possessed, could accomplish all this. What all could someone with a hell of a lot more power do? But that was a concern for the outside world. In here, in his own chambers, it was simply mesmerizing to watch the flow of magic, as if Merlin, in offering his suit, wanted to make sure Arthur couldn’t overlook his illegal talents.

           When the transformation was complete, Arthur was holding an exquisite blue hyacinth, constancy and sincerity, and there was no doubt in Arthur’s mind that these flowers were exactly as they seemed. Merlin, a sorcerer and a peasant, was offering Arthur a courting bouquet. Merlin, who constantly complained about his job, was offering Arthur a courting bouquet. Merlin, who insulted Arthur on a regular basis, was offering Arthur a courting bouquet. Merlin, the absolute worst servant Arthur had ever met, once again proved he didn’t understand the rules of his station by offering Arthur a courting bouquet and damn it all if Arthur wasn’t tempted. For whilst he made an abysmal servant, Merlin proved an exceptional man, for who other than Merlin would dare to court a prince?

           As Arthur opened his hidden cabinet to study the gleaming bouquet with new eyes, he felt a lightness in his heart, urging him to be reckless, telling him that, whilst Merlin was a friend, it would be so simple for him to become something so much more. As he took in the gentle play of light and colour in his very magical courting bouquet, he knew what his duty and his father would have him do. Closing the cabinet again with the blue hyacinth safely placed amongst its depths, he had a small but elated smile that he could not wrestle under control; his father, he was discovering, did not always have the right answers.

           Without any true destination in mind after breakfast, Arthur suddenly found that his feet had carried him to the Queen’s garden, which his father made sure was maintained meticulously in the name of Arthur’s mother. Arthur strolled through the rigidly criss-crossing pathways of the garden, absently taking in the blooming flowers whose names had not been deemed worthwhile knowledge for a prince who would be king, but that did not mean he hadn’t learned them. Walking past roses, lilies, irises, aromatic herbs and flowers alike, Arthur recounted their names in his head, imagining the care and thought that had created all that he saw and planning out what he might have done differently. Keeping his hands loose by his sides, betraying nothing to the courtiers who were also taking a turn through the garden, he imagined the feel of newly turned dirt, the strain of planting flower after flower in a pattern of his own design, and the pride of seeing that work completed. The structure of this garden, though clearly masterfully constructed, was cold; the play of scent and colour at odds, and though it was supposedly the Queen’s favourite garden, Arthur had a hard time thinking of his mother in this clinically put together space. But, with his father banning all images of the late Queen, it was the only place Arthur could go to be close to her. A tribute stood in her honour at the heart of the garden, where a statue of the Virgin Mary stood surrounded by marigolds, the type of flower Arthur’s father had given to the future Queen when she finally accepted his suit and thus, her favourite.

           Arthur stood straight and tall, the perfect military stance and yet his head was bowed as he contemplated the flowers before him, these orange blooms planted neatly in a row, never allowed to stray from their beds and impede the cold stone pathways. He would have allowed for a freer rein, having the flowers tumble over each other in what appeared to be chaos but was actually a strategic placement to make them look like they were rollicking happily through the garden.

           “You have such the look of your mother about you,” a voice said from beside him, startling Arthur.

           “Lady Ives!” Arthur said delightedly as he turned to see who had pulled him from his thoughts. He took in the lively features he had so often sought out as a child, slightly more wrinkled, the dreadlocked hair framing the long, oval face slightly greyer, but the same vivacious spirit plainly evident.

           “Prince Arthur,” Lady Ives greeted warmly with a negligent curtsey.

           “What did my mother look like?” Arthur asked, hearing an echo of the same question in the higher voice of a child spoken thousands of times reverberating out from the past. He returned his gaze to the serene statue of the Virgin Mary overlooking a bed of ruthlessly organized marigolds and Lady Ives, following his lead, said, “She didn’t look like that.”

           “I know,” Arthur said sadly, “I remember everything you’ve ever said about her. I almost feel I could paint her likeness just from your words alone, if I possessed such a fine talent.”

           “I wish you would try anyway,” Lady Ives revealed, “I miss seeing your mother’s face about the court.” They stood silent for a moment, sharing in each other’s grief, before Lady Ives gave a delighted laugh and shared one of her fondest memories of a young Ygraine showing off a saddle of her own invention by racing one of her father’s guests on horseback, her sitting side-saddle whilst galloping at full speed,

           “She looked so alive,” Lady Ives finished in a happily reminiscent voice and Arthur, who had heard this story so often he had it memorized, felt like he could almost see her blazing across a field, wind whipping about her, carrying her delighted laugh to everyone she left behind as her horse raced ahead.

           “Now, Artie,” Lady Ives said jovially as she extended the crook of her arm out for Arthur to take with a laugh, “Tell me what has you looking so dour faced.”

           “I was just wondering,” Arthur started readily, long accustomed to being completely open with his mother’s oldest and dearest friend, “I know my father’s counsel if I were to broach the subject, but I wondered what my mother’s counsel would have been in matters of the heart.”

           “She would want you to be happy,” Lady Ives said fervently. Arthur scoffed at such a meaningless platitude.

           “And if, to be happy meant I had to ignore my duty?” Arthur asked heatedly, “What then?”

           “That is your father’s way of thinking,” Lady Ives said with a shake of her head, “One or the other, either all good or all bad, no in-between. Your mother never thought like that. She used to say that a person is ‘many in one’ and therefore, so is our world and everything in it, including problems and their solutions.”

           “‘Many in one,’” Arthur repeated confusedly, “How would that even work?”

           “The way Ygraine saw it,” Lady Ives explained, “A person can be many different people in the course of their life, even in the course of one day. A teacher to a younger sibling, a student to a master, a confidante to a friend, and a betrayer to a lover. She said that a person can feel many different things all at once, even some emotions that contradict each other, and yet all are true.” Lady Ives let that sink in before she continued, “So, your mother would want you to be happy and would advise you that, very rarely is the solution to a problem ‘either/or.’”

           Lady Ives watched Arthur as he took in her words, concerned by just how despondent he looked, how conflicted. She remembered coming upon Ygraine looking much the same way when faced with a matter of the heart; she prayed that whatever was facing Arthur would have a better outcome than it had for his mother.

           “Did you know,” Lady Ives said suddenly, twisting Arthur around on the path they had been walking so that they could see the splash of orange marigolds in the distance, “That marigolds were the 29th flower King Uther offered to Ygraine?”

           “What?” Arthur said, “But they were in love, why would she wait so long?”

           “Arthur,” Lady Ives said sternly, forestalling any childish insistence that what she was about to say was a lie, “Your mother undoubtedly loved your father but she grew into that love, it wasn’t there at the beginning.” Lady Ives took Arthur’s head in both her hands as he took this in, brushing her thumb across his cheek in a reassuring sweep as she drew her hands back and continued, “When the king started offering his courting bouquet, she was also being pursued by Sir Girlois, whom she was quite fond of.” Arthur jerked at this pronouncement but remained silent, knowing there was more to Lady Ives’ story. “Duty and honour dictated that she follow her father’s counsel and marry the king whilst her heart whispered of a future filled with laughter and harmony, free of court intrigue and politics with Sir Girlois.”

           “Either/or,” Arthur finally said as Lady Ives grew silent, lost in her memories.

           “You would think,” Lady Ives said spritely, “But your mother believed that there are always many options to choose from, if you’re willing to face the consequences. So, she could accept the king, Sir Girlois, but she also could have accepted neither and retreated from the world.”

           “She wanted to be a nun?” Arthur asked, incredulous, trying to imagine the mother he had constructed in his head from all that Lady Ives had said in his childhood seeking out such a staid, sheltered life. Lady Ives’ robust laughter seemed to agree with Arthur’s doubt and she shook her head, her dreadlocks swaying, as she confirmed, “That was not a consequence Ygraine could accept. So, she came up with her own, fourth option. She had both her suitors try and guess her favourite flower. Each day, they would bring their guess and have five minutes only to explain why they thought it was her favourite. Both men took this as an opportunity to lavish her with praise, composing sonnets to her beauty, but each day they were turned away, having failed to discover her favourite.” Lady Ives threw a wicked grin at Arthur before continuing, “Ygraine had a plan. In issuing her challenge in this way, she got to glimpse the inner workings of each man, to assess what had drawn them to her and how they envisioned life with her to be like. And the king, first and foremost, was a man of war, flowery praise was not his forte. Having quickly run out of ways to describe the same blue eyes, he turned to more practical matters of how Ygraine would aid in the ruling of his kingdom. She discovered that the king seemed willing to listen to her about the future of Camelot,” Lady Ives finished. “You know, marigolds aren’t even her favourite flower,” Lady Ives revealed conspiratorially, “but after nearly a month, Ygraine was impressed by King Uther’s faithfulness to his word in coming every day and invigorated by his vision for Camelot and her place in it, her role to help shape it.”

           “So…you’re saying that, I should pick duty?” Arthur asked hesitantly, knowing that that was not what Lady Ives was saying but too lost in this new story of his mother to truly parse out the message it conveyed.

           “No,” Lady Ives said whilst smacking Arthur lightly on the forehead, “I’m saying you don’t have to choose. Ygraine valued inventiveness and imagination and she found a way to honour both her duty and her heart. So, your mother would counsel you,” Lady Ives said with deliberate slowness, getting back to Arthur’s original question, “That duty doesn’t have to exclude happiness or vice-versa. That you are privileged enough to have multiple options before you, so long as you’re willing to accept the consequences, good, bad and in-between.”

           Arthur took this in as Lady Ives led him through the garden. It sounded like, if he wanted to say “yes” to Merlin, he could, his mother would have supported such an action. He didn’t know whether her counsel would have changed knowing of Merlin’s gender or magic and he didn’t know how to raise the question, even with Lady Ives.

           Saying “yes” to Merlin, they could decide together if they were willing to accept the repercussions, given Arthur’s duty to his kingdom to marry and produce an heir. Was Arthur the kind of man who could live happily whilst staying faithful to neither his lover nor his wife? Was Merlin willing to accept such a position? But that was a concern many steps ahead of where Arthur stood now and took many things for granted—it assumed that this potential courtship would be successful. And, in all honesty, it might not be; he and Merlin might find the pressure of courting or the secrecy too much and decide to end it. Or, whatever was between them might fade, as had happened with Sir Girlois and his mother. But did that mean that Arthur should forego the attempt altogether? Arthur decided that he would rather discover what being courted by his audacious, presumptuous, hapless, intriguing Merlin could lead to than live his life forever wondering. It was curious, after struggling so long to merely call Merlin a friend, that it seemed so much simpler to admit that he could potentially be more.

           “And what do you think, Ilarya?” Arthur asked earnestly, giving Lady Ives’ arm a squeeze and briefly resting his head against hers, like he had when he was a child and she could carry him when she knew the news wouldn’t travel back to his father. “What would you counsel?”

           Lady Ives was thoughtful as she assessed Arthur before replying, “I would ask whether it is a just duty that would compel you to be unhappy. On the other side, however, I would ask whether pursuing your own happiness whilst forsaking duty will cause other’s pain, damage, or hardship. And I would remember Ygraine and I would ask if you cannot find any middle ground. Beyond that, I can’t be much help as you’ve been frustratingly vague about what decision you’re actually facing.” Arthur ducked his head guiltily at Lady Ives’ slight rebuke but before he could apologize, Lady Ives continued, “I have my suspicions, though. And whilst I won’t speculate on how your mother would react to this particular issue, for myself, I am no less proud of you.” Arthur felt his throat constrict at Lady Ives’ words and an alarming pressure start behind his eyes.

           “Thank you,” Arthur whispered and Lady Ives gave his arm a reassuring squeeze in return.

           They continued on their stroll in silence until Arthur felt he had gained proper control of his voice.

           “How are your education reforms progressing?” Arthur asked, remembering the battle of wills that had transpired the last time Lady Ives had been at court as she championed free schools for children of serfs and peasants alike.

           “Marvelous. I’ve convinced two of my neighbours to open schools and I’m about to land quite a big fish. The Duchess of Marbourough is quite intrigued by my ideas and if I can sway her to open up her own school then everyone at court will be jumping to follow her lead. That’s actually why I have returned to court, to conference with Duchess Marbourough and her ladies.”

           “And these schools are actually attended?” Arthur asked, stunned as his father had always insisted that peasants shunned schooling in favour of hard, menial work, that the idea of utilizing their minds instead of their hands made them susceptible to immoral impulses. Merlin was a clear exception, as was Gwen, but Arthur would have assumed that most of Lady Ives’ schools would have remained mostly empty.

           “More than just attended, one little classroom is usually overflowing with children and adults alike,” Lady Ives began, the animation of her voice matching the passion clearly evident on her face. “We’ve even set up a second time later in the evening for only adults to come and learn to read and write. The men were a little hesitant at first but the women have been eager pupils from the start.”

           “You teach both men and women?” Arthur asked, starting to see how Lady Ives had convinced one of the most influential women at court to acquiesce to her controversial ideas, as he too, at the sound of her voice and the conviction of her sentiment, began to believe in the rightness of such an unorthodox enterprise.

           “Yes, I,” Lady Ives started only to be interrupted by the arrival of Sir Leon.

           “Sire,” Sir Leon said after bowing to both Arthur and Lady Ives and being granted permission to speak. “One of the new recruits is being accused of lewd behaviour by Priscella, one of our weavers. Your presence is requested at the barracks. The young man refuses to present himself.”

           “I’ll be there directly,” Arthur acknowledged before turning back to Lady Ives. “I’m intrigued by your success with your schools and would like to discuss them with you some more, if you’re willing, Lady Ives.” Arthur regretted having to revert back to a more formal address.

           “I would be delighted, Prince Arthur,” Lady Ives agreed. “Until then.” Arthur then took his leave of one of the dearest ladies in his world.

           The rest of the day went by in a blur. Arthur attended to Priscilla’s complaint, discovering quickly the veracity of her charge and dismissing the young lordling who had tried to lift her skirt, to have her prove she was who she said she was, from court. He then worked the rest of the recruits into the dirt whilst instilling in them the proper values of a knight of Camelot. By the time evening came, even Arthur was feeling a bit sore and he ate the evening meal in the barracks with the men as a way of commiseration and to gain a better understanding of their characters as people.

           That night, having seen nary even a sliver of Merlin all day, Arthur fell asleep, eager for the possibilities the next day would bring.

           There was no stone waiting for Arthur the next morning. No Merlin and now no magic flower. Arthur’s heart plummeted as he snatched up in turn his napkin, platter full of the choicest meats, goblet, and silverware, searching to see if the stone were simply hidden. Coming up empty, Arthur expanded his search, lifting the entire tray to no avail, sweeping his hand across the table’s surface and the seat of his chair, thinking wildly that Merlin might have made the thing invisible. Finally, deciding that, somehow, the stone had rolled away, Arthur crawled under the table, straining his eyes and gliding his hands back and forth, giving up on dignity in the hopes that he would be rewarded with some glimpse of a runaway stone.

           “Rise and shine, Arthur!” Merlin shouted joyfully as he entered Arthur’s bedchamber. SMACK.

           “Merlin!” Arthur shouted heatedly as he quickly—and as gracefully as he could—scrambled out from under the table to find his manservant standing close to the servant’s entrance door with a silver pitcher in his hands. “You idiot, I nearly brained myself.”

           “It’s not my fault you were under the table,” Merlin said sulkily though he was still smiling, which Arthur was very suspicious of as he rubbed at his head. “Honestly, Arthur, I knew you had the manners of a troll but I thought even you would know how to use a table.” Merlin laughed as he set the pitcher down on said table.

           “I’ll show you a—” Arthur started angrily, forgetting about his sore head and looking for something to throw before, with a mighty effort, he reined in his temper and forced himself to become calm.

           “No,” Arthur said seriously, wiping the smile off Merlin’s face. “No, Merlin, you don’t get to do this. You don’t get to disappear and then act like nothing happened when you do finally deign to show yourself. You better have a good explanation for this,” Arthur said sternly. Merlin opened his mouth but Arthur, feeling like he had lived this scenario several times before, added warningly, “And it better be the truth.”

           “It started out because I wanted to give you space,” Merlin said as he hid his hands behind his back, “I figured you didn’t need me hovering over you as you made your decision. But then you didn’t mention them,” Merlin swallowed. “Not at all, not even after the fourth or fifth. I thought, maybe your silence was your answer and I should stop.” Arthur’s heart was pounding so hard he thought it might burst as he heard Merlin’s words but then that suspicious smile returned to Merlin’s face, a bit strained but still present, and Arthur knew they were going to be okay, that they hadn’t ruined this before it even had a chance to start. “But then I remembered it’s you, so you probably screwed something up.”

           “Ah-ha,” Arthur chortled with exaggerated cheer, his voice going higher than was natural, “Is that right? That sounds more like something you’d do, Merlin.”

           Merlin didn’t respond to Arthur’s jibe, instead he took a deep breath and spoke in that magical language, his eyes flashing gold. Arthur had experienced so many unpleasant things at the sight of that gold and yet he knew that, when coming from Merlin, he had nothing to fear. In fact, eagerness bubbled up within him as Merlin brought his hands out from behind his back, revealing a majestic purple orchid.

           “Did you keep the others?” Merlin asked quietly as he extended the thin, curving branch with five overlapping, glowing blooms towards Arthur.

           “I did,” Arthur responded slowly as he accepted the flowers Merlin was offering. He moved his gaze between the delicate flowers and Merlin, who was staring at Arthur so intently, it was like he was trying to look right through him.

           “Oh,” Merlin said, shocked, “Good.”

           “Did you think I wouldn’t?” Arthur asked, genuinely curious to find out what Merlin’s thinking was involving all this, especially since he hadn’t even realized there was a “this” until the previous day.

           “I hoped you would,” Merlin answered which wasn’t all that helpful to Arthur as he mulled the words over; what was spurring Merlin to be so daring? “Does that mean…I mean, do you accept? Me?”

           “Hmm,” was Arthur’s non-committal response as he moved over to the wall where his secret cabinet was apparently so well hidden, even those with magic couldn’t find it. Opening up the doors and stepping aside to make room for Merlin to slot into beside him, Arthur placed the sixth flower in amongst the others. The glow emanating from the different blooms seemed to dance and play, bouncing off the darkened walls of the cabinet cheerfully and Arthur was overcome with the mad desire to take them out of their hiding place and bring them into the open for all to see.

           As if hearing his thoughts, Merlin said, “I know that, traditionally, you preserve the flowers of a courting bouquet. You can’t do that with these,” he finished needlessly.

           “No, I can’t,” Arthur confirmed, just as pointlessly, feeling the boldness of a second ago wither under the pressure of reality and Arthur rubbed a silken petal between his fingers regretfully, memorizing their beauty as they must remain forever hidden from the world.

           “I had an idea,” Merlin said and Arthur laughed deliberately, turning away from what he could not change and using the sound to return to his natural state.

           “A sentence that would inspire terror in even the most stalwart amongst us,” Arthur teased.

           Without warning, Merlin spoke in his magical language again, the sounds harsh and sharp and he lifted up his hand. To Arthur’s dismay, he flinched and he knew Merlin saw as his hand caught the belt he had just summoned from Arthur’s armoire, though he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he stepped close so that he and Arthur were nose to nose, almost sharing the same breath. His eyes did not stray from Arthur’s own as he wrapped the belt around Arthur’s waist, the band of leather lightly digging into Arthur’s skin causing gooseflesh to shiver up and down Arthur’s body as he swayed forward, closer to Merlin…

           Merlin turned his back, taking the bouquet of flowers out of the vase Arthur had put them in. Arthur watched, transfixed, as more muttered words he could not understand flew from Merlin’s lips. His attention was finally drawn away from Merlin’s mouth by the growing intensity of the light of the flowers until he and Merlin appeared awash in a rainbow. Arthur gazed in wonder at the flight of colour that surrounded him and Merlin. Soon, however, the colours began to change, to leech out, until only a bright white remained. Merlin released the flowers as the light swirled around them, holding them aloft. The light twisted and turned, spinning faster and faster as it receded from Arthur and Merlin to become more concentrated around the bouquet, enveloping it in a cocoon of light. With a sudden flash that had Arthur seeing spots, the light was gone, leaving the reality of Arthur’s bedchamber, the colour, looking muted and dull. Blinking his eyes to clear them, it took him a second to realize that Merlin was no longer holding a bouquet of flowers but a dagger.

           “A little bit of your tradition with a little bit of mine,” Merlin explained as he stepped forward, once more invading Arthur’s space. Arthur was acutely sensitive of the sudden pull of his belt as Merlin placed the dagger within a sheath that had been attached to it. “Do you know what to do?” Merlin breathed and Arthur could only nod.

           Lifting the newly sheathed dagger back out, Arthur took in Merlin’s expression, the man openly showing his hope and anxiety, before examining the blade. The handle was a delicate black with intricate etchings all around it, intertwining knots of vines with bursts of colour in the form of flowers randomly placed, creating the illusion of a wild, frolicking garden. It was masterful. Arthur returned his gaze to Merlin, whose chest lifted as if he were holding his breath. Slowly, in the tradition of Essetir, Arthur returned the dagger to its sheath, representing his willingness to be courted. By Merlin. Life was about to become quite interesting.

           “Really?” Merlin asked happily.

           “Well, I don’t know,” Arthur answered, his cheeks already aching from smiling a wide smile that matched Merlin’s own. He took out the dagger again and exaggeratedly tested its balance and weight, “It’s got horrible balance,” Arthur lamented jokingly, “You’re really not good at this magic stuff, are you?”

           “I’ll take it back, then,” Merlin laughed, surging forward to snatch the dagger from Arthur’s hand only for Arthur to seize him in a headlock and hold the dagger above his head. This started Merlin off and they happily grappled with each other, Merlin trying to steal back the dagger and Arthur keeping it from him until they were both laughing so hard, they were gasping for breath, Arthur still resolutely holding onto the dagger.

           “You know,” Arthur said thoughtfully as he got his breathing under control, “I’ve never been courted before.”

           “I did know that,” Merlin responded as they both sat down to the neglected breakfast tray.

           “What did you have in mind?” Arthur asked awkwardly, adjusting to the idea of following Merlin’s lead in this, at least at the beginning. “You’ll see,” Merlin said mysteriously before sneaking the piece of sausage Arthur had just cut onto his own fork with a flash of gold and popping it into his mouth.

           “I already regret this decision,” Arthur said, deadpan, and Merlin laughed openly.

Chapter Text

           Although Merlin was back at Arthur’s side, things had not gone back to normal. Now, there was an energy that sparked between them, as if the knowledge that they were courting had become a tangible thing that darted between them like a crackling fire, leaving them hot and overstimulated. Merlin’s gait whenever he approached Arthur held more purpose to it and Arthur found himself holding his breath every time he spied Merlin coming near.

           Arthur had never been courted before; no one had dared or they had simply expected him to court them, and he found that he liked it. There was a strange sense of elation that filled Arthur every time he looked at his decorative dagger, running his hand along the textured etchings of the hilt, knowing that this was something that Merlin had done specifically with Arthur in mind.

           Of course, it wasn’t in Arthur’s nature to defer to someone else’s schedule and, as the days passed, he felt a growing compulsion to take the lead from Merlin and speed up the courtship; two things stopped him. As vexing as it was to watch Merlin approach this courtship at, what seemed to Arthur, a glacial pace, it was, also, contradictorily in Arthur’s mind, reassuring to know that Merlin was acting against his nature and actually proceeding thoughtfully. By not rushing anything, he was proving to Arthur how seriously he took this courtship, proving that this wasn’t just some unique form of seduction. Though it was a small worry that he pushed back whenever it had the gall to surface, Arthur had been at the other end of enough seduction attempts to be wary of any sort of pointed romantic attention. Yet, Merlin had slipped past his guard and Arthur actually believed that Merlin was genuine in his wish to share more with Arthur than a fun tumble in his bed, he did—it was just a worm of doubt that suggested Merlin was playing the long game and was, just like everyone else, simply seeking power through Arthur.

           The second thing that prevented Arthur from taking charge was that Merlin continued to bring him flowers. Merlin joked it was so Arthur wouldn’t make him clean and dust all those empty vases now that he knew about them but Arthur knew there was more to it. Every day, a new flower graced one of his vases, luminous in its colour. Arthur hadn’t been aware that he was receiving courting flowers before, so he hadn’t really been able to appreciate how it felt to be the recipient of such focused interest. Now, even though he’d already accepted Merlin, seeing each new flower made his heart pound a little faster, made the day a little brighter. It was little wonder women demanded to be wooed if this was how it felt to be the sole focus of such ardent attention. Merlin’s care in crafting these flowers to fit Arthur’s mood or taking pains to create the perfect hue of the petals to match one of Arthur’s favourite vases revealed a level of commitment, sincerity, and above all, a deep, personal knowledge of Arthur that made him feel seen, not just desired. Arthur was used to feeling desired, either for his body or his position; feeling seen was a new sensation and Arthur wanted to know what Merlin would do next.

           “Arthur, I would be honoured if I could take you to dinner this evening,” Merlin said formally as they arrived at the practice field about a week after Arthur accepted Merlin’s courtship.

           “You bring me dinner almost every night, Merlin,” Arthur said distractedly as Merlin’s voice had pulled him out of his thoughts about Lady Ives and the questions he was going to ask about her reforms. Bringing his attention back to the present and what, precisely, Merlin had said, Arthur added smugly, “Though I’m glad to hear you’ve finally recognized it for the honour it is.”

           Merlin rolled his eyes, despairing in his taste in men, and replied with deliberate slowness, “I don’t want to bring you food like I do every night. I want to take you to dinner. So, we can dine together. Somewhere special,” Merlin enunciated clearly, conveying more with his tone than he could say with words.

           It was a tricky position to be in, a manservant courting a prince. Taking your love to dinner was such a fundamental experience when it came to courting and yet Merlin and Arthur ate together all the time. How was Merlin supposed to differentiate between the meals he gave Arthur out of duty and which out of passion? He thought he had been quite clever in his solution and now all that was needed was for Arthur to agree.

           “What’re you going to do, escort me to the kitchens?” Arthur laughed but Merlin saw that Arthur was curious, casting a speculative glance his way. Merlin had set out to court Arthur and that demanded he follow certain protocols, maintain certain boundaries, but fuck, seeing Arthur give him that searching, anticipatory look and knowing that Arthur was interested in him, receptive to his advances…he may want more from Arthur than just to share his bed but he was still a man and Arthur was still a golden, beauteous spectacle. Clearing his throat, Merlin squinted up into the sun, refocusing on what he wanted to say.

           “No,” Merlin finally said with a tight smile, “I had something else in mind.”

           “What?” Arthur pressed when Merlin didn’t say anything more.

           “So, you agree then?” Merlin asked eagerly, “You’ll accompany me to dinner tonight?”

           “Tonight,” Arthur said regretfully, “I already agreed to attend Lady Ives’ gathering this evening. It’s just a small gathering, my absence will be noted.”

           “Right,” Merlin said uncertainly, his eyes darting down to Arthur’s ankle where, hidden under his armour and trouser leg, he had hid Merlin’s dagger.

           “It’s not ‘no’, Merlin,” Arthur said emphatically, seeing Merlin’s doubt, “It’s just ‘wait’. How about tomorrow, instead?”

           “Okay,” Merlin said, his grin returning. “Then we’ll leave tomorrow at sunset.”

           “Going where?” Arthur shouted as Merlin turned away and walked towards his customary bench after that pronouncement. Merlin’s (evil) laughter was Arthur’s only answer.

           Although he was in equal parts eager and tense to discover what Merlin had planned, he didn’t regret attending Ilarya’s dinner instead. She was savvy, knew how the game was played, and was in her element as she treated the dinner like a sword fight, parrying and striking in equal measure as she challenged her guests’ assumptions and convinced them of her plan. She held her dinner guests captive, building within them excitement for the future she envisioned. She painted images with mere words, bringing her schools to life in their minds as she held court over the table. She made it sound like real change was possible, that Arthur’s people could look forward to a better, more optimistic life. When doubt was raised, when a snobbish dinner guest asked why they should care, she didn’t put them firmly in their place like Arthur knew she could, she reacted subtlety, going for a craftier defense so that it was another guest—or Lady Marbourough herself—who was putting down the objection. As the night progressed, Arthur could see his own wonder reflected in the faces of the other guests, and he silently congratulated Lady Ives on her success.

           “You were a marvel,” Arthur praised when the last dinner guest had left and it was just him and Lady Ives. “I feel like sponsoring one of your schools within the city myself.”

           “You should,” Lady Ives responded. “Your father may be king but you are still a prince with a great deal of power. You can start your own initiatives.”

           It was daring, it was new, it was stepping out of step from following his father’s lead, and whilst it wasn’t entirely comfortable, staring into Ilarya’s understanding eyes, it felt like something Arthur could actually do.

           “You’re a marvel,” Arthur said again and, even though it was late, they started outlining how they would go about opening a school within the city.

           “Enough plotting,” Lady Ives declared when their eyes were starting to cross, the words upon the parchment surrounding them starting to dance. “I think this is enough of a start.”

           When Arthur went to make his leave, however, Lady Ives held him back and said seriously, “You’ve seemed less troubled these last few days. Does that mean you’ve made a decision in regards to your heart?”

           “I have,” Arthur said, leaning into Lady Ives’ side. “In fact, we’re going to dinner tomorrow.”

           “How’re you feeling?” Lady Ives asked with genuine interest and Arthur was open in his response, saying, “Excited,” without hesitation.

           “I hope he realizes how lucky he is,” Lady Ives said deliberately and Arthur nodded self-consciously, looking down as he replied, “Actually, he thinks I’m a bit of a prat but I think he likes me for it.” Lady Ives had hinted before that she knew the gender of who was attempting to engage Arthur’s heart but confirming it like he just had and seeing Ilarya’s open acceptance, treating everything as if it were perfectly normal…it felt like everything.

           Arthur and Merlin saw very little of each other the next day as Arthur’s father demanded his presence and Gaius had need of Merlin for a potion he was making. They were both kept so busy that Arthur thought they might have to postpone their dinner. As sunset approached, however, Arthur was able to extricate himself from the court and his father. As each minute passed to bring him closer to sunset, he felt sporadic flutters in his stomach and a wide grin kept escaping his control to stretch across his face.

           When sunset finally came, Arthur strode confidently into his bedchamber to find Merlin standing by the window, silhouetted by the dying light.

           “Arthur,” Merlin greeted warmly when he saw Arthur enter the room and, embarrassingly, Arthur felt himself blush.

           “Merlin,” Arthur returned slightly gruffly, “How was your day?” Arthur cursed his awkwardness, he was never at a loss for words when it came to Merlin, to be so now was most unsettling.

           “Good,” Merlin replied and he noticed that Merlin was holding himself a little stiffly, as if he too were feeling slightly uncomfortable within his own skin and trying to remember what he normally did with his hands. “We can talk about it over dinner,” Merlin suggested abruptly as the silence threatened to become awkward. “Are you ready to go?”

           “I suppose,” Arthur said uncertainly as he looked down at himself. His clothes were finer than Merlin’s, of course, but they weren’t exactly his finest pair and he briefly wondered if he should change before this dinner.

           “It’ll be fine,” Merlin reassured as he noticed the path of Arthur’s eyes. “Do you trust me?” Merlin asked, extending a hand out and halting Arthur’s thoughts in their tracks. That question again and Arthur still didn’t know how to answer it.

           Arthur took Merlin’s hand, reassuring himself with the solid strength of the hand within his own that, despite everything that was changing between them, this was still Merlin, still his friend.

           “Not yet,” Arthur said forlornly. “Not completely.”

           Arthur gave Merlin’s hand a comforting squeeze to lessen the sting of his words but Merlin just gave him a patient smile.

           “Do you trust me enough to take you to dinner?” Merlin asked.

           “Where’re we going?” Arthur asked instead of answering Merlin’s question.

           “It’s a surprise,” Merlin replied and then he was speaking that magical language, his eyes shining gold, and Arthur was gratified that he barely had to repress a shudder at the sight of it. When the gold completely vanished from Merlin’s eyes, so had Arthur’s bedchamber.

           Arthur hadn’t felt a single thing, not a jolt, yank, or the queasy drop of a fall. One minute he was in his bedchamber facing Merlin and in the next blink they were standing on a walk way, surrounded by large stone buildings with more arches than he could count. Tall edifices and domed roofs, all made of a sand-coloured stone. There were no thatched, overhanging roofs nor sharp, square lines and Arthur gazed around in awe, wondering just where on Earth Merlin had taken him.

           Still holding his hand, Merlin started leading Arthur down the street. Arthur followed willingly but tried to take his hand away when they exited the dark avenue into a lighter, more populated area.

           “Merlin, we can’t,” Arthur whispered harshly, surprised that he was failing to yank his hand from Merlin’s grasp.

           “Look around, Arthur,” Merlin said lightly, “You’re not the prince here. No one is worrying about what you’re doing.” It could have sounded insolent and insulting but instead it sounded encouraging. Arthur did as Merlin suggested and he took in the people bustling around them with their turbans, long, lightly coloured robes, and soft-looking shoes. Not only did Arthur not recognize a single soul, he didn’t even recognize the kind of attire they wore. Relaxing slightly, Arthur still warned, “We’re still both two men. It isn’t proper, someone’s bound to notice.”

           “Don’t worry, Arthur,” Merlin said, taking a step closer to Arthur and giving his hand a squeeze. “I’ve made it so that we exist in a sort of half-shadow here. Seen and not seen.”

           “Well, that’s clear,” Arthur griped but Merlin gave him that goofy, brilliant smile and Arthur finally squeezed Merlin’s hand back.

           “Besides,” Merlin said cheerily as they resumed their walk. “I see two men holding hands right over there. It must not be so strange here.”

           Merlin was right, a few yards away from them walked two men having a lively debate, though Arthur couldn’t understand a word they said, whilst holding hands and no one around them made a fuss. Arthur couldn’t believe it.

           “So, what do we do now?” Arthur asked.

           “We walk,” Merlin said and proceeded to do just that, Arthur in tow. “I tell you about my day, and we look for something to eat.”

           They walked hand in hand as they did just that, Merlin talking about the potion he made for Gaius, how, if he didn’t put the ingredients in at just the right temperature, there was a risk of the concoction exploding in a poisonous gas that would quickly fill the room.

           “Is this a common thing, Merlin?” Arthur asked unbelievingly. “Putting yourself in harm’s way?”

           “Well, I wouldn’t have to if you knew how to take care of yourself, but yes,” was Merlin’s cheeky reply.

           “Are you curious about how my day went?” Arthur asked, tucking the knowledge that Merlin risked his life for Arthur away to ponder later.

           “Not particularly,” Merlin replied seriously. Arthur’s sour expression, however, stole Merlin’s ability to keep a straight face and he gave their held hands a light shake. “Fine, tell me all about long, unending speeches. I’m listening.”

           “My father actually had some very exciting news today,” Arthur said snootily.

           “Fine, tell me,” Merlin finally broke down to say as Arthur stayed silent after that pronouncement.

           “No,” Arthur said with a triumphant grin. “I think I’ll keep it to myself. Teach you how to treat royal duties with the proper respect and reverence.” Arthur couldn’t even finish the sentence before he broke out laughing at Merlin’s disgusted face.

           “Well, I learned something exciting today, too,” Merlin said when their laughter had petered out. “And, unlike you, I know how to share. Gwen thinks Lancelot is about to propose.”

           Arthur had another searing quip on the tip of his tongue but he stopped and said, instead, “I hope he does. I think they make a good match.” Merlin rushed into Arthur’s side, disentangling their hands long enough to whip his arm around Arthur’s back for a quick hug, over before Arthur truly had time to register it.

           “Why’d you do that?” Arthur asked as Merlin took his hand in his own again.

           “Because I wanted to,” was Merlin’s simple reply and they continued on their stroll.

           There was an energizing mix of excitement and uncertainty propelling Merlin and Arthur through the streets of the strange city, despite the full day they’d both had. For his whole life, Arthur had known the pressure of his position, felt the perpetual scrutiny of the court, and acting accordingly was long established habit at this point. Now, Merlin had taken him somewhere with inspiring architecture and where no one knew who he was or cared what he did. As they walked, Merlin asking Arthur how his dinner with Lady Ives went and Arthur almost gushing about how the evening went, Arthur felt the restricting pressure of rule start to ease from his shoulders.

           It turned out Merlin had some strong opinions about opening a school within the city limits and as he and Arthur debated, Arthur remembered the disquieting seed of doubt he’d had about Merlin’s intentions and he silently acknowledged to himself how ridiculous they’d been. Outside of his magic, Merlin had always shown Arthur exactly who he was, stating his opinions openly, and now, at the start of their courtship when Merlin could conceivably try to manipulate Arthur and influence his decisions, instead he spoke with Arthur as an equal.

           “You truly are unlike anyone I’ve ever met,” Arthur said wonderingly, interrupting Merlin’s small tirade on how, if more peasants knew how to read and write, there would be so much more knowledge that could be preserved, as it was the peasants that had the real understanding, more so than pampered nobles.

           Stopping up short, Merlin once again withdrew his hand from Arthur so that he could wrap his arms around him. This time, Arthur was better prepared and, as Merlin quickly made to retreat, Arthur snagged his own arm around Merlin’s thin frame, testing out how it felt to envelope another man, Merlin, in a hug.

           “So, what’s the next part of your plan?” Arthur asked, once again struck by his willingness to let Merlin take the lead and actually feeling slightly relieved that he wasn’t the one expected to have all the ideas. Being courted, it was turning out, was quite nice.

           “Well, I did promise you dinner,” Merlin replied and this time it was Arthur who reached out to take Merlin’s hand as they went in search of food. Eventually, they found a vendor selling some sort of meat with a smell that made their stomachs rumble; since he was the one doing the courting, it was Merlin who made the purchase, Arthur standing back slightly as he watched the exchange. It was one of the stranger things Arthur had ever seen, to watch the seller’s face not truly meet Merlin’s but sort of look through him before sliding away completely. Merlin didn’t even speak the language and yet the seller handed over two bowls of their food and Merlin handed over some stones he had bespelled into coin, which the vendor took whilst squinting in a completely different direction, as if trying to find something small hidden amongst the shadows.

           “Won’t he notice when they change back and he suddenly has pebbles instead of coin?” Arthur asked as they searched for a place to sit and eat their meal.

           “They never will,” Merlin replied casually and Arthur made a note that even simple spells had extraordinary staying power. “Over here,” Merlin called as he led Arthur to an open area where some sort of celebration was taking place.

           As they sat and ate in companionable silence, watching the dancing gaiety before them, Arthur embraced just being a bloke sharing a meal with another bloke, any remaining tension of feeling like someone would stare at him and judge him dissolving.

           Merlin ate faster than Arthur did and he leaned his head against Arthur’s shoulder, watching the celebration as Arthur finished his meal.

           “Have you been here before?” Arthur asked when he was finally done, savouring his final bites of the delicious and unfamiliar food.

           “Yes,” Merlin said after a pause, his voice sounding almost drowsy, and Arthur had to hitch up his shoulder as he realized Merlin was falling asleep on him.

           “Am I boring you?” Arthur teased and Merlin, much to Arthur’s shock, scooted his body until he was completely lying down with his head on Arthur’s lap.

           “No,” Merlin said, looking up into Arthur’s frozen face. “You just make an excellent pillow.”

           “So, you’ve been here?” Arthur strangled out, hoping to distract himself from the comforting weight of Merlin’s head and just how close he was to certain parts of Arthur’s body.

           “Yes,” Merlin said again. “To get some ingredients for Gaius.”

           “Have you been anywhere else?” Arthur asked, curious.

           “You’ll see,” Merlin replied excitedly. Arthur felt just as excited.

           Arthur quickly discovered that Merlin had traveled extensively in the short time he’d been in Camelot; sometimes gathering ingredients for Gaius, sometimes acting out of curiosity, and other times feeling so frustrated at being pulled in so many directions all at once, he just needed a break from it all and go somewhere without any of those pressures. And Merlin used this knowledge to show Arthur the world, taking him on “dinners” that turned into adventures. One day they were swimming in a sea so blue and clear, Arthur could see right down to the sandy floor. Sea creatures, some larger than Arthur himself, would frolic around him and Merlin—though mostly Merlin—as they swam in the warm water. At one point, one of the creatures even let Arthur grab hold of it and suddenly they were dashing through the water at an exhilarating speed. Then, for another dinner, Merlin would take Arthur to a wide-open savannah with animals the likes of which Arthur had never seen before; tall and gangly—like Merlin, Arthur teased—big and slow—Merlin looked like he was considering returning Arthur’s jab but then said he was more mature than to stoop to such petty name-calling—cats that were bigger than them and horses with stripes. Some of them, Arthur felt, he might have read about, but seeing them in person was a whole different experience.

           Their meals were always an adventure in and of themselves, too. One particularly memorable one was when they ate a dish with spices that burned Arthur’s tongue and caused Merlin to turn a shade of red Arthur hadn’t thought physically possible. Arthur had laughed so hard at that tears had started to fall and Merlin had bespelled Arthur’s hand to slop some of the spicy food down the front of his shirt in retaliation.

           Everywhere they went, Merlin had an adventure in mind and Arthur looked forward to each and every one. If Arthur had thought Merlin would make a pitiful suitor, he was sorely mistaken as Merlin clearly put thought into showing Arthur a good time—even if that meant leaving Camelot at the oddest times during the day. Everywhere they went, Merlin would hold Arthur’s hand, make excuses to press close to him—chastely—and show Arthur such undemanding affection that Arthur quickly found himself doing the same and reaching out to Merlin. They had yet to even kiss and yet they were becoming so used to casually touching each other that it felt almost suffocating to return to Camelot and remember to keep their distance. And everywhere they went, Merlin would reach out his hand and ask Arthur, “Do you trust me?” before his eyes turned gold and they were in a different land. It was such blatant use of magic and, though Arthur never answered, “Yes,” not yet, Arthur was becoming accustomed to seeing Merlin use magic.

           Merlin was rushing Arthur through a busy street, so excited to see Arthur’s reaction to the gigantic wrestlers in this land. Arthur had a strategic mind when it came to battles and skirmishes and Merlin was confident he would appreciate the display of cunning and physical might—if they could make it in time. Arthur rushed along beside Merlin, listening to his commentary on the last time he’d seen these wrestlers fight, how incredible it was that such big bodies could dart and attack so quickly, when something from the corner of his eye drew his attention. His pace slowed as he craned his neck back to see, retreating a few slow steps back as he realized he’d seen correctly.

           Pulling him forward like a siren’s call, everything else faded away as Arthur saw a garden that appeared to be open to anyone who wished to work the land. Arthur entered the garden cautiously, expecting to be shooed away or told it was unbecoming for a prince to lower himself to his knees like a peasant. But he still walked within Merlin’s shadow spell, just visible enough so that no one walked into him but not visible enough that anyone truly took note of him. And, as weeks of these outings with Merlin had proved, even if he were seen, no one here had even heard of Camelot, let alone Arthur. Here, in this place, Arthur could finally toil the land, see his white hands grow grimy with dirt, and know that he was helping the earth flourish, that, from his hands and labour would sprout vegetables, fruits, and all sorts of beautiful flowers.

           As it was summer, Arthur stood surrounded by fragrant herbs, blossoming flowers, and pesky weeds in need of being plucked, all the planning and sowing already having been done well in advance. But, as Arthur knew very well, that didn’t mean the work was done. He saw some people harvesting whilst others made quick work of yanking out weeds, and still others simply knelt amongst the verdant garden and took in the beauty of their surroundings.

           If he’d been in Camelot, he would be stuck as a mere observer but Arthur felt elation well up inside him, his hands actually shaking, as he remembered he wasn’t in Camelot. For the first time in his life, Arthur was able to bend down and sink his hands into the rich soil without fear of censure or judgment. He worked alongside children, elders, everyday village folk, burying his hands over and over again in the loose dirt just to feel the exquisite sensation of the cool ground, the rolling granules as they cascaded off his hands, and imagining he could even feel the life-giving properties of the brown earth.

           “I was wondering where you’d disappeared to,” a voice broke into his joyful work and Arthur looked up to see a bemused Merlin standing over him. “I didn’t think you’d be here.” There was a question in Merlin’s voice that Arthur was eager to answer. Moving slightly to the side to invite Merlin to kneel next to him, Arthur said, “Stick your hands in the soil, feel how lush it is and, and…This is life, Merlin,” Arthur said, wishing that eloquent prose came more naturally to him so that he could properly convey how much it meant to him to work the earth and make it prosper. He wanted to find the perfect words to articulate how connected he felt to the earth but they eluded him. Not truly understanding what Arthur meant, Merlin nevertheless stuck his own hands into the freshly turned dirt next to Arthur’s, trying to feel the ground the way Arthur was describing. “This is what sustains my people, what allows them to prosper. They use their hands and pour their dedication into the land and their efforts are rewarded with vitality and life. Sometimes I think there’s more nobility in the farmers of my kingdom than the actual nobles.”

           Merlin took a moment to soak in the sight of Prince Arthur on his knees, hands grubby with dirt as he pulled out strange weeds in a foreign land, eyes shining with a happiness that rivaled when he was practicing sword fighting with his knights; Merlin leaned forward and placed a chaste kiss on Arthur’s lips.

           “Why’d you do that?” Arthur asked, stunned, his lips tingling even though Merlin had retreated back, as if his lips were still pressed against him.

           “Because you’re gorgeous like this,” Merlin said sincerely before trying to cut back on the amount of emotion he’d put into his words by commenting. “And good behavior like trying to connect with your people should be rewarded.” Worry furrowed Merlin’s brow as he asked, “Should I not have done that?”

           Arthur gave a carefree laugh at the ridiculous man who was doing a surprisingly good job at courting him and grabbed hold of his neckerchief to drag him in for a much longer kiss in answer. When they finally separated, both with reddened cheeks that were not caused by the sun’s rays, they smiled sappily at each other until Merlin looked away and grimaced, breaking the heavy tension of the moment.

           “You got dirt all over my neckerchief,” Merlin pouted, forgetting his overdramatic act of wiping the sullied cloth as Arthur once again laughed that unrestrained, full-bellied laugh.

           “It’s fine, Merlin,” Arthur said languidly. “I can get you a new one.”

           Gwen walked unseeingly through the corridors of the Citadel, focusing on the jumble of words bouncing around her head rather than where she was going. She’d already been dismissed for the night but she had to talk to Morgana, as her friend, about Lancelot’s most recent letter and the decision before her. Lancelot had been hinting for awhile that she might be able to travel with him, that they could be together, but in this latest letter he actually had come out and asked her to leave Camelot for him.

           Gwen was reciting what she wanted to say in her head, knowing she had a tendency to stumble over her words; this was an especially important decision, she wanted her meaning to be clear the first time she spoke. As she walked through the deserted corridors, her steps hitching and jolting as the nervous energy inside her tried to escape and urged her to run whilst her sense of decorum compelled her to walk, she once again outlined what she was going to say.

           She wanted to start with the fact that her home had always been in Camelot and she’d never thought about leaving before. She wanted Morgana to understand that it wasn’t just the safety and comfort of familiar walls; Morgana was her home, too. She’d worried about talking about this with Morgana, put off discussing it with her, hoping to reach a decision on her own since Morgana was more than just a noblewoman she served, she was her closest friend and she didn’t want to hurt her. In fact, her tie to Morgana alone compelled her to stay. But Lancelot wasn’t in Camelot, couldn’t return to Camelot, and he was important, too; he held her heart and he was offering to show her the world. It wasn’t what she’d imagined her life to be like, she didn’t feel like she was leading less of a fulfilling life because she hadn’t seen what far off places were like, but she did miss Lancelot and this was a way to be with him. Thinking of leaving Camelot left Gwen feeling a sort of mix of dread and anticipation, plaguing her with thoughts that were keeping her from sleep. It was a huge decision and she couldn’t put her faith in Merlin’s—bordering on treasonous—hints that Lancelot might be allowed to come back to Camelot. She just needed to talk with Morgana, who she could trust to voice her opinion honestly. And perhaps, by venting out the swirling arguments inside her to another person, she might find some clarity.

           When Gwen entered Morgana’s room, however, all her carefully crafted phrases left her as everything, from the smallest hair pin to the solid wood four-poster bed, was floating in mid-air. Gwen froze at the servant’s entrance to Morgana’s bedchamber as she took in the unsettling sight, seeking to find both Morgana and the sorcerer who had somehow infiltrated the Citadel. Though she saw no intruder, her gaze finally landed on Morgana, who was sat curled up on the floor by the window, hands tugging painfully in her hair as she begged the floating objects to stop, stop, “just stop!”

           Gwen hurried over to Morgana, dodging around silk gowns and fine china to get across the room. Drawing Morgana close, Gwen once again surveyed the empty room save for Morgana and herself, the floating objects eerily drifting by them as if propelled by a soft breeze she couldn’t feel.

           “Are you alright, my lady?” Gwen asked, worried as Morgana clung to her with a painful, bony grip.

           “It’s magic,” Morgana gasped out, terrified as she took in what she had unwittingly done. “I can’t deny it anymore. It’s real, it’s magic, that’s what’s wrong with me. I tried to make it stop, tried to send it away, but it’s magic. It’s magic,” Morgana kept saying as Gwen held her tighter, her shocked brain struggling to accept what was so patently obvious. This was Morgana’s doing, this magical levitation was coming from Morgana, her closest, dearest friend. As much as she didn’t want it to, it unsettled her, made her cautious; magic had already caused so much grief in her life.

           “What am I going to do?” Morgana choked out and Gwen, though still feeling dizzy from Morgana’s revelation, grew concerned that Morgana might not be breathing right, her breaths sounding painful in her chest. “Uther’s going to have my head.”

           Gwen felt sudden clarity, like she’d been tripping over land that had been rollicking and jolting under her feet that suddenly stilled, allowing her to walk with certainty; Morgana’s magic didn’t change the way she saw her, the way she cared for her. And in that moment, Morgana was suffering, scared, and Gwen needed to do something. She shushed her gently, urging her to breath alongside Gwen’s steady breaths.

           “No, my lady,” Gwen said forcefully, Morgana too lost in her panic to call her on the blatant lie. “He loves you,” Gwen said, praying it was true, for Morgana’s sake. “He would never.”

           “I thought I was going crazy,” Morgana said, clearly not having heard Gwen’s words. “But it’s there, I can see it. There’s no doubt this is magic. All this power inside me, it keeps getting out and I’ve no one to talk too. I’m alone, surrounded by my enemies. If they knew, they’d hate me, I’m hateful.”

           “Morgana,” Gwen cried out, seizing Morgana’s hands, rubbing them between her own as she discovered they were almost as cold as ice. “You’re not alone. I’m here, I’m here, Morgana, and I don’t hate you.” Gwen heard the truth in the statement, despite her initial reaction to discovering Morgana’s magic and she said it again, willing Morgana to hear her and the truth ringing in her voice, “I don’t hate you.”

           Gwen could see that Morgana was lost, trapped by whatever images were playing before her unseeing eyes but she didn’t know how to get through to her, how to help her see the truth of the love and support of those around her.

           “You’re always saying that magic doesn’t naturally make someone evil,” Gwen said, not certain Morgana could even hear her. “That applies to you, too, Morgana,” Gwen said emphatically, still trying to warm Morgana’s hands. “You’re such a stalwart champion of sor—magic users, don’t stop now.”

           “I can’t, I can’t,” Morgana was struggling but she was also making an effort to try and control her breathing, which Gwen was greatly relieved to see. “I can’t imagine losing everyone I love because of this. Why is this happening? Why do I have to be this way?” Morgana had almost started to sound like her regular self when another wave of distress washed over, her final question coming out as more of a shriek and Gwen started feeling her own calm nature start to fray at having to witness her friend go through such pain.

           “Morgana, I promise, you won’t lose anyone,” Gwen said imploringly. “Look, here I am, I know now and you haven’t lost me. You won’t lose me,” Gwen promised. “Please, Morgana, just breathe.”

           Gwen kept speaking to Morgana, trying to soothe her and reason away every panicky statement she made, drawing her into a hug when she finally felt satisfied that Morgana’s hands were suitably warm. Finally, Morgana quieted and she kept her body leaning heavily against Gwen’s as she asked, “Gwen?”, as if she hadn’t truly known Gwen had been there until that moment.

           “I’m here,” Gwen said softly, not wanting to rattle Morgana any further.

           “I have magic,” Morgana whispered like a confession and Gwen closed her eyes as the desperate words pierced her heart.

           “I’m so sorry, my lady,” Gwen said, thinking perhaps that wasn’t the right thing to say but not knowing what else to say.

           At that, Morgana pulled away, visibly making an effort to control her emotions as she glared at her bedchamber filled like magically floating objects like it was an opponent on a battlefield that she intended to crush.

           “This is all Uther’s fault,” Morgana said savagely as the objects continued to levitate around them. “He should be the one to fear for his life, not me.”

           “Don’t say that, my lady, please,” Gwen said worriedly, not liking how Morgana was turning to anger to cover her fear.

           “Why not, it’s true!” Morgana shouted. “You more than anyone should want to see him dead,” Morgana added, trying to get Gwen onto her side, to support her in her hateful anger. “After what he did to Lancelot, to your father.”

           “Don’t use him like that,” Gwen said, calm and resolute, censure clear in her voice and Morgana wilted under Gwen’s assured dignity. Morgana had been there for Gwen when her grief was so new she felt like she would drown within its unending depths. Morgana had seen her struggle every day to relearn how to live, it felt like, after such an abrupt loss and Gwen would not let her try to peel off the scab that had formed over the grief to expose the wound once again.

           “I’m sorry, Gwen,” Morgana said, starting to settle as she met Gwen’s eyes, Gwen seeming like a mountain of calmness up against Morgana’s fierce wildness that was so like an out of control blaze. “I’m just, I’m scared.”

           “I know that fear,” Gwen said in what she hoped was a comforting manner, referring to when she, too, faced execution for magic. “And I’m so sorry you have to face it.” They were both silent for minute before Gwen, concerned by the growing steeliness in Morgana’s gaze and worried what would happen if Morgana let that anger consume her, continued, “Merlin asked me, too, whether I would see Uther dead. But there was never a moment,” Gwen said as she relaxed her stiff posture a little and drew Morgana against her once more, Morgana going reluctantly, keeping her weight off of Gwen. “When I truly wanted him dead. I won’t let him twist me like that,” Gwen said, quiet but firm, rubbing her hand up and down Morgana’s arm. “I can’t change what he did and I won’t let him define my life. And I don’t want more death, even his.”

           “You can’t be that saintly,” Morgana scoffed but Gwen was gratified to see that the brittle steel that had started to form around her was dissipating, the tension within her body loosening as she once again started to lean her weight against Gwen.

           “Of course, some days are harder than others,” Gwen admitted. “Especially at the beginning, when I constantly thought Father would just walk through our front door, that he wasn’t truly gone, just out on an errand.” Gwen’s own breathing became laboured as tears threatened to overpower her but this grief was familiar to her now, like a constant weight wrapped around her that she was so used to carrying, she could almost forget it was there at times, and she was able to recover her voice. “But I feel like, he only wins again if I let my anger at what he did destroy any chance for me to be happy in the future.”

           “He wouldn’t win at all if he were dead,” Morgana grumbled, flicking her forefinger against a passing ceramic pot she used to hold the paints she used for her face, watching in bemusement as it somersaulted away.

           “Neither would you,” Gwen said simply.

           They sat there in silence, lost in their own thoughts. Gwen wondered just how long the various items would stay in the air, if the spell would ever stop, and how they were going to keep this secret when Morgana suddenly asked, “Why aren’t you scared of me? You’ve lived in Camelot your whole life, you were raised to hate magic. Why don’t you hate me?”

           Gwen almost blurted out that, just for a second, she had reacted in the way she’d been raised to, but held her tongue just in time, thinking that that wasn’t really the pertinent part and didn’t need to be said. Morgana didn’t need to know her momentary lapse, she needed to know how Gwen viewed her now, “Because you’re still you, Morgana. You’re my friend and this isn’t enough of a reason to think otherwise. I’ve listened to your impassioned speeches about magic and I truly believe that this new side of you doesn’t change who you fundamentally are. You are a brilliant advocate for magic users, why can’t you see that those arguments you make apply to you as well?”

           “But,” Morgana started.

           “No ‘buts’,” Gwen interrupted, not wanting to see a return of Morgana’s panic, or worse, her vengeful anger. “This doesn’t have to be your doom, Morgana, your voice can be so much more effective. Even Arthur listens to you sometimes.”

           “But I can’t control this!” Morgana shouted in frustration, the objects nearest to them starting to swirl like they’d been caught in a tornado as if to prove her point. “How can I do anything when the second I use magic around other people, I’m dead?”

           “So, you learn,” Gwen said matter-of-factly.

           “From whom?” Morgana asked irately.

           “I don’t know,” Gwen said honestly. “I haven’t learned about magic and its users like you have. How do other sorcer—magic users learn to control their magic?”

           “They have someone there to teach them,” Morgana said. “Or, they can go to the druids. The druids aren’t an option for me, though. Uther doesn’t let me go anywhere without a full escort of knights.” “So, find someone here to teach you,” Gwen said, not really liking that idea even as she said it. It sounded very risky to her. “Surely, I mean, you can’t be the only magic user in the city?”

           “Arthur!” Morgana said with a jolt. “‘We keep each other’s…’ I need to talk to Arthur.” Suddenly, Morgana was scrambling up onto her feet, everything crashing down around them as she did so, and they flattened themselves to the wall so as not to get struck by anything. Once everything had settled, and before Gwen knew what was happening, Morgana was rushing out of her room and through the empty corridors of the Citadel.

           Arthur and Merlin were giggling like children as they made their way through the deserted corridors of the Citadel, leaning their weight against each other as they headed towards Arthur’s bedchamber. It was spectacularly late but neither cared as they had spent quite a fun evening at the tavern. Though decidedly not drunk, they were finding everything funny at the moment. Their hilarity ended abruptly, however, as they entered Arthur’s chambers to discover a disheveled Morgana pacing around the edges of Arthur’s bedchamber with Gwen sitting stoically at the end of Arthur’s bed.

           “Morgana, what’s the matter?” Arthur asked in concern, walking towards her only to freeze as her intense gaze locked with his.

           “We keep each other’s secrets, right Arthur?” Morgana asked as Merlin shut the door. “Even when it comes to magic?”

           “Morgana, what’s this about?” Arthur said instead of answering and Morgana snarled at the deflection. She was scared, exhausted, and had no patience after having to wait for Arthur’s drunk arse to return to his chamber. She was stretched incredibly thin and she would not let Arthur evade and deny her the information she needed to have.

           “I have magic,” Morgana said like it was an accusation, holding her head high, showing Arthur the haughty face she reserved for dealing with the court, an impenetrable mask that revealed nothing of the turmoil underneath.

           Arthur’s reaction, or, more precisely, his lack of a negative reaction, confirmed what Morgana suspected and she said triumphantly, “You know someone with magic.”

           Arthur couldn’t stop his eyes from flicking towards Merlin, who had moved to sit beside Gwen when he noticed that she was trembling slightly, taking her hands into his.

           “Yes,” Arthur finally said after Merlin gave a slight nod. “I know someone with magic.”

           Morgana followed the direction of Arthur’s eyes, her own eyes widening in shock as they landed upon Merlin.

           “Merlin?” Morgana said disbelievingly and Gwen withdrew her hands from Merlin’s as he nodded his confirmation.

           A long and long overdue, conversation followed, the morning light no longer weak rays but strong around them by the time they were done.

Chapter Text

           “Very well,” Uther finally capitulated to Arthur and Morgana’s plan. It had taken the both of them carefully playing off of each other, manipulating Uther shrewdly, to get his consent; Morgana would not have been able to accomplish the task if left alone and they both knew it. Buoyed by their success, she even deigned to think of Arthur as a worthy co-conspirator. “Arthur, I’ll leave you in charge of choosing which knights will accompany Morgana,” Uther said blandly, ready to move on from the topic of Morgana’s leave-taking, something he couldn’t believe he’d agreed to.

           Morgana and Arthur had prepared for this and started in on the second part of their tactical assault on Uther to get him to allow Arthur to be the only knight to escort Morgana to the healing waters of the coast. All their planning would be for naught if they couldn’t convince Uther to agree to this point and once again, it took teamwork and carefully crafted arguments to sway him to their point of view—and possibly magic, for why else would Merlin have insisted on being present at this particular evening meal? That was something Arthur really didn’t want or need to know, so he’d consciously kept his gaze away from Merlin during the whole evening, not wanting to see a telltale flash of gold.

           Arthur chanced a quick, triumphant look Morgana’s way when Uther finally gave them his full agreement, so relieved that she had confided in him and didn’t have to face the dangers Uther posed alone. This whole situation was making him think about his father’s rule and whilst he could never openly oppose him, Arthur realized he needed to start putting plans in place to help magic users caught in the future to escape in a way that didn’t raise suspicions; he couldn’t stand by and let his magical people suffer now that Merlin and Morgana had opened his eyes.

           “Yes, I believe this will work out nicely,” Uther was saying, bringing Arthur’s focus back to him. “We haven’t been able to give the new Lord Rhyfus a proper visit since the tragic death of his brother. Since you’ll be in the area, Arthur, you can pay him a visit. As I recall, he’s late on paying his taxes, do remind him of his duties whilst there. And offer our condolences, naturally,” Uther added as an afterthought.

           “Yes, Father,” Arthur said whilst silently cursing. They weren’t going to be anywhere near Lord Rhyfus’ estate and it was going to be such an inconvenience to trek all the way out there when the druid camp Morgana was actually going to was in the exact opposite direction.

           Morgana, Gwen, Arthur, and Merlin had barely started their journey—though they were far enough away that they could no longer see the towering structure of the Citadel—when Merlin called a halt without explanation.

           “What’s going on?” Arthur asked as they all dismounted whilst Merlin moved slightly away from them and closer to the tree line on the side of the road, keeping his back turned.

           “Has something happened?” Morgana asked, reaching for the hilt of her sword.

           Gwen, who hadn’t spoken a word to Merlin since he’d confessed to all his lies, stayed silent, surveying the area cautiously, ready for any danger.

           “There’s nothing wrong,” Merlin assured—which wasn’t all that reassuring to the others when he still kept his back to them—“I just, I have a gift for, well, Gwen mostly but…”

           “You think a gift will just magically fix everything,” Gwen snapped sarcastically to Merlin’s back, breaking her silence as the hurt piercing through her heart overflowed. “You were my friend, I put my confidence in you, shared my secrets thinking they would be safe with you, and you never extended me the same courtesy! How is a gift supposed to change that?!”

           “I’m sorry, Gwen,” Merlin said, turning to face them once again, gaze locking with Gwen’s as she glared straight at him, refusing to let a single tear drop. “You’ve been my close and constant friend since I got here and I never wanted to hurt you.” Gwen scoffed at that, tearing her gaze away from Merlin’s tragic expression.

           “Well, you did anyway,” Gwen said softly.

           “And that’s why I thought of this gi—” Merlin was about to say and then corrected himself. “Not ‘gift’, apology.”

           “More like a bribe,” a voice said lightly from behind Merlin and Gwen gasped as Lancelot stepped out from behind a concealing tree. Forgetting everyone around her, Gwen ran. With a huge smile, Lancelot was ready for her, catching Gwen as she flung herself into his arms, the couple laughing as they embraced. For them, there was no one and nothing but each other as they pressed close to the other, gently whispered greetings turning into wet kisses as Merlin, Morgana, and Arthur stepped away and averted their eyes, giving them some semblance of privacy whilst being reunited after so long.

           Merlin and Morgana shared an indulgent smile as Gwen’s delighted laughter reached them whilst Arthur rolled his eyes at the exuberance of the lovebirds—though Merlin caught a fleeting smile sneak through Arthur’s disciplined control.

           “I’m still mad at you,” Gwen said lightly to Merlin long minutes later, arms still wrapped around Lancelot even as she turned to face Merlin. “But I…thank you for bringing Lancelot here.”

           “You’re welcome, Gwen,” Merlin said sincerely, hoping that time and space might heal the rift his lies had opened between them.

           With Lancelot now part of their party, they continued their journey to the druid camp where Morgana and Gwen—and now Lancelot—were going to stay whilst Morgana learned how to use her magic.

           “So, Merlin,” Morgana called as Gwen and Lancelot tarried in the back of their little group, completely oblivious to everyone else as they finally got to talk to each other about everything they had been thinking and feeling whilst apart. “Do you have any men hidden away to apologize to me?” Her tone was teasing with no hidden hurt lurking beneath the surface and Merlin felt free to match her tone when he teased back, “Unfortunately not, my lady, but if you insist on an apology gift, I could always make one for you.”

           “Scandalous,” Morgana laughed.

           “You never got me a gift,” Arthur complained as he spurred his horse closer to the two dark-haired magic users.

           “I’ve given you loads of gifts!” Merlin said in outrage as Morgana just laughed at the two.

           “Yes, but those weren’t gifts of apology,” Arthur explained reasonably.

           Merlin studied Arthur for a moment, thinking of various insults he could throw the spoiled prat’s way but instead, he decided he liked giving Arthur presents too much to argue against it. Thinking of what he could do, Merlin smiled wide as his eyes glowed gold and suddenly Arthur felt a weight circling his head.

           “There,” Merlin said as Morgana smirked out, “They suit you, Arthur.”

           Reaching up, Arthur’s hand encountered something bulky and silky and he brought it down to discover Merlin had placed a crown of sunflowers upon his head. Arthur snorted at Merlin, calling him ridiculous—yet, he made sure not to crush the petals as he placed the garland crown back onto his head.

           “I accept your apology,” Arthur said regally as he held his golden head high, Merlin sending a bit of magic his way to straighten the crown of sunflowers as Arthur had placed them slightly eschew atop his head.

           Arthur pretended he hadn’t noticed whilst Morgana laughed so hard her sides started to ache, then demanded Merlin show her how to work the spell, which he did gladly. Morgana was slightly surprised she couldn’t get the spell to work after a few tries, Merlin had made it look so easy. But, concentrating on the spell took her mind away from their destination and the looming unknown of what life with the druids and embracing magic within herself would bring.

           When they finally reined in their horses just shy of the druid’s camp, Morgana felt a sudden calmness, as if she were going somewhere she was meant to be, somewhere that would bring her happiness, and the worry she had been ruthlessly suppressing melted away.

           Not wanting to create an incident, they all agreed that Morgana, Gwen, and Lancelot should proceed on their own without the prince of Camelot and his manservant in tow. Merlin and Arthur said their goodbyes before the group split, heading in different directions. The significance of the moment was felt by them all; Morgana and Arthur’s goodbyes were absent of their usual acerbic bite and Merlin was relieved when Gwen ventured over his way to say a quick, “Be safe.”

           Merlin and Arthur waited until Gwen, Morgana, and Lancelot disappeared completely from view before setting off on their own journey.

           “Will she be alright there?” Arthur asked, reaching out his hand to trail it down Merlin’s arm and pull his hand towards him, their fingertips lightly brushing in the space between their horses.

           “She will,” Merlin said with certainty. “The druids can teach her so much.”

           “She’ll be better than you soon,” Arthur half-teased. Morgana was frightening enough as it was, imagining her being able to do what Merlin could and more brought a plethora of horrors to mind. “There’ll be no peace then.”

           Although Arthur hadn’t been looking forward to this extended journey to the coast and Lord Rhyfus’, as he and Merlin made camp for the night he began to rethink his objection. As Merlin started setting up their separate pallets, it occurred to Arthur that they were alone; there were no nosy knights surrounding them. Though they couldn’t risk traveling with Merlin’s magic, as Arthur took in the starry night just visible through the canopy of the trees and the mostly silent forest with only the occasional chirp of an insect to break the serene mood, it felt like they were on another one of their dinners.

           “You might want to,” Arthur started before clearing his throat, not liking the hesitancy he’d heard in his voice. “We can share a pallet,” Arthur stated as Merlin froze. “There’s no one here to care what we do.”

           “You want to…” Merlin trailed off but Arthur saw how his eyes flicked to the pallets and blankets he’d placed on the ground. For being a very physically affectionate person—Merlin always reaching towards Arthur for a hug or to hold his hand or just brush along Arthur’s body and teaching Arthur to do the same—Merlin had kept his touches suitably chaste. Even the kisses they shared remained (mostly) innocent as Merlin. But Arthur had seen the desire Merlin kept in check, felt the rise in his own blood as he gazed upon Merlin. It had taken Arthur some time to grow comfortable with that desire, so he had been grateful for the lack of pressure for more but they had been courting for a while now and whilst they had followed proper courting etiquette as much as possible, the truth was, they were anything but proper. They were a magical manservant courting a prince; they were two men who liked each other and were attracted to each other, seeing if they could ever be more together.

           Arthur knew, with how much he’d been enjoying this courtship, with how his happiness was starting to entwine with Merlin’s own, that soon he would have to address the thoughts of the future he had put off after talking with Ilarya. Though not yet. That discussion may be the end of them and Arthur didn’t want to face that. He wanted to act like they had all the time in the world to be together. And he was no longer content with just those simple touches; he wanted to feel the comfort of Merlin’s touch with the possibility of something more. He didn’t want to deny himself anymore because of what was deemed “proper” by others.

           “I want to do many things,” Arthur confessed, feeling awkward. “Tonight, though, I just want your arms around me.”

           Merlin approached Arthur and drew him into a tight hug.

           “I want that, too,” Merlin whispered into Arthur’s ear, causing him to shiver, before going back to rearrange their pallets so that they could lie down together. Merlin cast a protection spell to alert them to any approaching threat well in advance, which meant, after a brief attack of shyness, they were able to fall asleep together, with Arthur wrapped tightly in Merlin’s arms.

           Each successive day they journeyed towards Lord Rhyfus’ had Merlin and Arthur growing bolder with their touches, more heated. Though they only progressed so far, Arthur reveled in their exploratory touches and knew that Merlin experienced the same pleasure. When he had first agreed to this courtship, Arthur couldn’t have imagined that they would make it this far. Now that they had and they were adding this physical intimacy to what they had experienced on their “dinners”, Arthur had to acknowledge that this courtship wasn’t failing, it was thriving, and Merlin was not only an excellent suitor, he was exactly who Arthur wanted.

           Arthur saw their arrival to Lordy Rhyfus’ with regret, not wanting to see an end to their solitary existence, and that was before he even met the new Lord Rhyfus.

           “What an insufferable prick,” Merlin exploded the instant they were left alone in Arthur’s guest chambers after suffering through an interminable evening with the entitled, braggadocious man. The new Lord Rhyfus had thought nothing of ordering Merlin about as if he were one of his own servants, he had constantly praised his own prowess in any endeavour Arthur might mention—doing so in a way that hinted that Arthur himself would be inferior to his own expertise—and, in general, he had such an obnoxious air about him that Arthur had to agree with Merlin’s pronouncement.

           “We don’t have to stay long,” Arthur consoled as he brought Merlin in for a kiss. “Just a few days and then we’ll be back on the road, able to do as we please.”

           “I like the sound of that,” Merlin murmured before deepening the kiss. “At least we get to share the room,” Merlin added as he started to back Arthur up. “It’ll be nice to have a proper bed for a change.”

           Laughter soon filled the insultingly small room for visiting royalty as Merlin and Arthur made good use of the bed.

           Though the next two days were not pleasant by any means, Arthur did start to find some common ground with Lord Rhyfus when it came to hunting. Though Merlin grimaced, Arthur eagerly accepted Lord Rhyfus’ invitation to hunt with him before Arthur’s departure.

           At Arthur’s urging, the hunt became an all-day affair. Arthur and Lord Rhyfus entertained themselves with a “friendly” competition of how many rabbits and pheasants they could bag whilst Merlin and the rest of the servants lugged the animal carcasses and hunting equipment around after the two nobles.

           Arthur and Lord Rhyfus took their hunting seriously and worked at a relentless pace; Merlin did not share their enthusiasm. The day dragged on for him and not even talking with the other servants could alleviate his boredom as they were all quite dutiful and refused to risk scaring the game away by talking too loudly. It was all so dull and the only silver lining helping Merlin get through the ordeal was that they would get to leave tomorrow and could once again take advantage of traveling and having Arthur all to himself. Though Merlin had imagined the pleasures he and Arthur could share together many times—with increasing frequency as their courtship progressed—he still hadn’t been prepared for Arthur’s suggestion that they start exploring their attraction more intimately. He had made sure during his courtship to show Arthur his non-sexual interest, keeping his baser instincts contained so that Arthur would know that wasn’t all he wanted from him—it also gave him the opportunity to get to know Arthur in a more romantic light without the pressures, heat, and distraction of sex. He had been prepared to wait any length of time Arthur required, letting Arthur set the pace for that aspect of their courtship as he knew this was a side of himself Arthur struggled with. So, hearing Arthur voice his desires in the forest, finally getting to touch where he willed and having Arthur do the same, and knowing that there was still so much he and Arthur had left to discover…Merlin was very eager to end the bloody hunt, bid Lord Rhyfus farewell, and get Arthur all to himself again.

           Stay very still.

          Lost in his fantasies, when Merlin first heard it, he thought it was just his imagination. But when he heard it again, noting the absolute panic in the voice, he knew he hadn’t imagined it.

        Hide, hide, he’s found me, hide.

         Snapping his focus back to what was actually happening, Merlin recognized the telepathic thought for what it was and darted his gaze around wildly, seeking the person who was experiencing such overwhelming terror.

           “Fox spotted,” one of Lord Rhyfus’ servants called a little ways ahead of them.

         Run! The voice screamed and Merlin’s whole body tensed in preparation automatically at hearing the desperate command, ready to flee from whatever danger was approaching them when he caught a flash of red ahead of him as Arthur and Lord Rhyfus started their pursuit.

          They weren’t equipped properly for a fox hunt but both Arthur and Lord Rhyfus were such excellent hunters—and their quarry was injured just enough—that it gave them a chance, kept them within easy distance of the fleeing animal as they started running it to ground.

          Though they had no hounds, Lord Rhyfus ordered his servants to act as his hounds, manoeuvring them so that he manipulated the path of the fox, cutting off its escape routes and leading it where Lord Rhyfus desired. The goal was to wear the animal down and as Merlin ran along with everyone else, he could not only see that it was working, he could hear it as that terrified, human voice kept bleeding through into his head.

          Shift, shift, RUN FASTER, transform, shift!

          The terrified thoughts pummeled Merlin and he felt the change in the magic in the air, the murky, sapping void of a curse preventing a sorcerer from accessing their magic.

                 By the goddess, no. The plaintive cry came just ahead of Merlin and he doubled his efforts, surreptitiously casting a spell so that bushes and branches were suddenly tripping everyone around him so that he could be the first to reach the fox and see what had caused such distress.

          He crashed through the wood and came upon the fox, winded and favouring his back paw. The wood thinned where he was, turning to more rocky terrain and, exhausted and injured as he was, the fox was unable to climb his way to safety. Clearly, he had tried, losing precious seconds as he attempted to go where humans would not be able to follow, but now Lord Rhyfus’ servants were approaching on both sides with Merlin, and slightly behind him Arthur and Lord Rhyfus, right across from him, cornering the cursed sorcerer. For a moment, he jolted around as if he would try and streak past the advancing servants but he was just too tired and knew he wouldn’t be quick enough.

             Please, goddess, the man prayed and Merlin’s heart broke to hear his agony, don’t let him win. This can’t be the end. Shift back! Please!

           Arthur raised his cross bow, readying his shot, when Merlin thrust his body in front of the barking fox.

         Facing Arthur, Merlin shouted, “Stop!” Everyone paused and Arthur lowered his bow as Merlin explained, “This isn’t a fox, he’s a human. He’s cursed.”

          “Ridiculous,” Lord Rhyfus snorted as Merlin heard a faint, You can hear me?

         “How do you know?” Arthur asked as the fox scooted closer to Merlin’s legs, an action Arthur observed with concern, his hand twitching on the cross bow as what looked like a wild animal drew within mauling distance of Merlin.

           “You can’t honestly be giving that boy’s words any credence,” Lord Rhyfus sneered. “He’s just a servant, he doesn’t know anything.”

           No, don’t listen to him, listen to the boy, listen to the boy.

          Though he objected to being referred to as boy, Merlin reassured the fox, He’ll listen to me, I know it, before saying passionately, addressing Arthur directly whilst ignoring Lord Rhyfus, “I’m telling you the truth, he’s a person. He’s just trapped to look like a fox.”

           “Why would he…?” Arthur started to say uncertainly when Lord Rhyfus said, “Enough of this, it’s just a fox, sire,” and raised his own cross bow.

         “Trust me, sire,” Merlin implored, reaching out his hand in a now familiar gesture, Arthur standing frozen for a long moment as Lord Rhyfus lined up his shot, reasonably confident he could hit the fox without fatally injuring the obnoxious servant.

         “Trust me,” Merlin said again, even quieter and Arthur sprang into action, snatching Lord Rhyfus’ cross bow from his hands.

           “Sire,” Lord Rhyfus said in outrage as Merlin heaved a sigh of relief. “You’re taking the word of a servant?”

         “He’s yet to steer me wrong,” Arthur said deeply and whilst Lord Rhyfus scoffed in disgust, the fox, having recovered its breath, took advantage of everyone’s distraction and bolted away to disappear in the underbrush.

         Find me, please, echoed through Merlin’s head as he tried not to smile too smugly in front of Arthur and Lord Rhyfus.

   The second Merlin and Arthur retired for the night, Merlin grabbed hold of Arthur’s hand and placed it over his heart with one of his own hands, sweeping the other up Arthur’s neck to pull him forward so that their foreheads gently rested against each other.

           “Thank you for trusting me,” Merlin whispered in the small space between them before pulling back slightly so he could stare into Arthur’s blue eyes, hand still caressing the nape of Arthur’s neck.

          “It wasn’t that hard,” Arthur said, overwhelmed by Merlin’s gratitude and how seeing him like this made him feel like he might do just about anything to keep Merlin this happy. Staring into Merlin’s blue eyes, Arthur could see the discussion about their future hurtling closer at a terrifying speed and he wondered if Merlin sensed the same thing and what his thoughts about it were.

          Merlin laughed at Arthur’s obvious lie before getting serious again.

         “I have to go find him,” Merlin said quietly and Arthur nodded quickly.

         “I agree,” Arthur said briskly, already strategizing in his head how they were going to find a lone fox, at night, in the middle of the woods. “We can’t abandon this man to his curse. We just need to figure out how to go about it.”

           “Really?” Merlin asked half-joyfully, half-incredulously. “You want to come too?”

          “Yes, Merlin, you idiot,” Arthur drolled. “I do have experience in these kinds of things. I already have a plan, we’ll…”

          “Oh,” Merlin interrupted, still reeling from the day he was having. First, Arthur finally showed his trust in him again, in front of a nobleman to boot, and now Arthur wanted to actively help him with a magical problem. He was so used to hiding these things from Arthur, getting to share the experience had him feeling like he was dancing in the air all over again. “I already know what to do. We’re going to become foxes,” Merlin declared with pride, quite liking his plan and excited to work with Arthur on this. Warmth glowed about Merlin’s heart as he shared this moment with Arthur. He’d imagined their future together countless times before but now, he could see it with Arthur not simply tolerating Merlin’s magic but taking an active interest in it, something he hadn’t dared to dream of previously. It was a tantalizing image and so close to becoming reality, Merlin could burst.

         He was so caught up in the emotion of this new future opening up before them he almost missed Arthur’s next question.

          “And that’s something you’ve done before?” Arthur asked in an irked tone, not wanting to admit that that idea hadn’t even occurred to him and how it had a greater chance of succeeding then his ideas. “We’re not gonna get stuck like that fellow, are we?”

          “No, of course not,” Merlin assured as he walked up to Arthur and grabbed his hand, giving it a reassuring squeeze. “I’ve done this loads of times.”

         “Really?” Arthur asked doubtfully. “You transform two people into animals quite frequently, do you?”

          “Well,” Merlin said hesitantly. “Not two people, no. Just myself,” Merlin confessed, rushing on to say at seeing Arthur’s face, “But I’m sure I can do it.”

           “How sure?” Arthur asked dangerously. “Because I refuse to get stuck as a fox.”

          “I’m very sure, Arthur,” Merlin said placatingly, “Because it’s a curse that caused that man to be stuck, not anything he did with the spell.”

          Arthur did not look very placated as he asked, “And what happens if whoever cursed him curses us, too?”

           “They’d have to work pretty hard to hit me with a curse powerful enough to separate me from my magic,” Merlin said slightly dismissively.

         “Somehow, I don’t find that reassuring,” Arthur grumbled. “Have you actually ever faced a real thre…”

        “Do you want to come or not?” Merlin interrupted, eager to find the cursed man and not liking all this second guessing, though he should have expected it. It’s not like Arthur had ever agreed to one of his plans without voicing a million objections first before.

        “Of course, I’m coming,” Arthur said exasperated. “As if you could even find this man without my superior tracking skills.”

        “You know, I think you might be right, this probably won’t work,” Merlin said lightly. “With that big head of yours, you might just topple over as a fox.”

         “Idiot,” Arthur said with affection, which wasn’t exactly the reaction Merlin had been expecting but he wasn’t going to object when Arthur pulled him close for a deep kiss. “Let’s go.”

         They walked in silence until they reasoned they were far enough away from the main house to use some illicit magic. Though Merlin wouldn’t acknowledge it, he was a little concerned using this spell on Arthur. It was a very familiar spell, and required only a slight change to apply it to Arthur instead of himself, but still, it was something he’d never really tried before and he didn’t want anything to go wrong.

      Casting the spell, Merlin wasn’t surprised at all when nothing happened. Arthur, who had squeezed his eyes shut when Merlin started, sneaked a peek out of one eye when he didn’t feel any change. Merlin tried the spell again and now Arthur had both eyes open with an insulting smirk growing on his face when, again, nothing happened. By the time Merlin had attempted the spell for a fourth time, Arthur said, “You’re not very good at this magic business, huh?” Merlin just growled in frustration and cast the spell again with an extra bite to his voice, which, of course, did nothing.

       It was on the sixth try that Merlin was finally able to wipe the smirk off Arthur’s face as the transformation spell finally took hold and Arthur started to shrink. Merlin gave a sarcastic wave as Arthur grew shorter and shorter, his clothes and skin leeching of their colour as the shape of his body itself began to reform in a fuzzy mist, whatever snarky thing Arthur tried to say coming out as a bark instead. When Arthur had mostly disappeared to be replaced by a vague looking white creature, red and white fur began to spring forth all about his new body until Merlin was staring down at a fox that was staring back at him with Arthur’s shocked blue eyes. Leaping and twisting, Arthur examined his new form, lifting his leg to make sure he wasn’t missing any important parts before chasing his tail and making Merlin laugh at his antics.

          Suddenly, Arthur slammed his front paws against Merlin’s legs, giving him an expectant look. Saying the spell to transform himself into a fox felt like shrugging on his favourtie jacket, easy and comforting, and then Merlin, too, was opening his eyes to a fox’s world. He and Arthur darted around each other, the world suddenly so much bigger to their small bodies, scents calling to them, pulling them in various directions, and the magic of their new forms holding an instinct of how to move with the grace and strength of a fox. Merlin drew closer to Arthur, his tantalizing smell compelling Merlin to bury his nose in Arthur’s fur, Arthur doing the same to Merlin. It was a tender moment that Arthur completely ruined by tugging at Merlin’s ear playfully and then it was on, fox Merlin and fox Arthur skirmishing through the underbrush.

    Arthur loved being a fox; there was a power to his new body that was incredible. His reflexes had never been sharper and he loved the strength of his legs as he sped across the ground, sometimes feeling like he was flying again. He would have to ask Merlin to transform them again at another time, when they weren’t on the hunt for a cursed person, so that Arthur could truly explore the limits of this body. He completely ignored his previous reticence as if it had never been and laughing chirps left his throat as he and Merlin raced through the forest. Feeling playful and coming up with no reason to deny his instinct, Arthur took a bounding leap into the air—and if Merlin hadn’t darted out of the way at the last second, Arthur would have landed right on top of him. Merlin took the action as the challenge it was, taking his own barreling leap into Arthur, actually connecting to Arthur’s chagrin. They continued pouncing and darting as they raced through the forest, voicing their delight with odd sounding barks and Arthur didn’t know if he’d ever had more fun. He would have to remember to reprimand Merlin for not suggesting this as one of their outings later.

         Their merriment disappeared, however, when they reached where they had last seen the cursed fox, catching the putrid scent of his fear. Following the acrid trail, when they finally came upon the cursed fox, it was actually very anticlimactic. The fox made as if to bolt but stopped as fox Merlin yipped out a greeting, standing tall and proud. The cursed fox cocked his head to the side as if listening to something Arthur couldn’t hear and then he was eagerly limping towards fox Merlin. Arthur stood beside Merlin, feeling very superfluous as he watched Merlin’s blue eyes swirl gold and waited for something to happen. As fox Merlin worked his magic, the cursed fox bore his gaze into Merlin. He held his whole body taut as if every fibre of his being were urging Merlin’s spell to work, was desperate for Merlin’s spell to work, and then suddenly, the cursed fox’s eyes were glowing just as gold as Merlin’s and he was prancing around even as his body shifted and morphed. Arthur and Merlin had to back up as the fox grew larger, fur shedding off its body before vanishing completely, until there was a man, a very naked man, dancing in front of them, grubby and badly cut, but human and alive.

          “Thank you,” the man, who looked somewhat familiar to Arthur, gasped out, his voice coming out raw and hoarse. “Thank you, thank you. I am in your debt.”

         Fox Merlin and the formerly cursed fox stared at each other silently for a time after that before the man shook his head in the negative and started limping his solitary way in the direction of the manor house. Now that their mission was complete and they had an injured sorcerer on the loose, Arthur thought Merlin would change them back. Instead, Merlin crouched low and waved his tail high in the air before springing away. Happy to indulge him, Arthur gave chase, the two frolicking through the moonlit forest.

           It took a long time and many games of chase, Arthur and Merlin switching who pursued who with the poke of a nose, before, eventually, Arthur grew tired and collapsed against fox Merlin’s body, who was clearly just as exhausted. Arthur briefly wondered if they were just going to stay out in the forest for the rest of the night when, with a flash of gold, they were back in Arthur’s guest chambers with both of them lying on the soft mattress. With another flash, Arthur started growing and then he was human once again staring at an equally human Merlin. Looking at them both, Arthur would never have guessed that they had just come back from running through a forest as foxes: their clothes were clean, their hands were clean, with not even a hair was out of place. A whisp of a thought of how strange it was that the other sorcerer had decided to shed his clothes before transforming partially floated through his mind but he fell into a peaceful sleep before he could really comprehend it, with Merlin lying curled up next to him.

     Arthur woke to the gentle sweep of a finger outlining his face, traveling lightly across his brow, down the bridge of his nose, and across his cheeks. When the finger came to his lips, Arthur pressed a light kiss to it before opening his eyes to see a smiling and relaxed Merlin.

       “I much prefer you waking me up like this,” Arthur commented sleepily as he yawned and stretched.

           “That’s because you’d rather laze in bed all day,” Merlin teased and Arthur rolled over onto the thinner man to crush him, liking the ease between them and the feel of Merlin’s warm body against his own.

          “What was that you said, Merlin?” Arthur asked faux-threateningly.

          “That you’re always a delight in the morning, sire,” Merlin drawled and Arthur dipped his head for a quick peck of his lips against Merlin’s before rolling onto his back once more, eyes staring at the canopy blurrily as he still wasn’t really fully awake.

          “Arthur,” Merlin said quietly when some focus finally returned to Arthur’s gaze and Arthur turned his head to his side so he could see a sleep-rumpled Merlin looking at him with a luminous expression. “You trust me.”

          It was such a simple statement and yet Arthur felt that, by uttering it aloud, Merlin had crossed a line Arthur hadn’t even realized he’d drawn and now they faced something new. Arthur had been so caught up in saving the cursed fox the previous night that he hadn’t truly thought through the import of those words. Now that Merlin brought it up again, however, in the comfort and languor of the morning, there was nothing to distract Arthur from the implications of that statement.

         Arthur remembered Ilarya’s council vividly when it came to either/or and his own idea that he and Merlin might find they did not suit each other. And it was with a small amount of shame that Arthur remembered his assumption that Merlin would find a way to bollocks everything up because the truth was, he and Merlin fit together delightfully and Merlin had devoted himself fully to their courtship. Merlin gave Arthur his full attention; he listened to what Arthur said and remembered what they’d discussed from outing to outing. He was fun, he wasn’t afraid to show Arthur how he felt—and he encouraged Arthur to do the same without demanding it from him—and he wanted Arthur to be happy. After Arthur had revealed how much flowers, gardening, and the land meant to him, Merlin had gifted Arthur a magical plot of land where he could construct, plant, and maintain his own garden following his own design. And Merlin had understood when this gift took Arthur’s attention and time away from him, knowing how important it was to Arthur and how he wasn’t ready to share it just yet—he let it be Arthur’s thing without making Arthur feel the least bit guilty about it or like he was neglecting Merlin.

         With their courtship, Arthur had been able to embrace so much of himself he’d denied so long but always, there had been the question of what kind of future he and Merlin could truly have with all that came with being a ruler. Merlin was no idiot, despite what Arthur said, and he must have thought these things through before starting his courtship, but they had never talked about it. In fact, though they had spent more and more time together, their emotions had deepened past mere attraction, and even now that they had added a physical intimacy to their relationship, their courtship had lacked any truly deep, intimate discussions that delved past the surface. They had been relishing the joy between them in their present, both agreeing without words that they weren’t ready to bring in the pain of their pasts and the uncertainty of their future. Now, with a simple statement, Merlin had changed all that; Arthur trusted Merlin. Arthur hadn’t realized he’d been waiting for the moment he could no longer deny that fact to face this discussion but in the gentle light of the calm morning, after a night of daring rescues and playful transformations, those three words echoing about Arthur’s head, he knew it was time, that they couldn’t delay this any longer.

        Turning onto his side to face the man so frequently in his thoughts, Arthur said seriously, “I do trust you.”

     Merlin drew in a deep breath and returned to stroking Arthur’s face. Arthur closed his eyes and leaned into the touch as Merlin whispered, “That was worth the wait.”

          It was such a heavy moment, Arthur felt the emotions overflowing between them and he so wanted to retreat from it, to lighten the mood with an insensitive remark or teasing quip but he fought the impulse to say instead, “You know, if there was a board between us, we’d be bundling.”

          “I can fix that,” Merlin said eagerly and Arthur opened his eyes to see a jubilant Merlin putting some space between them, words in his magic language forming on his lips and his eyes flashing gold. A long plank of wood appeared to divide the bed, low enough that Arthur and Merlin could see each other over the top of the wood if they lifted their heads but firmly keeping them separated on their own side of the bed.

          “Not necessary,” Arthur said and, with a disappointed moue, Merlin sent the plank of wood away and made as if to get up out of bed. Hurriedly, Arthur added, “But I do think we should do it…bundle, I mean.”

         Merlin relaxed back onto the bed and asked, “Who should go first?”

        “I will, obviously,” Arthur said, hiding his unease. Bundling was such a huge step; it was about an intimacy and connection that went beyond the physical. They were about to lay themselves completely bare to each other, asking deeply personal questions and learning a lot more about each other than ever before. Bundling was about deepening each other’s understanding of the other and sharing their expectations for the future; if it didn’t go well, they may never recover. If it did go well, they would be more deeply committed to each other than ever before—if one of them had been a woman, a marriage proposal would be considered imminently forthcoming after bundling. It was a progression of their courtship and an airing of emotions they had previously left unsaid.

          Though Merlin seemed eager to start, Arthur took his time. Many questions were jumbling through his head and he didn’t want to mess up by rushing.

         “If you’re not ready,” Merlin finally said, trying to hide his reluctance in saying those words. “I understand. It’s a big step, we don’t have to…”

          “I’m ready,” Arthur interjected. “Don’t be so impatient.”

          Merlin gave an inelegant snort at that, letting Arthur know what he thought of that statement and Arthur relaxed and finally decided which question he wanted to start with. It wasn’t the question he’d been expecting but it was something he’d wanted to know his whole life.

         “What’s it like to have a mother?” Arthur asked, staring into Merlin’s clear blue eyes and not doing anything to hide his longing. Their bundling had started and Arthur already felt vulnerable and exposed. It wasn’t a feeling he liked but he could tell by Merlin’s subdued reaction that they were both feeling the pressure of the moment and wanted to treat it with the seriousness and respect it deserved.

          “Having a mum,” Merlin finally said slowly. “Is like being held in a perpetual hug. At times, that hug may be wrapped tight around you to offer you comfort, other times it might be so loose you’re barely aware of it when you need some space, but you always know you have your mum’s unconditional support and love.”

        Arthur watched as memories of Hunith floated behind Merlin’s eyes, a soft smile stretching his lips.

        “What’s it like to have a father?” Merlin asked as the fondness in his expression dimmed and a longing Arthur was very familiar with took over.

         “It’s great,” Arthur said as he rolled onto his back. “We have loads in common and…and, I mean…We…”

          Arthur turned back onto his side so he could meet Merlin’s curious gaze and said more honestly, “I don’t really know what it’s like to have a proper father. My father has always made it clear that he’s my king first, father second. He wasn’t there every day to raise me but he was always there to assess my performance.”

         They lapsed into silence for a while after that, each reflecting on what the other had said and what they’d missed growing up.

         “I’ve never doubted that my mum loved me,” Merlin said thoughtfully. “But I’ve always wondered what my da would think of me. Mum never speaks of him, I don’t even know his name, so I’ve no real picture of him, let alone an idea of what he’s like, what he values…whether he has magic. Like me.”

           Arthur had no words of comfort or reassurance for Merlin. He understood Merlin’s yearning, though, that desperation to live up to the expectations of a parent he’s never even met.

           “My father speaks of honouring the memory of my mother constantly but he never talks to me about her,” Arthur said in response. “I wouldn’t know a single thing about her except that she died, not even what she looked like, if not for Lady Ives, her childhood friend. She made sure I knew my mother, not just the Queen everyone mourns.”

          “What were some of the things Lady Ives told you?” Merlin asked and Arthur was off, talking about his mother’s inventive spirit, the flowing blonde hair that he had inherited from her, and all the mischief she and Lady Ives got up to as children.

       As their bundling continued, they shared the foundational memories that helped shaped them throughout the years. Arthur learned about the first time Merlin shared his magical secret with someone outside his mother, how it was an older boy in the village Merlin had wanted to impress. It had proved such a disaster that Hunith had told Merlin to wipe the boy’s memory with his magic, that it was the only way they would be safe, but the boy was never the same after that, his natural charm and wits dimmed to almost nothing.

           “I was too forceful,” Merlin admitted. “I took too much from him and could never give it back.”

         “How old were you?” Arthur asked.

          “Five,” Merlin said firmly, clearly indicating he didn’t need any consoling or attempts to assuage his guilt since he’d been so young. Arthur assumed Hunith had already said as much and Merlin didn’t want to hear the same from him. “And I finally understood why Mum always said I had to keep my magic secret.”

         “So, how did Will find out then?” Arthur asked instead and was heartened to see a glimmer of Merlin’s usually radiant smile return to his face.

          “I’ve never been really good at doing my chores,” Merlin said ruefully and Arthur barked out a laugh. “He stumbled upon me using magic to chop some wood. I was terrified but all he said was that I was chopping the wood like an idiot. He said since I was using magic anyway, I should just chop it all at once, instead of one at a time as if I was still using an axe. He then swore himself to secrecy and vowed his eternal friendship.”

           Merlin’s happy smile became more bittersweet as he said, “I miss him. He shouldn’t have died.”

         “Were you two, did you…?” Arthur tried to ask but couldn’t quite find the words. Merlin understood anyway and answered, “We were just friends but that doesn’t mean the pain hurts any less.”

         “No, of course not,” Arthur said quickly.

          When Merlin was ready to speak again, Arthur learned that it was by playing pranks with Will that Merlin once again embraced the fun and wonder magic could bring. And he learned that, no matter how exhausted she might be from working their small farm, Hunith always made time to see to Merlin’s education, teaching him to read, write, and think critically.

           “Mum always says that my magic is a gift but that it doesn’t exempt me from having to use my brain,” Merlin said fondly and Arthur almost made a comment about Merlin’s ability to think but opted instead to say, “She’s an incredible woman,” which got him an ardent kiss in reward.

           In turn, Merlin learned that the first time Arthur remembered his father smiling at him was when he was nine years old and had successfully disarmed his sparring partner. He learned that Arthur had a lot of people around him growing up he had considered his friends until he discovered that most of them were either informing their fathers about his activities, selling his secrets to interested parties, or ridiculing him behind his back. It had opened his eyes to the realities of court at a young age but it had also protected him. By the time he was a teenager and prey to even more devious machinations, he had long learned how to play the game at court.

        “It hurt,” Arthur admitted. “Putting this barrier up so that no one could take advantage of me, which also meant no one could truly be my friend. I also think, it made me colder.”

         “I remember,” Merlin said with a small frown. “But you’re not like that now,” Merlin observed.

        “That’s because you pulverized that barrier with your irreverence and determination not to accept any of my shit,” Arthur laughed. “You challenge me,” Arthur said more seriously. “Just by being you and you know how I never back down from a challenge.”

       Merlin also learned that completing his education had been difficult for Arthur. His father had provided him with the best tutors but they all seemed to be the same, having Arthur repeat, memorize, and recite everything they said when his body was vibrating with the need to move. He had struggled to focus on what his tutors were saying, even on topics that interested him, and no one was willing to help, simply telling him to sit still and focus. So, Arthur had developed his own methods of learning, he’d had to because he wanted to make his father proud, he’d known this was knowledge he would need to rule, and he had wanted to feel like he was learning. He couldn’t change his tutor’s methods but he could go over the lessons on his own time, drawing out what he could to help him visualize or reciting crucial information whilst also practicing his footwork for sword fighting.

        Eventually, talk of the past turned to talk of the future, both of them feeling like they understood the man across from them a little better.

         “How do you see this courtship culminating? What do you see as our future?” Arthur asked, finally voicing aloud his biggest doubt to Merlin. “I’m a prince, one day I’ll be a king. I’ll have to marry and produce an heir,” Arthur said, his throat clicking as he did so. “Where do you see yourself in all that?”

       “I see myself by your side, where I have always been,” Merlin said without hesitation. Arthur had been right, Merlin had clearly thought about this, too. “The way I see it, I’m the one you’ll commit to, I’m the one who will have your heart, and I’m the one who will share your true life. Knowing that, I can accept any possible future wife and children so long as we can be happy together.”

           “You’re saying you don’t have any problem that I won’t be able to stay faithful to you?” Arthur asked dubiously, not only doubting the veracity of Merlin’s claim but uncertain how he felt if Merlin were actually telling the truth. Did he want Merlin to be so willing to accept this shadow existence? Had he been expecting more of a fight, for Merlin to demand Arthur never marry? “Can you truly be happy like that?”

        “I can’t see the future,” Merlin answered seriously. “I can’t predict with certainty how I’ll feel all the time. But I thought about what I want and what I’m willing to risk before starting this courtship and I always knew there was the possibility of you having to marry someone else. And I decided I wouldn’t let that stop me from seeking what happiness I could have. Of course, I would prefer that you never marry another,” Merlin finally said as Arthur growled in frustration at Merlin’s lack of explicit answer. “But I believe that, if you do marry, we can still be happy, that we can figure something out.”

          “I don’t know if I can do that,” Arthur admitted sadly. “I don’t know if I can be happy knowing I’m breaking my vows, either to you or a wife. Especially to you.”

         “So, what does that mean?” Merlin asked, resting his hand over Arthur’s heart. “Do you want to stop this?”

          Arthur brought his own hand up to cover Merlin’s and said emphatically, “No,” pressing Merlin’s hand into his chest, his heart pounding with the uncertainty and anxiety of the decisions they were talking through. “But I don’t know how you can be so calm about this. We’re courting, we’re…developing feelings,” Arthur said, acknowledging what they both knew to be true, what they both had felt for some time. “And yet you say you can simply watch me go off with another? Have children with her?”

           “Arthur,” Merlin said. “Nothing is certain in this world. Who knows, you may never marry...”

      Arthur scoffed at that, “I’m to be king, Merlin. I’ll marry.”

        “And even if you do,” Merlin continued. “That doesn’t necessarily mean you’ll have to be unfaithful. Remember, I have magic. That gives us a lot of options.”

        “Can magic create an heir for me?” Arthur asked excitedly but Merlin was shaking his head before Arthur was even finished with his question.

     “No, it can’t do that,” Merlin said. “Not without paying a deadly price.”

        “Then I don’t know what options you’re talking about,” Arthur said sullenly.

        “Arthur,” Merlin said briskly, not liking the unusually defeatist attitude Arthur was indulging in. “Never mind my magic, why are you acting like kings have never remained bachelor’s before? Why are you acting like kings have never accepted their wives’ illegitimate children as their own before? Why are you acting like kings have never appointed nieces, nephews, cousins, or wards as their heir before? Even if my magic cannot find a way, why are you acting like you marrying and having a child is your only option? Do you even want a child of your own?”

        That was a question Arthur had never been asked before; it had always just been assumed that, of course, he would produce an heir. It was what was expected. In fact, this whole idea of him marrying in the first place was because it was what was expected but Merlin was right, not every king married.

      “I had just always assumed I would,” Arthur said, stunned, as the carefully planned out map of his future that had been drilled into him since birth started to shift. It was like, his whole life, he had only been shown one small part of the world and told that this was the entirety of the world only for Merlin to show up with a different map, a new map, that revealed there was so much more than what he’d been taught.

        “But what do you actually want?” Merlin asked and Arthur wondered if it could really be that simple.

           “I want, I want us to live our lives together. If I can’t marry you, I don’t want to marry. But Merlin, I’m a prince, it’s not always about what I want.”

         “And that’s where magic could find a way,” Merlin said emphatically. “I went into this with my eyes open, Arthur. You say I’m acting calm but its simply that I am resolute. I want to spend my life with you as well and I am confident we can figure out how to do that.”

         “And children?” Arthur asked, returning to the necessity of succession, even as Merlin’s words were rewriting the way he viewed his role, undermining the proper image of a prince and future king his father, tutors, and countless nobles had constantly placed upon him.

    “Do you want children?” Merlin asked again.

      “I definitely don’t want one now,” Arthur said with a grimace, thinking of mewling infants and added responsibilities. “What about you?” Arthur asked in sudden thought, realizing he’d never even considered Merlin’s desires when it came to children, too caught up in his own progeny dilemma. “Do you want children of your own?”

     “No,” Merlin said simply. “I could never imagine bringing my own child into this world. I’d much rather protect the children that are already here.”

       “So, what you’re saying,” Arthur said slowly, feeling like a huge weight was lifting off his chest, allowing excitement to well up within him. “Is that, if, in the distant future, if I was to adopt a child to be my heir…”

        “Then I would love to be there and raise that child with you,” Merlin finished.

      “We,” Arthur marveled, thinking over what Merlin had said. A voice that sounded like Lady Ives' echoed in his head, urging him to take up his mother's inventiveness and forsake his father's absolutism. “We can actually do this.”

          They both laughed as the future opened itself up before them. We should’ve done this sooner, Arthur thought. It would have saved him a lot of worry.

        Though neither had asked the other all the questions burning within them, eventually the rumbling of their stomachs saw the end of their bundling. Arthur still wanted to talk to Merlin about his magic and what he thought of Arthur’s plans to protect magic users from his father until such a time when he would no longer have to. Merlin still wanted to talk to Arthur about his feelings. He knew Arthur was enjoying their courtship and that they were growing closer by the day, but he also wanted to hear the words. Merlin himself had been reluctant to give voice to the strong emotions that tied him to Arthur, not wanting to push. But the success of their bundling made both men feel more deeply connected to the other; they both felt the shift in their courtship, from a general exploration to a more purposeful engagement, heading somewhere they both wanted to go.

         Heading down to breakfast with huge smiles on their faces, Merlin went to the kitchens to eat whilst Arthur went to the formal dining hall where Lord Rhyfus took his meals.

         “Prince Arthur!” A boisterous voice boomed as Arthur was almost done with his eggs. Looking up, Arthur jolted in shock as the man he and Merlin had rescued the night before stood before him. Though looking gaunt, his hair had been smoothed and shaped, he was once again wearing clothes—sumptuous, expensive looking clothes—and he was lightly leaning against a cane as his foot was clearly injured. And seeing him here, amongst the finery of the Rhyfus estate, Arthur finally pieced together why the man had looked so familiar the night before.

           “Aaron!” Arthur exclaimed in a mixture of delight and surprise. “I thought you were dead.”

          “A misunderstanding,” Aaron, the true Lord Rhyfus, said. “Luckily, one I have rectified and now here I am, resurrected from the dead.”

         “Your brother must be pleased to see you return,” Arthur said with a knowing smile, putting more pieces together and understanding that Aaron’s brother would have been most disappointed to see his hale return.

       “Ecstatic,” Aaron said overly sincere. “He can now join the clergy, which had always been his fondest wish.”

       “The clergy?” Arthur said in surprise. “Well, I wish him felicity in that endeavour.” Though Arthur knew Aaron was lying, as he remembered how Aaron’s brother had aimed his cross bow at him, certainly knowing who it was that was trapped within the guise of a fox, he decided that Aaron was due whatever punishment he decided to mete out and let the lie pass.

        Aaron joined Arthur at the table as he finished his breakfast, their conversation moving away from the heaviness of presumed death and family betrayal to lighter subjects, catching up with each other and Arthur was reminded of how much he enjoyed this Lord Rhyfus’ company. He hadn’t noticed how much time had passed until Merlin barged into the room with his usual lack of manners and started saying before he even took a proper look about the room, “Arthur, are you still eating. I thought we were going to leave…” Merlin trailed off as he spied Aaron, recognition crossing his features. Aaron, in turn, was gazing speculatively between Arthur and Merlin until he suddenly said to Arthur giving up on his pretense that his disappearance was not magic related, “You were the second fox!”

        “To what are you referri…” Arthur tried to say but Aaron just looked so thrilled and, even though he hadn’t been having to do it very long, Arthur was already getting tired of having to constantly lie and check himself when it came to magic, that Arthur conceded. “Yes, I was.” Arthur didn’t know how magic users, how Merlin, could stomach the constant subterfuge their whole life.

       “This is brilliant,” Aaron crowed, his excitement causing him to burst out of his seat. “The prince of Camelot has magic, the prince of Camelot is one of us, I can’t, this changes so much. How long have you practiced?” Aaron asked exuberantly.

        Furrowing his brow at Aaron’s assumption, Arthur explained, “No, I don’t have magic myself. Merlin just used his to turn me into a fox.” It was strange to be discussing illegal magic in the light of day over breakfast with a lord of the realm and yet it also somehow felt right. Arthur knew they could trust Aaron with this knowledge.

        Aaron stood gobsmacked for a second before turning a more considering gaze to Merlin.

         “You can do that?” Aaron asked, sounding very impressed and Merlin shrugged uncomfortably before changing the topic slightly.

         “I’m glad you got home safely,” Merlin said. “I hope your brother wasn’t too much of a problem.”

      “No problem at all,” Aaron said with a sharp smile. “I’ve put him where he can learn a valuable lesson about familial bonds. In fact, would you care to see him?” Aaron asked, directing his question at Arthur, who answered, “Yes,” curious to see what Aaron had done to his faithless traitor of a brother. Joined the clergy, indeed. Aaron might want to come up with a more believable explanation than that, Arthur thought as he and Merlin followed Aaron out of the room.

      Aaron led them both up to the family wing of the manor which Arthur had not expected. Opening up a door, Arthur stood immobile as he took in the scene before him. There, on the floor and close to a raging fire, crouched Aaron’s younger brother and attempted usurper of the title. His arms and legs were splayed out slightly, holding his weight up on the edges of his feet and hands, his back arched and rounded dramatically, as he slowly mouthed leafy greens from a bowl.

         “I’ve cursed him to think he’s trapped in the body of a turtle,” Aaron said with glee as they watched his brother’s munching.

         “Why didn’t you just turn him into an actual turtle?” Arthur asked.

       “I don’t possess that skill,” Aaron said. “I don’t have the power of your man there,” Aaron added, awe still present in his voice as he indicated Merlin with the tilt of his head. Arthur would have snorted at the idea of Merlin having any kind of awe-inspiring power but he was too caught up with the phrasing of “your man.” Merlin was his man and, after their bundling, Arthur could acknowledge that he was also Merlin’s. Arthur grinned over at Merlin, discretely running his hand down Merlin’s own and then Aaron was talking again.

       “Unlike my brother, however, I don’t resent those with more power than me,” Aaron said, a complicated mix of emotions crossing his face as he watched his brother. “He always looked for the quick solution, he never practiced his magic with the kind of dedication required to actually progress. I should have seen what he was going to do.”

     “When it comes to family,” Merlin said consolingly. “We can’t always see their flaws.”

        “He pointed out my flaws constantly,” Aaron said, trying to turn the truth into a quip but just sounding sad. “He thought I was weak, unfit to bear our father’s title.” Aaron trailed off and Arthur didn’t press. “Stay,” Aaron suddenly said, breaking the silence they had fallen into. “Just for a few more days. I want to thank you properly for saving my life.”

         Arthur agreed to Aaron’s request, knowing there was some ulterior motive. Arthur proved correct as, for the next few days Aaron, Lord Rhyfus lived his life the way he would if he didn’t have company. It was a test of Arthur’s resolve and tolerance of magic and it made him wonder whether there were more lords of the realm living with magic, waiting for the day when they no longer had to hide. Magic was an everyday occurrence in those three extra days that Arthur and Merlin stayed at the manor, Merlin glowing with pride as Arthur took an active interest in Aaron’s magic instead of simply tolerating it, Aaron growing more confident with each passing day that Arthur showed he was moving away from his father’s path. Arthur saw that, whilst Aaron had enough self-assurance to know he was doing an excellent job stewarding the land, he was still looking to Arthur for that extra support, for that extra vote of confidence to dispel the doubt his brother’s attack had inspired. And Arthur had to admit, the first time he saw Aaron come down in a perfectly fitting dress, the cut of the garment flattering and modest around Aaron’s more muscular and angled frame, he was taken aback. But he knew the bravery behind the action and he listened to Aaron’s explanation of how sometimes he felt male, other times he felt female, and it didn’t change Arthur’s trust in the least. Leaving the estate, Arthur felt like the land and its people in this area were in good hands and he made sure Aaron knew it.

      Arthur and Merlin tarried as much as they could on their journey back to the Citadel, indulging in the freedom the isolation on the road brought them. Yet, it felt like they arrived in half the time and all too soon they were stepping back through the gates of Camelot. Returning to the city was like waking up from a lovely dream where they got to be exactly who they were supposed to be only to discover in the waking world that everything was much different. Suddenly, Arthur and Merlin had to go back to hiding, curtailing their affectionate touches and keeping their conversations banal whilst in company, only able to truly talk when they were alone; something they did with more frequency after the success of their bundling. Their journey had brought about many changes to their relationship, some of which they now had to deny themselves whilst surrounded by the denizens of the city but there was one change they could not give up—they had grown too accustomed to falling asleep in the other’s arms to go back to separate beds and so Merlin only returned to his room in Gaius’ chambers once after their return, to pack up his belongings. Thankfully, since Merlin was Arthur’s manservant, no one thought it odd that Merlin now resided within Arthur’s chambers. If they even thought about it at all, they assumed Arthur had finally instilled in Merlin the importance of servitude and obedience. Lady Ives, however, knew better and sought Merlin out.

          “Merlin,” Lady Ives called as she met the young man in a corridor of the Citadel. “Come with me, will you,” she said, the order clear despite her phrasing. Merlin fell into step right behind her as she led him out of the Citadel and into the city proper.

      Stopping in a carefully cleared plot of land, Lady Ives turned to Merlin and declared, “This is where Prince Arthur’s school is going to be built. I see he talked to you about it,” Lady Ives added as she took in Merlin’s expression.

          “He did, my lady,” Merlin answered. “You’ve inspired quite a passion in him.”

          “As have you,” Lady Ives said idly. “Of a different sort.”

        Merlin shifted uncomfortably under Lady Ives’ scrutiny, knowing how much Arthur valued and loved her and not wanting to draw her ire.

        “I couldn’t say, my lady,” Merlin replied, keeping his gaze politely lowered.

       “Of course not,” Lady Ives said knowingly. Approaching Merlin slowly, Lady Ives knew the imposing figure she made, dressed in her finery and state, as she drew close to the young man. “In any case, it’s your passions that concern me at present.”

        Merlin met Lady Ives’ stare with a worried frown. “My lady?” He asked and Lady Ives took another step closer, impressed when Merlin didn’t back up a step.

         “You’ve been given something precious,” Lady Ives whispered seriously. “And I want to make absolutely sure you appreciate just how fortunate you are.”

       “I do, my lady,” Merlin answered solemnly.

       “Arthur may not officially be my godson,” Lady Ives continued after acknowledging Merlin’s reply with a nod. “But that has never stopped me from loving him as if he were my own son. And as any mother would, I want to know that his heart is safe with those he chooses to give it to.”

        “It is, my lady, I swear,” Merlin said earnestly, hiding nothing from her. “It’s an equal exchange of hearts.”

           “Good lad,” Lady Ives said as she took in the sincerity of Artie’s suitor. He’s chosen well, Lady Ives thought, though she kept it to herself, keeping her severe demeanour in place. “Because if I were to ever learn that anyone had been careless with the gift they had been given, if the prince were to be hurt…I just want you to look around you, at this school that is to be built in the heart of Camelot,” Lady Ives ordered and Merlin did as she said, taking in the building materials that were already starting to accumulate. “When I first decided to open a free school for the peasantry, I was completely dismissed without a second’s consideration. Now, I not only have my own school, but I have convinced others to open their own, even one right at Uther Pendragon’s doorstep. This is what I can accomplish when I dedicate myself to an endeavour. When it comes to achieving my goals, I get the job done. And ensuring the continued happiness and well-being of Prince Arthur is a primary ambition of mine.”

      “Yes, my lady,” Merlin said, hearing her message loud and clear. “You don’t have to worry.”

        “Oh, I know,” Lady Ives said easily. “Because I know that if you were ever to break my boy’s heart, I have the power, allies, and determination to make you so grotesquely pitiful, so utterly miserable, that you would become nothing but the personification of agony. Look around you,” Lady Ives instructed once again. “And know I can do it.”

       “You can’t say you don’t know what it means to have a mum anymore,” Merlin declared without preamble as he entered his and Arthur’s chambers that night.

           “Hmm?” Arthur asked, not understanding what Merlin meant at all.

           “You have a mum,” Merlin explained. “A really scary one in Lady Ives."

Chapter Text

           It was an auspicious day, notable for many reasons, not least of which because, on that day, Arthur dressed Merlin. It was Arthur’s battle-roughened hands that pulled the luxurious, soft fabric of Merlin’s formal wear into place, his breath that puffed against Merlin’s skin as he drew close to tie every fastening, and it was Arthur who gazed in appreciation at the results of his work. He stopped to stand right behind Merlin, both of them observing Merlin’s form in the full-length mirror before them; gone was the simple outfit of trousers and shirt. In its place was sumptuous fabric that fit Merlin perfectly, decorated in a subtly regal pattern with pale stitches that, from afar, seemed simply to accentuate the shape of Merlin’s body but closer inspection revealed twin dragons twining from the front of the shirt to the back, surrounded by dancing flames. Arthur was attired similarly in his most formal ensemble, the one he usually reserved for visiting royalty, and as he buttoned up the final clasp, he rested his head lightly on Merlin’s shoulder and gazed appreciatively into the mirror, his eyes meeting Merlin’s own, an emotion they both shared but had yet to name plainly visible on his features as he wrapped his arms around Merlin.

           “You’re beautiful,” Arthur said without hesitation and Merlin’s grin was radiant as he met Arthur’s eyes in the mirror, never tired of seeing how open Arthur had become with his affection. Merlin leaned back against Arthur’s encompassing body, enjoying the sight of Arthur’s golden form encircling his own. “But,” Arthur added thoughtfully. “There’s something missing.” Merlin frowned at his reflection, taking in the expensive fabric, flattering yet formal cut, and the light green colour that brought out the blue of his eyes paired with the pale lavender stitching; it was so different from the monstrosity Merlin had had to wear at his first royal function as Arthur’s manservant, with no feathered hat in sight. Remembering that outrageous get up, Merlin worried at just what Arthur could think was missing.

           “Here,” Arthur said after snagging something from behind his back and bringing it forward. Staring into the mirror, Merlin watched silently as Arthur brought out a silk neckerchief. It was a deep red with twists of gold that could look like intricate vines…or swirling magic.

           “I know proper protocol says that you’re the only one who should give gifts, as you’re the suitor, but I couldn’t resist,” Arthur said with a contained eagerness as he tied the neckerchief around Merlin’s bare throat. “And besides,” Arthur continued as he squeezed Merlin in a brief hug. “We’re well past ‘proper.’”

           “So we are,” Merlin agreed as he gently rubbed the beautiful fabric between his thumb and forefinger. “I love it, Arthur.”

           Though Arthur would never admit to any kind of trepidation, the brilliance of his smile betrayed a touch of relief.

           “And you know,” Merlin said as he once again took in his appearance in the mirror, now with his new neckerchief. “You’d make a half-way decent manservant.”

           “Of course, I would,” Arthur said arrogantly. “Certainly better than you,” Arthur joked with a wide smile before dropping a quick kiss to Merlin’s lips.

           “Oh really,” Merlin smirked. “So, you’d be open to switching places, then? You can be the manservant without a moment of peace for yourself as you keep the kingdom running and I can be the lazy prince who just practices waving his big sword around.”

           “As if you could handle my big sword, Merlin,” Arthur said, knowing full well how that sounded. Merlin was the one to crack first, bursting into laughter and turning in Arthur’s arms so that he could face him.

           “You’re such a prat,” Merlin laughed out before drawing Arthur into a longer kiss than Arthur’s quick peck.

           “We’re going to be late,” Arthur finally said reluctantly, pulling away just enough so that he could talk, though both of them still held the other in their embrace. “Morgana will kill us if we mess up Gwen’s big day. Slowly. Over days”

           “You, maybe,” Merlin said without sympathy but he did step away from Arthur to start gathering the final things they would need for the day. “I’d make it out okay.”

           “Last time I visited her,” Arthur said as he followed Merlin’s lead, both of them falling into the familiar pattern of cohabitation and working in tandem to get themselves completely ready for their journey. “She made a grown man tremble in fear simply by looking at him and smirking. And you think you have a chance against her,” Arthur snorted.

           “Luckily, I’m ready,” Merlin said briskly. “So, if you’re done spouting nonsense, we can go and stay on Morgana’s good side.”

           “Don’t pretend like you’re not just as scared of her,” Arthur ordered lightly and Merlin just rolled his eyes. Merlin knew that if Arthur were truly afraid of Morgana, he never would admit to it; this was just Arthur’s way of showing his love for her and hiding his own excitement for the day’s celebrations.

           “You coming?” Merlin asked and extended his hand in a long-practiced gesture and Arthur was quick to stride over to Merlin and take his proffered hand.

           “You trust me?” Merlin asked, his eyes crinkling as he looked up at Arthur as he pressed a kiss to Arthur’s knuckles.

           “You know I do,” Arthur replied warmly, forgetting their little teasing dance to once again embrace the glowing emotion that surged so strongly between them, Arthur could almost swear he could see it. Merlin never got tired of asking that question and Arthur, now that he could answer with certainty, never got tired of answering it. It was an affirmation of how far they had come and Arthur thought those three words, “I trust you,” might have greater significance for them than the other three words that they had yet to say to each other, despite the fact that they clearly felt it.

           As Merlin’s magic took them to a clearing just outside the druid’s camp where preparations were almost complete for Gwen’s wedding, Arthur imagined hearing and saying those three little words in a setting like this, declaring his love for Merlin in front of all their friends as they tied their lives together forever, even more than they already were, and he blamed the joyous, gay atmosphere surrounding him for thinking it didn’t seem that impossible.

           Despite Arthur’s claims that they would be late and bring down the wrath of Morgana, not only were they not late, Morgana didn’t even notice their arrival. As Morgana was the one overseeing the task of organizing the wedding, she was too busy arranging the final details to pay attention to them. That fact confirmed in Merlin’s mind that Arthur had just been really excited to get to the wedding and impatient to leave. However, Merlin refrained from pointing that out to Arthur.

           “I better get going,” Merlin said instead, as one of his duties for the day was to gather all the guests who weren’t already at the druid camp.

           “And I’ll go ask Morgana how she wants me to help,” Arthur said in farewell, moving off where they could just make out Morgana concentrating along with a handful of druids as they lifted an archway heavily laden with glittering flowers with their magic, more flowers popping into existence in the display even as they manoevred it into place.

           Merlin disappeared with a nod and Arthur set off towards Morgana.

           “It’s looking good,” Arthur praised as Morgana and the druids finally released their hold on the archway and stood back to assess their work. Arthur took in the flowers that looked like they were made of jewels and noted that, as beautiful as they were, they didn’t seem to shine quite as brightly or look quite as detailed as the flowers Merlin had made for him at the start of their courtship. Though, he supposed, they were going for a different look and that could account for the difference.

           “Thank you,” Morgana said as she looked on with pride at what her magic had accomplished and Arthur leaned in close to nudge her shoulder with his own, adding, “For treacherous magic, that is.” Morgana, who had seen Arthur’s transformation even with the handful of visits he’d made to see her, who had acted as an important participant in the few summits Arthur had held, not only with the druids but with magic users in the nobility and peasantry alike, and who, on a more personal level, watched with, first shock then increasing joy, as Arthur became more open with his thoughts, feelings, and physical affection, no longer keeping those who had genuine care for him at a careful distance, took his teasing for what it was. The surrounding druids, who heard his comment and were still leery of a Pendragon in their midst—two months of building bridges not enough time to erase over twenty years of fear and distrust—were less blasé about Arthur’s remark and exchanged uneasy looks between them even as Morgana laughed and Arthur lost his overly dour expression to break into a crooked grin.

           “How can I help?” Arthur asked and Morgana gazed at him shrewdly before saying seriously, “You can go find a seat and not touch anything.” At “touch”, Morgana had to slap Arthur’s hand away as he had reached forward to feel the texture of the shimmering flowers dangling from the arch. “I don’t need your clumsiness ruining all of my work.”

           “Since when am I clumsy?” Arthur asked in outrage, forgetting their audience completely as he bickered with Morgana. “Merlin’s the clumsy one, yet you gave him a job.”

           “Maybe he’s rubbing off on you,” Morgana said cheekily and with a knowing air, causing Arthur to blush.

           “Fine ladies aren’t supposed to know about such things,” Arthur mumbled.

           “In any case,” Morgana said, ignoring Arthur’s mutterings. “There’s not much left to do. We’re just casting the final spells that we couldn’t do in advance. You’re not much help with those.”

           “So, what you’re saying is,” Arthur said sadly. “I really don’t have any role in this wedding? Not even in the preparations?” Morgana found that she couldn’t resist the small puppy-like sadness Arthur was exuding and finally said, “Why…don’t you go to Lancelot’s tent. I know he’s worried about how his vows sound. You can lend him your ear and tell him what you think. He wants them to be ‘poetic,’” Morgana added with a wicked smirk in Arthur’s direction.

           “‘Poetic,’” Arthur repeated dubiously.

           “That’s what he said, yes,” Morgana affirmed.

           “Poetic words,” Arthur said, as if he needed the clarification and Morgana snorted a, “That’s how poetry works,” before taking pity on Arthur.

           “You don’t have to actually tell him what to say,” Morgana said placatingly. “Just listen to him and say it’s brilliant. Gwen’s so blissfully happy right now, he could give his vows in French and she probably wouldn’t even notice.”

           Despite his trepidation, Arthur did as Morgana suggested and headed off towards Lancelot’s tent. Even with all the progress he had made as a student, words were still not his forte. He knew it and accepted it and never really felt inadequate for it except in moments like these when he was called upon to be eloquent. He needn’t have worried, however, as Lancelot was a virtuoso when it came to describing his love for Gwen and didn’t need Arthur’s input at all.

           There were a little over half a dozen guests that Merlin was responsible for bringing to the wedding, the vast majority of whom were actually budding allies of Arthur’s as he negotiated how to protect magic users under Uther’s rule and how to reintegrate magic when it was his turn on the throne. Though they had only met a handful of times, Gwen was happy to have them at her wedding and would have been just as happy for their presence even if the secrecy of the occasion—given the arrest warrant out on Lancelot and the fact it was taking place with the druids—hadn’t prevented her friends from the Citadel to attend.

           Merlin started with Aaron, who had brought in the other magical nobles and convinced them to give Arthur a chance. When Merlin appeared at Lord Rhyfus’ residence, it was to find the nobleman waiting for him in his library, dressed like any other nobleman except for the glittering jewels adorning and pinning up his, longer than fashion dictated, hair.

           “You look marvelous,” Merlin complimented as Aaron set his book aside.

           “I feel marvelous,” Aaron replied with his energetic, booming voice. “And ready to have some fun.” He extended his hand like he was about to shake hands with Merlin and Merlin clasped his hand in turn and they were away, traveling across nearly the entire kingdom in a split second.

           “That truly is incredible,” Aaron said in wonder, still awestruck by Merlin’s power and how smoothly he was able to perform the transportation spell. “I don’t think I’ll ever get used to how seamless that is.”

           The other guests were similarly awed by Merlin’s skill as he met them at their homes and brought them to the wedding. Though, of course, they had experienced the shockingly easy journey before, this was the first time they were together where business didn’t take precedence and as Merlin popped in and out of the clearing as more and more guests gathered, they were able to gush amongst themselves and boggle at just how impressive the young manservant was. It was a pity Arthur wasn’t with them, he would have learned quite a few interesting things about the magic Merlin wielded so effortlessly.

           Emrys. The call summoning Merlin to the border of the druid camp where a stranger was seeking admittance, saying that Merlin had invited him, came as the guests were starting to make their way to their seats. Although the druids had respected Merlin’s desire to be referred to merely as Merlin out loud, they couldn’t bring themselves to do so in their telepathic communications. Merlin wished they wouldn’t, as he didn’t feel like the Emrys they revered and he didn’t think he ever would, but he had stopped fighting the name—for the most part.

           With a guess as to who the unexpected guest might be, Merlin hurried over to have his suspicion confirmed.

           “You decided to come after all,” Merlin said, joyful yet cautious. Gwen had only recently begun to trust Merlin again and he didn’t want this surprise guest to jeopardize that. And given how Merlin had left things with him after Lancelot suggested he track the man down; Merlin wasn’t sure what to make of his presence here now.

           “I still think it’s a mistake,” Elyan said, chin up and back straight, trying to project a confidence he was far from feeling. “But this is where my feet took me despite myself.”

           “I can’t say what kind of reception you’ll get,” Merlin said honestly, which didn’t seem to surprise Elyan at all. “But, for what it’s worth, the man who holds Gwen’s happiness as crucial to him as breathing believes she wants you here. He wouldn’t jeopardize today unless he was absolutely certain.”

           With that, Merlin turned and started walking. Elyan, after a pause and sending a longing look behind him, as if still willing himself to run as far and as fast as possible, followed. Merlin led Elyan to the bride’s tent and, after being bid entry, held the tent flap open for Elyan, who once again hesitated. Merlin gave what he hoped was a reassuring nod as Gwen asked who was there. At the sound of his sister’s voice, Elyan took a fortifying breath and braced himself for the confrontation he never thought he would have to face, certain that the way he had run from his family all those years ago had forever severed their bond.

           “There’s someone here to see you,” Merlin announced as he stepped aside to make room for Elyan.

           “Elyan!” Gwen said in shock at seeing her long-absent brother, stood immobile by a full-length mirror on one side of the tent as Elyan stood by the entrance.

           “Hello, big sis,” Elyan said, striving to sound calm and lighthearted, even. And yet, the years of absence, the shouted, hurtful words that accompanied his departure, and everything he had missed in the intervening years kept true cheer from his voice and Elyan found he couldn’t quite bring himself to meet Gwen’s eye.

           Merlin watched brother and sister as the silence became genuinely awkward and decided to make a hasty exit.

           “I’ll just…give you some privacy,” Merlin said and quickly ducked out of the tent only to run into Morgana.

           “You keep bringing handsome men to Gwen, Merlin,” Morgana observed jokingly. “And yet you haven’t delivered the one you promised me. I’m starting to feel a little slighted.”

           “Apologies, my lady,” Merlin replied with an exaggerated bow and then took the arm Morgana extended as she led him away from Gwen’s tent. Casting a considering glance over at Morgana, Merlin took a chance and said in a much more serious tone, “Though I must say, I didn’t think it was a man you were looking for.” A brief flicker of her eyes, a dart of a suspicious look Merlin’s way—a look that could quickly become scathing if what she saw on Merlin’s face was at all judgmental—was the only reaction Morgana betrayed. Merlin knew that cornered feeling, that fear that a closely held secret was about to be aired and that the reaction would not be positive. If Morgana wasn’t ready for him to know, he wasn’t going to push, but he kept his face open, showing Morgana his acceptance for whenever—or if ever—she decided to confide in him.

           “You see far more than you’re given credit for, don’t you, Merlin,” Morgana said eventually, a statement Merlin couldn’t honestly deny.

           Inside the tent, Gwen had finally recovered enough to walk over to Elyan and sweep him up into a tight hug.

           “You’re really here,” Gwen breathed and Elyan, quite against his bidding, collapsed against Gwen, his muscles going lax as he held onto her in profound relief. “How did you get here? How did you know?”

           “You’re not mad?” Elyan asked in disbelief, too concerned with that question to truly register Gwen’s. At that, Gwen pulled back, her eyes shiny with unshed tears.

           “Oh, I’m furious with you,” Gwen said with a strong voice. “And scared for you. But in this moment, I’m just happy I get to share today with you.”

           “But Father,” Elyan started, the ache and shame of, not only missing his chance to reconcile with their father but failing to attend the funeral once again spurring him to run, to retreat, to go where his presence didn’t hurt the ones he loved. Gwen hushed him firmly, however, before he could get started.

           “Today is not a day for recriminations,” Gwen stated emphatically, clasping both of Elyan’s hands in her own. “We can hash our past out another time. If you stay, of course,” Gwen added, her smile dimming for the first time that day.

           “I’m sure you have a lot to say,” Elyan said with a forced laugh and Gwen’s own chuckle was her only answer to that. Taking in the image of his big sister, radiant and about to be married, so different from the girl he remembered calling after him as he stormed off to prove his father wrong that she could almost be a stranger, Elyan realized his feet had led him here for a reason; he was tired of running from his past. And though he chafed at the prospect of getting a lecture, as he was sure Gwen was able to deliver, he knew it was time to come home. It was too late to mend things between himself and his father but he could still try with Gwen. “I’ll stay,” Elyan said and was once again caught in Gwen’s tight embrace. Returning the hug was like suddenly remembering a favourtie childhood song you hadn’t thought of in years, the memory slow to form and yet, once remembered, it filled you with warmth and comfort.

           Finally, with all the guests present and seated, Elyan sitting prominently up front on the bride’s side, the wedding began.

           Lancelot stood by the officiant, looking quite dashing but Arthur’s eyes were captured by Merlin as he took his place beside, and slightly behind, Lancelot. Merlin looked like he belonged up there, standing in front of the vibrant archway. Seeing Merlin like that, seeing him standing in front of a gathering of their friends, Arthur couldn’t help but imagine what it would be like if it was him and Merlin standing before the officiant, declaring their love—even though that was a word they hadn’t actually uttered between them yet—before all and sundry, consequences be damned. A burning fire ignited within Arthur as he stared at Merlin, an overwhelming desire to bind himself to Merlin, to know and show to everyone that they belonged together, that they were right together, and that even God blessed their union.

           It was a dream that would have to be left to fantasy but as Merlin met Arthur’s eye and gave him a wink, Arthur felt content to know that, whether joined in marriage or not, he would never be rid of this caring, challenging, ridiculous man who had captured Arthur’s heart by refusing to be anyone other than precisely who he was. Even when that meant doing the impossible and courting a prince.

           Arthur’s gaze focused in on the neckerchief he had gifted Merlin, replaying in his mind how Merlin had caressed the gift, cherishing it more than if it had been a necklace of gems or a half a dozen gold rings. Arthur acknowledged that that neckerchief was a gift he never would have thought to give Merlin until this inversed courtship of theirs. Their strange courtship had really shown Arthur a different way of approaching relationships and as much as it galled him to think, if their roles had been reversed and Arthur had set out to court Merlin, he didn’t think he would have been as successful, too accustomed to the traditions and machinations of the court.

           Arthur’s thoughts were pulled away from Merlin and how far they had come when Gwen finally made her appearance. Everyone stood and turned to watch her walk down the aisle. Resplendent in a traditional gown of blue, her curls set free to frame her face, and her eyes seeing only Lancelot as he waited for her, Gwen walked down the aisle overflowing with such joy that every guest felt lifted up simply by being in proximity to it. In the place of her father, it was Morgana who walked Gwen down the aisle and place her hand into Lancelot’s, giving Gwen’s cheek a quick kiss before taking her own place beside Gwen as the couple turned to face the officiant.

           “Welcome, one and all,” the officiant said as everyone returned to their seats. “As we gather here on this beautiufl day to witness the joining of this man and this woman.”

           The officiant led them through the ceremony, speaking of honour and love, but no one truly marked his words and no one would truly remember what he said afterwards. All they would remember was the way the bride and groom beamed at each other, how their love visibly radiated between them, and how witnessing such a joyous union filled the guests with hope and a sense of renewal. Anything seemed possible as they shared in Gwen and Lancelot’s happiness. By the time the vows had been read, there were very few dry eyes amongst the guests.

           In almost no time at all, the rings were exchanged and Gwen and Lancelot were pronounced husband and wife. Turning to acknowledge their gathered well-wishers, Gwen and Lancelot still couldn’t keep their eyes off each other, gazing into the other’s eyes, their hands clasped between them, as the officiant proclaimed to all gathered, “I am pleased to present, Sir Lancelot and Lady Guinevere.”

           The instant Merlin and Arthur appeared in their bedchamber they crashed to the floor in a giggling pile of sour breath and tangled limbs. All the skill in the world at transporting could not help them when it was the world itself that was dizzily spinning. Struggling unsteadily to his feet, a feat made even more challenging as he was simultaneously trying to help Merlin up as well, Arthur clung to Merlin’s body as he tried to coordinate his own enough so that they could dance once they were both relatively upright. The music at the reception after the wedding still rung loud in their ears as they wobbled around the room, barking out in raucous laughter each time they collided with a piece of furniture.

           “Wait, Merrrlin,” Arthur shouted as he grabbed hold of Merlin’s head, accidentally smacking his hands down on Merlin’s cheeks and pressing together until Merlin’s lips puckered a little, like a fish, before slurring. “I’ve just realized, you’ve stranded half of Camelot at Gwen’s wedding!”

           “You’re right!” Merlin exclaimed, nearly falling backward onto his arse as he spun too fast. “Clear the way. I need space!” Merlin declared, striking a majestic pose as he readied to do magnificent magic. “I have to piss,” Merlin informed the room more than Arthur, failing to do any magic whatsoever.

           After taking care of himself, Merlin collapsed onto the bed, where Arthur soon joined him, sprawling himself half on top of his completely inebriated manservant. What a lightweight.

           “Gwen looked like a princess today,” Arthur murmured against Merlin’s neck as lethargy started sinking into his body.

           Merlin burrowed into Arthur before repeating, “She looked like a princess.”

           “Everything looked like a fairytale,” Arthur continued. “The flowers were so, so, glitty and shittery.”

           “‘Shittery’,” Merlin snorted, “You are soooo drunk, Artur!” Laughter wracked Merlin’s entire body and jostled an Arthur who had just been about to give in to a snooze. Reminded of what he’d been saying, Arthur declared with dignity, “Shiny! And they glittered. Though your flowers look better,” Arthur added consolingly, as if Merlin might become offended that Arthur had praised someone else’s magical flowers. “And who’s drunk?” Arthur asked, his brain finally catching up to what Merlin said. “I’m not drunk. You’re drunk.”

           “Lance’s vows were a masterpiece,” Merlin contributed, apropos of nothing.

           “I helped him with them, you know,” Arthur took credit for Lancelot’s thoughtful poetry, slapping his chest for emphasis as he indicated who he was referring to.

           “You were a genius!” Merlin announced, shouting past Arthur to the room at large.

           “The wedding was a genius!” Arthur shared with Merlin, bestowing this important fact unto him.

           Thinking over the day they had had, watching their friends get married and celebrating and feasting and drinking afterwards, a question came to Arthur that he couldn’t wait to get out.

           “Do you want to get married?” Arthur asked, thought about what he’d said, and then clarified, “I’m not asking, you understand. That’s your job. Though, you’re not very good at your job. You should work on that.”

           “You should work, period,” Merlin said but Arthur ignored him.

           “But, do you ever imagine getting married. Did you imagine what your wedding would be like as a child? Ha, child Merlin,” Arthur trailed off, imagining a mini-Merlin with ears the size of his head. It was lucky for Merlin Arthur was so uncoordinated in that moment, otherwise Arthur would have grabbed his ears and tried to flap them, to see if he could fly with them.

           “Why would I do that?” Merlin asked. “Either I’d have a wedding or I wouldn’t.”

           “So, you want to get married,” Arthur answered for Merlin. “I want to get married. I want to look like a princess, like Gwen.”

           “You looked like a princess today,” Merlin reassured, moving to pat Arthur’s back, missed, and gave a few slaps to his arse instead.

           “Really?” Arthur asked. “I’d make a good princess.”

           “The best,” Merlin agreed with conviction.

           They both lapsed into a light sleep after that when Arthur suddenly jolted awake.

           “The guests!” Arthur shouted, returning to the start of their conversation and the fact that they didn’t have a way of getting home without Merlin.

           “Oh, right!” Merlin shouted, jumping up from the bed before quickly crashing back down. “I’m sure the druids can take care of them,” Merlin moaned as the swirling room around him threatened to upend the contents of his stomach. Arthur made no reply as he had already fallen back asleep.

           Although the hangover Merlin woke up to the morning after Gwen’s wedding eventually faded, the memory of the conversation he and Arthur had had did not. Arthur’s drunken words echoed what Merlin had already been thinking about and figuring out what course he could take weighed heavy on Merlin in the following weeks. If this had been a regular courtship, at this point, Merlin would be offering his hand in marriage and he and Arthur would be planning their wedding by now; it was the natural conclusion to what they were doing together. And whilst Merlin hadn’t lied that night—he’d never really thought of what his wedding would be like—he had been thinking recently of how he would like to be more than just Arthur’s suitor. He didn’t want to court Arthur anymore; he wanted to be committed to him, he wanted them both to commit to each other. As a kid, he had always taken for granted that he would get married; it was just something you always assumed would happen, but now, because of who he had fallen in love with, a wedding was impossible. But did that mean marriage was impossible? The way Merlin saw it, if he and Arthur bound themselves together, if they lived their lives beside each other, taking part in all the joys and compromises of daily life, they would be as good as married, living faithfully tied to one another, not because of a big party and a legal document, but because of who they were and how they wanted to be. But still, there was a part of Merlin that yearned for a gathering of friends, that ached to be able to stand up proud, to take Arthur’s hand before an officiant and vow to be forever his just as Arthur would vow to be forever Merlin’s.

           It was a dream that could never be and giving up on it, although Merlin had known from the start that it had never been a possibility, still felt like a loss. And yet, there were still ways that he and Arthur could declare their commitment to each other. And there were still some traditions that Merlin could follow. And it was that thought that found Merlin waiting on a deserted garden trail where, he’d been informed, Lady Ives had been seen walking.

           “Lady Ives,” Merlin called as he spied her approach. Lady Ives was wearing an elaborate gold dress that complemented her dark skin wonderfully and seeing her, Merlin wondered if he shouldn’t have tried to dress up a little bit, to present himself to her as the proper suitor they both knew he wasn’t. Seeing the obvious differences in their rank, the way Lady Ives bore herself with regal grace, Merlin felt the rash impetus that had sent him there fizzle out. Merlin knew how much Lady Ives’ opinion mattered to Arthur and he wanted to present himself as best as he could, something he should have thought about more thoroughly before seeking her out.

           It was too late for such thoughts, however, as Lady Ives stopped as she neared him. “Yes, what is it?” She asked and Merlin felt his tongue tie within his mouth before he even uttered a single word. Swallowing thickly, Merlin was finally able to say, “I was hoping to ask you a question…about Arthur,” Merlin added when Lady Ives didn’t react to the first part of his statement. Even after clarifying, Lady Ives stayed silent, scrutinizing Merlin closely before finally answering Merlin’s unspoken question.

           “Unfortunately, I have a pressing engagement I have to get to and I don’t have the time at present,” Lady Ives said briskly and Merlin felt his heart sink. He really hadn’t thought this all the way through, what would he do if she actually said “no”? Not that that seemed to matter because it appeared Lady Ives wouldn’t even hear him out in the first place. “But, if you stop by my rooms tomorrow at 10, sharp, I’ll be able to hear you out then.”

           With that, Lady Ives was gone and Merlin had almost a full day to think over what he wanted to say, how he wanted to present his case…and nearly a full day to worry about what Lady Ives might say in response. Despite that last part, Merlin was grateful for the delay as he had rushed to Lady Ives after getting the idea of speaking with her, forsaking any true planning in his eagerness to follow through on the idea.

           The next day didn’t find Merlin any less nervous. He spent more time than he was prepared to admit contemplating his outfit. Initially, he thought he should wear the formal attire he had worn to Gwen’s wedding, to show Lady Ives that he recognized how important their conversation would be and that he treated it with the right level of gravitas. But then he reconsidered, fearing that Lady Ives might think that he was putting on airs and trying to reach above his station. Worse, she might think that his interest in Arthur was purely selfish and about advancing his own status. So that outfit was out.

           He thought of going in just his regular clothes, approaching Lady Ives with all that he was, simple and low class as that may seem to her. By wearing his everyday clothes, he could show her that what he had to offer Arthur might not be tangible not they were no less real or valuable for that; and he could show her that he knew exactly who he was and that that was enough for Arthur, that Arthur accepted him knowing full well who he was and so that should be enough for her. But then he worried that Lady Ives might see that more as indifference, that he considered their conversation no more important than any other he might have throughout a regular day and he didn’t want that either.

           In the end, Merlin decided on a compromise. He wore his well-worn, familiar clothes, soft and comforting, if slightly faded after many washes, donning them like armour. He knew who he was and he wasn’t going to apologize for it or feel less about himself because his status marked him as low born. He thought Lady Ives would appreciate his confidence. But, to mark the occasion, he took out the neckerchief Arthur had gifted him from its place of honour in the wardrobe, tying the obviously fine silk loosely around his throat. Satisfied, Merlin set off for the suite of rooms assigned to Lady Ives as the hour approached ten.

           After knocking and being granted admittance to Lady Ives’ set of rooms, Merlin was left waiting outside a closed door for several minutes. Energy and nerves bubbling over, Merlin began to pace as he strained to hear anything that might be being said on the other side of the thick door. Finally, the door swung open and Merlin entered a room that Lady Ives had clearly converted into a makeshift study. Lady Ives herself was sat behind a large oak desk. She did not invite Merlin to sit.

           “So,” Lady Ives said sternly. “You’ve come. Has the extra time to think altered your resolve at all?”

           “No, it hasn’t, my lady,” Merlin answered, standing at attention as Lady Ives’ gaze pinned him down across the vast expanse of her desk.

           “Then ask your question,” Lady Ives ordered lightly, giving nothing of her thoughts away.

           “I was wondering,” Merlin started, trying to remember the phrases he’d practiced. “I had hoped…It is my intention to ask Arthur to be my…husband,” Merlin winced at the way his voice trailed off. He hadn’t conveyed any of the certainty and confidence he had been going for but staring at the woman who Arthur loved so dearly and who clearly adored him in return, he just wanted so badly to impress her and earn her approval that he was trying too hard.

           Merlin took a calming breath as Lady Ives surmised, “And you’re asking for my permission, I take it.”

           “No,” Merlin said, forcing the word to come out slow and low, focusing on the slowness of his breaths and reminding himself that he didn’t have to rush, that he could take the time to let the words form. “We don’t need anyone’s permission to be who we are.”

           Lady Ives gave a nod at that statement which Merlin interpreted as a sign of approval.

           “Then why are you here?” Lady Ives asked and Merlin hoped he wasn’t imagining a slight softening in her tone, a fleeting smile about her lips.

           “For your blessing,” Merlin said simply. “I can’t give Arthur a proper wedding but this tradition I can do. Uther would have my head if I asked him for his blessing, of course, but you’ve been as important to Arthur as a mother. I know how much it would mean to him to know that you supported his choice to be happy.”

           “And you think you can make him happy,” Lady Ives asked critically and this time Merlin knew he saw a flash of joy and pride cross her face before she could hide it behind her stoic mask.

           “I do,” Merlin said freely, feeling that he was passing Lady Ives’ test and meeting her expectations.

           “Even though you call him a prat,” Lady Ives pressed.

           “Yes.”

           “And a clotpole,” Lady Ives continued.

           “Yes.”

           “And a cabbagehead.”

           “He is all those things, my lady,” Merlin said with a fond laugh. “And I love him for it. Because, along with being a prat and a clotpole,”

           “And a cabbagehead,” Lady Ives reminded.

           “And a cabbagehead and a dollophead,” Merlin conceded. “He is also a good man. And I know we can be happy together. We deserve to have the chance to be happy together, don’t we?” Merlin asked, suddenly feeling like a child who was asking about the ways of the world again as he stared at Lady Ives.

           “Of course, you do,” Lady Ives confirmed warmly, finally giving her smile free rein. Standing up and walking around the desk, Lady Ives approached Merlin to give him a big hug. “And I can think of no one better to give my blessing to,” Lady Ives said. “The fact that you came to me at all shows how much you care for Arthur. I just have one request.”

           “Anything, my lady,” Merlin said, feeling like his heart was swooping through the air and wondering if his feet were even on the ground at that moment.

           “I’d like to be there, to help you celebrate the day.”

           “I would be honoured,” Merlin replied, already planning everything out.

           It wasn’t even a week later that everything was set and Merlin was once again dressed in his very best clothes. Though Arthur pestered him ceaselessly to reveal why they were getting so dressed up, Merlin kept stubbornly mum.

           Merlin had timed everything out perfectly so that the sun was just starting to set as he and Arthur appeared in a wide-open clearing.

           “I wasn’t expecting this,” Arthur observed as he took in the empty clearing, circling slowly and peering through the trunks of the surrounding trees to see if something interesting was going to emerge from behind one of them. “Why are we here?” Arthur asked as he returned to facing Merlin.

           “Because I have a question for you,” Merlin answered, meeting Arthur’s gaze with a steady one of his own before turning to regard the changing colours in the sky. “And because I always thought the sunsets in this clearing were the best in the world.”

           Without any further explanation, Merlin sat down, leaning back on his elbows so he could take in the beauty of the sky. With a shrug, Arthur followed suit, observing the mix of oranges and purples as they took over the blue. Now that Merlin had pointed it out, the sight truly was a remarkable one, the colours swirling together vibrantly. It was only as the minutes ticked by with not a sound from Merlin that Arthur turned his head to see what was upsetting him. To Arthur’s shock, he lowered his eyes to find a clearing completely transformed. Where before there had been nothing but plain grass they were now surrounded by palely glowing flowers in impossible shapes. The blooms, instead of having the typical rounded or fluted petals, were taking on the shape of various animals. Nearest to them were the bluest flowers Arthur had ever seen and, for the life of him, to Arthur the blooms seemed to resemble butterflies. A little further afield were orange and red flowers that Arthur might have been tempted to call snapdragons except for the fact that they literally were dragons, miniature dragons with proudly curved necks, their wings held high. The longer Arthur looked, the more different flowers popped into existence, and though they were all the proper size for flowers, they all took on the shape of a different creature and the further the sun sank below the horizon, the brighter the flowers glowed.

           And amidst all this blatant magic stood Merlin, extending his arm out towards Arthur like he always did before taking him somewhere new, with an archway overflowing with festive white flowers right behind him. Reaching forward and rising to his feet to take Merlin’s offered hand, Arthur stared in wonder at the enormous flowers hanging from the archway that seemed to be made of intertwining vines in a way very reminiscent of the one Gwen and Lancelot got married in front of. But instead of jewel coloured flowers, these bell-shaped flowers with sprigs of tinier flowers cascading down from their centers were all as pale as the moon and glowed just as brightly as the last of the colours of the sunset leeched from the sky.

           “Merlin, what is this?” Arthur asked, hope and uncertainty mixed in his voice as Merlin grabbed hold of both of Arthur’s hands as he positioned them in front of the archway.

           “Just wait,” Merlin whispered and then he spoke in that magical language of his, leaning forward until his forehead rested against Arthur’s, blocking Arthur’s view of his eyes swirling to gold. But Arthur knew the moment they turned back to Merlin’s so familiar blue and when the spell took effect because all sound around them hushed in an instant, staying silent to make room for a resonating da-dum to reverberate around them. Merlin lifted one of Arthur’s hands that he held in his own up and placed it flat against Merlin’s heart. “That’s my heart beating,” Merlin said in the close space between them. “And it beats for you, Arthur.”

           “Merlin,” Arthur said in wonder but Merlin wasn’t done.

           “I know that the world we live in wants to focus on what I can’t give you. It wants to dictate to us that we can’t be anything more than manservant and prince, that we shouldn’t even ask for more, we have no right to more. But I also know what I feel when I see you, I know how my heart soars when we can just be us, together. I’ve given my heart to you, Arthur and I think that’s worth more than all that other stuff. If I could, I would give you that traditional wedding and make you feel like a princess,”

           “Merlin.”

            “We’ve been denied that but that doesn’t mean I can’t offer you everything that I am. It doesn’t mean that we can’t give each other our promise to be faithful, understanding and compassionate, and committed to each other no matter what hardship or fortune comes our way.”

           “There’s usually something about obedience, too, Merlin.”

           “If you want to swear obedience to me, I won’t stop you,” Merlin said with a smirk which Arthur kissed away, stealing Merlin’s breath.

           “So,” Merlin finally continued when he could think properly again. “This isn’t a marriage proposal. It’s…a life proposal. Will you, Arthur Pendragon, agree to share your heart and life with me, as I will share my heart and life with you?”

           Disengaging his hands from Merlin’s, Arthur brought them up to gently cup Merlin’s face, his smile threatening to outshine the very stars. “Yes, I will,” Arthur answered and then they were kissing once more, their smiles making it awkward but neither cared as the sounds of the clearing once again returned. A great whoosh had Arthur breaking away from Merlin’s lips in curiosity and Merlin drew up alongside him in a partial hug as they both watched all the dazzlingly sparkling creatures shoot up from their stalks and take to the air. Butterflies, dragons, cats with wings, dogs, and all kinds of creatures frolicked around them in a riot of glittering colour.

           “I love you, Merlin,” Arthur said, those three little words that had seemed so hard to say before that very moment flowed free from his lips, proving not to be that difficult after all.

           “I love you, too, Arthur.”

           “Mum wants to throw us a little feast,” Merlin said eventually, after the magic had slowly faded from the clearing. “To celebrate.”

           “Alright,” Arthur answered and they walked slowly out of the clearing and towards Hunith’s small little house, arms still slung across the other’s back.

           Once in view of Ealdor, they did have to put some distance between them but they didn’t even care as they hardly took their eyes off each other to look where they were going. Because of that, Arthur completely missed the prominent and out of place carriage parked by Hunith’s and was totally surprised to see Lady Ives sharing a cup of tea with Merlin’s mum at her table.

           “Ilarya!” Arthur exclaimed. “You’re here.”

           “I wasn’t going to miss this,” Lady Ives said matter-of-factly, getting up to sweep Arthur into a warm embrace. “You picked a good one,” Lady Ives whispered into Arthur’s ear as she pulled back, surprising Merlin by tugging him in for a hug as well. Hunith was a bit more reserved than Lady Ives, placing a simple peck on first Merlin’s cheek than Arthur’s before stepping away to attend to the honey cake she had prepared for the occasion.

           “I still can’t believe you’re here,” Arthur said. “How did you even know to be here?”

           “Merlin didn’t tell you?” Lady Ives asked, both of them turning to the man in question, who just looked sheepish. “He asked for my blessing.”

           “Really?” Arthur said incredulously. “What did you say?”

           “I didn’t give it,” Lady Ives said flatly before bursting into laughter at the perplexed looks both Arthur and Merlin were giving her. “I gave it gladly. Once I determined Merlin was the right man for you, of course.”

           “Thank you,” Arthur said weakly before clearing his throat gruffly. He was then saved from Merlin’s light ribbing by Hunith bringing over the honey cake and they all sat down to feast to Merlin and Arthur’s happiness, Hunith and Lady Ives trading stories the whole time of all the embarrassing mischief Merlin and Arthur had got up to as children.

           It was when the sweet cake had dwindled down to nothing that Lady Ives brought out a long, rectangular box and, without a word, offered it to Merlin and Arthur to open.

           “They’re the ribbons I used at my own wedding,” Lady Ives said quietly as Merlin and Arthur admired the silk strands of gold and blue held within the box.

           “We can’t,” Arthur denied automatically. “It’s not allow—Can we?” Arthur asked as Merlin picked up one of the ribbons.

           “Do you want to?” Merlin asked.

           “There’s no one here but us,” Lady Ives said a second later. “Who’s to stop us?”

           A space was quickly made so that Merlin and Arthur could face each other, grasping each other’s opposite wrist as Lady Ives and Hunith tied the ribbons around Merlin and Arthur’s wrists and hands. Once the final knot was tied, Merlin and Arthur each vowed to love, protect, and honour—though not obey—the other.

           “With this vow, I tie my life with yours,” Merlin said solemnly.

           “With this vow, I tie my life with yours,” Arthur vowed back just as seriously.

           “Welcome to the family, luv,” Hunith told Arthur softly and then Lady Ives was bringing them all in for one, giant, group hug.

Chapter Text

           Morgana was free. The druids weren’t just teaching her how to control her magic like it was some dangerous thing that she must always rein in for fear of hurting everyone around her; they were teaching her to embrace it. It was a simpler life at the druid camp with fewer luxuries but Morgana felt like she was finally home. With the druids, her magic was nourished; her teachers were not only endlessly patient, they actually answered her questions. Morgana hadn’t even realized how tightly coiled and self-doubting years of having her questions and concerns about what was happening to her dismissed and diminished had made her. She felt like she was a butterfly unfurling from a restrictive prison and finally being able to expand and stretch her wings. Having her questions not only answer, but encouraged, her words listened to and considered, her delight went beyond learning magic; she knew she belonged.

           She was even free from her nightmares. The ever shifting but always grisly images of Arthur’s demise, the burnt out, gory vestiges of ransacked villages, and the skeletal, lifeless eyes of people who have given up all hope had all but disappeared. Within the comfort and guidance of the druid camp, her dreams became scenes of prosperity and light. Villagers benefiting from year after year of plentiful harvests, magic users free to practice in the open without the risk of violence or death, people being able to trust each other again. And then there were her dreams of Arthur, golden and happy and developing a slight paunch, chasing after a rambunctious toddler, her laughter mixing with his own, a second man’s laugh drifting in from further away, or visiting a school full to the brim with students or sitting at a round table with knights she didn’t recognize but could tell that they all came from different backgrounds and some even had magic.

           The dreams were full of blissful, idyllic scenes and the druids even explained the meaning behind them; she was a seer of immense power. They cautioned her not to put too much trust in the visions that she saw and they taught her how to quiet her mind and invite the visions in so that they wouldn’t have to wait and infiltrate her sleeping mind and disturb her sleep. After her first truly restful night, waking up with no forebodings and only the remnants of her own fanciful dreams quickly fading, Morgana felt such a weight leave her shoulders she thought she might start lifting into the sky, she felt so light. And training with the other seers amongst the druids turned out to be more informative than she could imagine.

           Every day brought something new, something exciting, and after the success of Gwen’s wedding, Morgana basked in her triumph. She was progressing by leaps and bounds and not once was she made to feel like that was something to be afraid of. Even when Gwen and Lancelot left, Lancelot finally getting the chance to show Gwen the world, Morgana’s joy didn’t dim because she knew they would be back in Camelot soon, that a fundamental change was fast approaching. And yet, she also felt like she would stay like this forever, ensconced within the nurturing embrace of her fellow magic users. A false sense, since the inevitability of her departure was never fully forgotten, but some days she got pretty close.

           She actually had a much longer reprieve from Uther than she had expected before the first inquiry into her return came via Arthur. One that was easy to deflect and gave her a few months peace before the next inquiry. Sooner than she’d hoped, deflections turned into excuses as inquiries became summons, Uther ready to have his ward back at court, a place Morgana had no desire to be. After the warm acceptance of the druids, Morgana didn’t want to return to the callous intrigue of court. After the easy, everyday use of magic, Morgana didn’t want to return to the oppressive fear of living in Uther’s regime.

           “How do you stand it?” Morgana asked Merlin on one of the few days he actually stayed with Arthur on one of Arthur’s visits with Morgana and the druids. “How do you spend every day in that twisted place knowing out here, you can just be yourself?”

           “I can be myself in the Citadel,” Merlin replied.

           “No, you can’t,” Morgana denied. “Not truly. Not when you have to cower and hide to cast even the simplest charm. So, how do you keep yourself from going completely crazy at the injustice of it all?”

           “I have faith that it won’t always be that way,” Merlin said after a thoughtful silence. “I have faith in Arthur.”

           “‘Faith’,” Morgana repeated with a slight edge to her voice. “I don’t know if I can survive on that alone. Not in his court.”

           “Arthur’s gonna change all that, Morgana, I promise,” Merlin said. “And you’re changing it, too. I’ve seen it, you’ve seen it, you’ve been apart of it, it’s not just Arthur and Aaron leading those meetings. Your ideas have been invaluable to Arthur.”

           “Really?” Morgana said doubtfully. Not questioning the truth of what Merlin said but that Arthur would admit to such a thing.

           “He told me himself,” Merlin averred.

           “What’s going on between you two,” Morgana finally asked, knowing it wasn’t really her business but the question burning through her regardless. “In my visions, sometimes I swear I see…sometimes I think I hear…I never see him with a wife and yet he never seems lonely or alone,” Morgana opted to say, Merlin’s blush confirming that he understood her unspoken question. She didn’t mention that the little girl, with her proudly swaying curls, deep, dark skin, and piercing brown eyes that she always saw Arthur raising as his heir looked nothing like him, her training letting her know which bits of the future to share and which to keep.

           “He never will be,” Merlin admitted with a self-conscious smile and was suddenly scooped up in a tight hug as Morgana congratulated him.

           “Now I see why faith is enough for you,” Morgana said, returning to her initial quandary.

           “Well,” Merlin said with a small, almost shy smile. “I also like to go out into the woods and let my magic play. It helps to know that, despite all that he says about magic users, I can still go out and enjoy magic’s beauty. You’re welcome to come with me, when the time comes,” Merlin offered, hoping something so simple would help her.

           “Thank you, Merlin,” Morgana said. “I just hope that time doesn’t come too quickly.”

           When Arthur and Merlin arrived one day on horseback instead of transporting in like normal, Morgana knew her time was up.

           “He’s making arrangements to travel to the coast and escort you back personally,” Arthur said apologetically and that was it. One last week amongst the druids and then Morgana was packed and had said all her goodbyes and her sojourn with people who actually understood her was done. She would still have Arthur and Merlin, of course, but the free exchange of magic, ideas, and learning would now be impossible. It was back to hiding, it was back to backstabbing and jostling for political gain, and it was back to having to smile in the face of a ruthless king who sought the death of all those she held dear. Knowing they were in the midst of planning to foil all his schemes and eventually undo everything Uther had dedicated his life to acted as a slight balm to the sting of having to go back and play his game, but even so, she was not ready for the day when she stepped foot outside the druid camp for the final time.

           Morgana, Arthur, and Merlin did not hurry their journey along, letting their horses drag the pace down to a crawl. Despite the small size of their party, they didn’t encounter any disturbances on the road. They almost wished they would as it would impede their journey and delay their arrival even further but as it was, they were quickly within only a couple hours of the Citadel gates.

           It was as they were stopped along the side of the road, letting their horses take a rest they didn’t actually require, that they were bombarded with the fearsome battle cry of attacking outlaws. Neither Merlin, Morgana, nor Arthur were strangers to the rush of battle, however, and did not freeze and cower at the unexpected assault of noise and bodies. Jumping into action immediately, both Morgana and Arthur drew their swords as Merlin, long accustomed to taking advantage of the invisibility that came with being a servant amongst nobles, shifted to the side of the battle, positioning himself in the most advantageous spot to see the action and determine where a stealthily used spell might prove fortuitous.

           The seven—no, six—men tried to form a wall, trying to intimidate Morgana and Arthur with their superior numbers, as Merlin saw it, and push them back. Morgana and Arthur were better skilled than their assailants, however, and, with a few well-practiced manoeuvres, were able to force the outlaws where they wanted them to go and not the other way around. Reverberating clangs and pained grunts filled the air as Morgana and Arthur stood back to back as they faced their foe and soon, Morgana drew first blood as one of the outlaws fell to a superbly placed slash to the back of his leg. Arthur quickly followed with his own debilitating blow. One of the attacking outlaws tried to take advantage of the opening to Arthur’s side as he focused on felling the man in front of him but before Merlin could mutter out a spell that would deflect the blow in a reasonable way, Morgana’s blade was there to stop the attack herself. But by doing so, she left her own flank exposed.

           Morgana and Arthur clearly had the better technique but the numbers were not in their favour even as another attacker fell under Arthur’s sword and Merlin desperately sought out a magical way he could even the odds without exposing himself. It was then that he realized, as the chaos of battle raged before him, Morgana and Arthur almost disappearing at times behind the frenzied attacks of their assailants, that there wasn’t a need for him to disguise his magic. Not anymore. Both Arthur and Morgana were well aware that he had magic and he was no longer hindered in what he could do by needing to have at least a passable excuse for the aid his magic brought.

           Stopping the shifting of his body that matched the shifting of the battle so he could see everything properly as he had tried to assess the situation, Merlin stood up tall and still, throwing out his hand and spreading his fingers wide as he shouted out his spell. In that moment, he understood why Morgana had asked him how he could tolerate life in the Citadel because this, being able to use his magic without having to whisper it, without having to look over his shoulder to make sure no one saw, without having to explain it away as something else, this was exhilarating, it was like lightning lighting him up.

           The force of Merlin’s spell sent the remaining attackers crashing to the ground, struggling under the weight of their own bodies as their limbs became impossibly heavy. For a moment, Morgana and Arthur stood stunned at the sudden collapse of their foe but then Arthur met Merlin’s eyes and gave a delighted shout of triumph, throwing his head back in victory. Morgana and Merlin followed after a beat, relaxing after a battle well fought.

           It was after Arthur took a step away from Morgana that Merlin looked over. He didn’t know what caused his head to turn, his eyes to shift to the tree line where nothing seemed amiss but suddenly there was movement and a deadly arrow was shooting straight towards Arthur’s heart.

           There was no time to think, no time to shout out a spell…and then there was no time at all. Arthur stood immobile with a look of shock frozen on his face, Morgana a statue of horror a few paces away from him. The groans and struggling of the downed attackers ceased abruptly, the archer, who the outlaws on the ground, Merlin now realized, had been trying to position Morgana and Arthur so he would have a clear shot, sat on his perch amongst the trees, one arm extended out, the other still held by his cheek as he released the string with reasonably good form and true aim, and his arrow held aloft in mid-air, arrested in its zooming course only a few feet away from delivering its fatal blow.

           Gold slowly swirled out of Merlin’s eyes and he knew from the handful of desperate times where his magic burst out of him like this before, practically without hid bidding, that he only had a few precious moments left before time resumed and the arrow would continue on its path. Speaking quickly, Merlin just uttered the last phrase of the spell to veer the arrow’s trajectory around Arthur when time resumed as if it had never stopped, no grand whoosh or pop of pressure to indicate that anything at all unusual had happened.

           “Arthur!” Morgana shouted as the archer in the tree gave a whoop at his success in taking down the actual prince of Camelot.

           Arthur didn’t say anything, his body jerking back, his hand coming up in a futile attempt to grasp the arrow already protruding from his chest, only to discover that nothing was there. Instead of falling completely backwards, Arthur only stumbled back a few steps as, even with his shock, he maintained his balance without the catapulting hit of a high velocity projectile sending him to the ground. Looking down at his chest mutely, Arthur tried to puzzle out where on earth the arrow possibly could have gone as Merlin, assuring himself that Arthur was completely fine, turned his attention to the equally puzzled archer and cast another spell, his eyes flashing a terrifying gold.

           At the bidding of Merlin’s magic, the archer’s bow bent back impossibly, completely reversing its natural arc, before snapping forward to give a resounding smack against the archer’s head, snapping itself in half and sending the archer hurtling to the far ground below. Merlin didn’t watch the impact to see if the man landed on his head, back, or arse, confident that no matter how he landed, he would no longer be a threat, and rushed over to a numbly standing Arthur.

           “You okay?” Merlin asked as he ran his hand up and down Arthur’s neck. Instead of answering, Arthur simply hooked his chin over Merlin’s shoulder, twining his arms about Merlin’s waist and shuddering out a long breath.

           Moment of vulnerability over, Arthur (gently) pushed away from Merlin to start seeing to the outlaws that were now their captives, returning to his duty. He exchanged a reassuring nod with Morgana, who had gained control of herself by that point and no longer looked like she might be sick. Once assured that he wasn’t going to tumble over from a fatal wound, Morgana walked off towards the tree line as Arthur fetched some rope to bind the outlaws.

           Once everything was settled, they took a detour to the closest town where they assumed the outlaws were known and wanted, depositing them with the local sheriff before silently continuing on their way. Neither Morgana nor Arthur were quite sure what had happened, were having trouble fathoming how Arthur was still standing and breathing, and still reeling from the quick succession of emotion they had experienced, from elation, to horror, to shocked relief, and Merlin just wanted to forget the day ever happened and erase the image forever of an arrow flying through the air to steal away Arthur’s life.

           The return to the Citadel brought back some life to Morgana and Arthur and they were ready to ask Merlin just what had happened when they were summoned to see Uther, something neither particularly wanted to do—though for different reasons. Fortunately, they were able to keep the reunion with Uther short, pleading exhaustion after their journey and the outlaws’ attack and then they were both marching Merlin through the corridors of the Citadel.

           “How did you do it?” Morgana asked as soon as the door to Arthur and Merlin’s bedchamber closed, Arthur not saying a word but showing his own desire to know the answer to that question as he stood beside Morgana with a furrowed brow, both of them facing a reticent Merlin who didn’t want to relive how close Arthur had come to death so close to the incident.

           “Do what?” Merlin asked, hoping Morgana would just drop it.

           “This!” Morgana said as she slammed down an arrow she had been concealing in her cloak. “This arrow was about to pierce Arthur’s heart and then, it suddenly wasn’t,” Morgana said, still slightly disoriented and shaken from being certain she was about to watch Arthur’s imminent demise in one moment to having the arrow practically disappear in the next. “I found it embedded in a tree. How did you do that?”

           “Um,” Merlin said softly, refusing to even glance at the arrow as it lay docilely on their table, in their bedchamber, oblivious to how closely it had come to ripping all of it away. Vaguely, he remembered when he first came to Camelot, he had always wanted some sort of acknowledgement from Arthur that his efforts to save his life were valued, a “thank you, Merlin” or a “good job, Merlin,” that he valued Merlin. But now he knew Arthur valued hiim, more than just for his life-saving abilities, and he didn’t want there to be a big fuss made about how, exactly, he had saved Arthur’s life. And there would be a fuss. Arthur might not realize the significance of what Merlin had done that day, but Morgana certainly would.

           “Yes,” Morgana said leadingly, prompting Merlin to continue.

           “You didn’t hurt yourself, did you, Merlin?” Arthur asked worriedly, suddenly turning his focus away from his own miraculous health to study Merlin more closely, realizing that Merlin probably used magic beyond his means to save Arthur and not sure what effects that would have on him.

           Not wanting to stress out Arthur more than he already was, Merlin shifted awkwardly and jerked up one shoulder as he practically mumbled, “I just sort of, stopped time for a few seconds so I could move the arrow and make it miss.”

           “You…stopped time,” Morgana said, stunned.

           “Why wouldn’t you just magic the arrow away?” Arthur asked, dumbfound. Merlin only had a middling amount of magic; it must have taxed him beyond belief to do something so extraordinary. Arthur rushed over to Merlin like he was about to collapse at any moment, brushing his knuckles along Merlin’s pronounced cheek, seeking any signs of pain in Merlin’s clear, blue eyes.

           “I don’t even think Emrys could do something like that,” Morgana breathed out in awe, ignoring what Arthur had said. “Oh, um…” Morgana said as Merlin looked around Arthur to gaze upon Morgana in shock. “I mean…”

           “Where did you hear that?” Merlin asked, his voice coming out slightly harsher than he’d intended in his surprise of hearing that name coming from Morgana. He’d thought the druids had respected his wish to stay “Merlin.”

           “I’m sure I don’t know,” Morgana evaded just as Arthur asked, “Who’s Emrys?”

           “No one,” Merlin rushed out.

           “A legend,” Morgana said at the same time. “I mean, I’m sure I don’t know.”

           “Morgana,” Merlin said, a slightly desperate tinge to his voice as he addressed her. “It’s been kind of a stressful day. Do you think you could…”

           “Merlin,” Arthur interrupted, knowing Merlin enough to know when he was trying to cover up something important, “Who’s Emrys?”

           “No one, I told you,” Merlin said. “No one you have to worry about,” he elaborated when Arthur didn’t look at all convinced.

           “Morgana?” Arthur asked, moving away from Merlin to address the question to her. “Who’s Emrys?”

           Merlin tried to silently plead with Morgana behind Arthur’s back not to tell him any more.

           “Well,” Morgana hesitated, obviously seeing Merlin’s entreaty but not seeing why they should keep Arthur in the dark. “I’m not sure…” Merlin felt his hopes rise as Morgana delayed. He couldn’t put into words why he didn’t want Arthur to know but he felt deep within him that he didn’t want this to happen. “I’m not really supposed to know about him myself,” Morgana explained, Merlin’s hopes rising even higher as it suddenly occurred to him that Morgana didn’t actually know who Emrys was. She must have just heard the name.

           “But, I mean,” Morgana continued, dashing all of Merlin’s hopes with three words. “Arthur’s bound to find out sooner or later, right? He is allies with the druids, after all.”

           “Why can’t it be later?” Merlin asked forlornly but, by this point, Arthur was fed up listening to the two of them talk like he wasn’t even there and said more forcefully, “Who is Emrys?”

           “Emrys is the most powerful magic user ever born,” Morgana explained to Arthur as Merlin sat down heavily in a nearby chair. “He is a master of the talents of magic. He can take to the sky and walk amongst the stars, travel the earth in mere seconds, bend shadows to his will, alter the weather to do his bidding, live amongst the beasts as one of their own, manipulate and transform the state of things, control the elements of earth, wind, fire, and water. And the list just keeps going, achieving the most advanced spells from practically every talent magic has. The druids say he’s the greatest magic user to ever live.”

           Arthur’s expression had transformed from intrigued to unimpressed.

           “So what?” Arthur asked with a negligent shrug. “That doesn’t sound so great. Merlin can do most of that.” “What?” Morgana asked, the one-word question almost punching out of her as she tried to process what Arthur had just said.

           For his part, Arthur was thinking over all the magic he had seen Merlin do during their courtship—dancing in the sky, traveling from land to land whilst existing as partial shadows, becoming foxes, the transformation of his beautiful courting bouquet flowers into a dagger, whose weight still rested comfortingly along his ankle, the field of flowers, the creation of fire as they camped out, and all the other little bits of magic Merlin had done—comparing them and checking them off with what Morgana had just said

           “Well,” Arthur corrected. “Not the weather part, but the rest, yeah. The sky, the travel…we were both foxes at one point. I can’t believe I haven’t told you this story, we…”

           “He was able to transform you into a fox, too?!” Morgana gasped, interrupting Arthur mid-sentence and staring at a silent Merlin, her eyes boggling as she took in the unassuming servant with the well-worn clothes and faded neckerchief. “That’s, that’s…Unbelievable,” she finally settled upon. Arthur took in Morgana’s gob smacked expression and Merlin’s own dejected face as he appeared to be trying to disappear in his chair.

           “Why is all of that so…‘unbelievable’?” Arthur asked slowly, a foreboding taking over him as Morgana continued to look at Merlin as if he were almost someone to be feared and revered at the same time.

           “You’re Emrys?!” Morgana nearly shrieked at Merlin, no other explanation possible and still, it was something she could barely fathom.

           “He’s Merlin,” Arthur corrected. “Morgana, are you alright? You didn’t get hit by one of those bandits, did you?”

           “No, Arthur, you don’t,” Morgana started but couldn’t even finish the sentence in her excitement in making her discovery. “Emrys! I can’t believe I’ve practiced magic with Emrys!”

           Arthur was getting irritated. Merlin was refusing to even participate in the conversation, Morgana kept ignoring him, which really he should be used to by now but they were discussing something that was actually very much about him and his life so acknowledging that he was talking would be nice, and no one was actually explaining anything.

           “What’s so special about this Emrys guy!” Arthur shouted. “If Merlin,” Arthur stressed, “Can do all that magic, surely loads of magic users can.”

           “No, they can’t,” Morgana denied. “Arthur,” Morgana said, finally snapping her gaze away from Merlin so she could look at Arthur as she spoke matter-of-factly. “Using magic is a practice. Just like weaponry is a practice.”

           “Okay,” Arthur said, following the comparison so far. It felt like he was a student again, when he understood a concept better when he could relate it to something physical, something he was more familiar with. Morgana must have remembered his previous struggles and how he’d solved the problem, as she made sure to present the information in a way he could relate to. It would have been even better if she could tell him whilst they were moving or battling in some way but he was long accustomed to not having that as an option and used his usual method of tapping his fingers against his leg to keep him focused.

           “There are many different kinds of magic available, just like there are many different types of weapons a knight can use,” Morgana continued, pausing as Merlin abruptly shot out of his chair and started to pace. When he didn’t offer any input, Morgana kept going, both she and Arthur tracking Merlin’s progress around the room as she did so. “Talents are like a particular type of weapon—quarterstaff, sword, dagger, and so on—a category of magic, or weaponry, that someone can focus on, dedicate their life to. Just like there are skills, manoeuvres, and tricks specific to a particular weapon, talents are made up of skills, spells, that are only associated with them.”

           Pretending she was holding a sword, Morgana made a motion like she was going to strike Arthur’s left shoulder, using her full range of motion to lift the imaginary sword and arc it down towards the spot she had chosen to strike. Picking up on her intent, Arthur gripped his hands like he would around the hilt of a sword to parry the attack, his footwork impeccable and so ingrained in him, he didn’t even have to think about it.

           “What works for the sword won’t work for the quarterstaff, for example,” Morgana stated as she suddenly shifted her stance and the placement of her hands in the air, surprising Arthur by the sudden shift in weaponry, and therefore style of attack, and miming as if she bashed Arthur’s defenseless head with a decisive blow. Arthur took in this information, seeking out Merlin, who looked completely miserable. Arthur’s foreboding turned to actual dread as it was suddenly becoming much clearer just how different Emrys’ magic was. And Merlin could do almost everything Emrys could…

           “And so, you have to study each weapon, learning the basic skills required of it before you can advance and eventually master it,” Morgana kept explaining excitedly, oblivious to the turmoil she was stoking within Arthur and the regret weighing down Merlin. “Magic is the same way. And just like a knight can gain a rudimentary understanding of many different kinds of weapons but usually only masters one or two, magic users can use simple spells across talents but only study the truly advanced spells within one talent. Maybe two. So, Emrys’ use…Merlin’s use of magic is like a knight mastering every single weapon in your armoury. Not impossible, you’re pretty close yourself, but exceptionally rare.” It was suddenly all so clear to Arthur, everything he’d missed before…and didn’t he feel like an ignorant fool for not realizing sooner. Merlin wasn’t Merlin, his hapless and magically inclined husband. He was Emrys, the most powerful magic user in existence, hiding in plain sight. Arthur just didn’t know why.

           “Wouldn’t you say that’s right, Merlin?”

           “Did you just give Arthur a compliment?” Merlin asked dazedly, not truly aware that he’d spoken.

           “Don’t change the subject,” Arthur snapped, not feeling any of Morgana’s joy in discovering who Merlin truly was or his apparently very impressive power. “She’s saying you’re a liar and your real name is Emrys.”

           Merlin hadn’t been trying to change the subject, he just didn’t know what to say about all this. He hadn’t truly thought about what his being Emrys meant and he definitely hadn’t woken up that day intending to discuss it with Arthur. What was he even supposed to say when he hardly understood his role himself? Everything Morgana had said was true but he had never felt that his magic made him exceptional—it had just made him an outcast, for the most part. And the druids’ reverence for his power made him more uncomfortable than anything else. Perhaps someday he could embrace his role as Emrys but that day was not today. He was simply Merlin, born with magic, made of magic that gave him an affinity for many different spells and skills; he was not some brilliant warlock who could manipulate the fabric of the universe itself with ease, which was how Morgana made it sound.

           Arthur was looking at him suspiciously, forming a pit in Merlin’s stomach as he felt a fight coming in the way Arthur was tensing up.

           “It’s not,” Merlin denied. “My name is Merlin.”

           “So, it’s just a coincidence that you can do everything this Emrys person can?” Arthur retorted tightly and he was definitely going to start yelling soon.

           “Of course, it’s not a coincidence,” Morgana said placatingly, finally picking up on the tension in the room and realizing what the implications of what all she’d said might be for Arthur and Merlin. She cursed herself for being so slow on the uptake as she’d been so caught up in the wonder of solving a mystery, sending a silent apology Merlin’s way as she continued, “But, Arthur, you have to realize…”

           “Could you give us some privacy, Morgana?” Arthur dismissed tersely.

           “But I want to help,” Morgana stated, not making any move to leave.

           “I insist,” Arthur growled as he took Morgana’s arm to lead her speedily out the door, slamming it shut the instant she was over the threshold.

           “So, your real name is Emrys,” Arthur stated, his voice coming out more tired than angry.

           “No, it’s…”

           “And your magic isn’t average, like I thought,”

           “I never…”

           “You’re not even just more powerful than I realized,”

           “Arthur…”

           “No, you’re the most powerful sorcerer on earth.”

           “I was born…”

           “And the druids—the druids! Who were supposed to by my allies—knew this whole time and think you’re a living legend,”

           “I never asked to be…”

           “Tell me, Emrys,” Arthur asked hoarsely, not even looking at Merlin with so many pieces jumbling about in his head and nothing really making any sense. “How much of this, between us, how much has been an act?”

           “None of it,” Merlin vowed, almost wishing Arthur would start yelling. This hurt, struggling Arthur who hid from Merlin even as he stood before him was not what Merlin had been expecting and he didn’t like it one bit. Morgana had inadvertently revealed a piece of information—not even a secret, really—that Merlin barely even associated with himself, nothing to have a fight about but especially not something that should cut Arthur so deeply.

           “Well, some of it must have been,” Arthur gritted out, half-turning towards Merlin but still refusing to look at him. “Because I was under the impression that your name was Merlin and that your magic was fairly ordinary.”

           “My name is Merlin,” Merlin repeated. “And I don’t go around boasting about my prowess…like some people I know.” The joke fell completely flat and Merlin knew it was a mistake to say it even as the words were coming out of his mouth.

           “No, you’d prefer to lie about it,” Arthur shouted, his gaze going past Merlin as his fists clenched. “Why are you even here?” Arthur asked abruptly as another horrible thought entered his mind. “Why pretend to be a servant when you’re as powerful as you are?” Even with all this upheaval in his understanding of who the man across from him was, Arthur knew the reason wasn’t nefarious—he was still confident enough in his ability to judge people to be certain of that. But that meant all of this, their courtship, their commitment to each, could it all have been some sort of game? Merlin having more power than Arthur gave him credit for might have made sense, Arthur was still learning how magic worked and he didn’t even know what demarcated the different talents of magic, let alone that Merlin was hopping between them. Arthur might have even been impressed and proud that Merlin was so successful in performing magic. He could almost see it, this revelation of Merlin’s power going a different way, Morgana simply complimenting Merlin on his skill and informing Arthur that Merlin’s magic put him on par with Arthur himself. They were already evenly matched in so many other ways that it would be a fun surprise that Merlin could do magic most others could not. They might have even been able to laugh together over Arthur’s steadfast belief that Merlin didn’t really know what he was doing when it came to magic and his stupefied expression when the reality came to light.

           But Emrys being the most powerful magic user and spending his days as Arthur’s servant before starting a courtship with him—that seemed strategic, conniving even, like the courtiers Arthur thought Merlin wasn’t anything like, and nothing to laugh about. Arthur felt deceived and he wanted to know what Emrys’ ultimate plan was.

           “There’s a prophecy!” Morgana gasped out in sudden realization, her muffled voice just barely managing to be heard through the solid wood door. Arthur jerked said door open to reveal a Morgana partially stooped so that she could listen to the conversation she had been unceremoniously kicked out of. Righting herself regally as if she hadn’t been caught in such an undignified pose, Morgana stayed mute so that Arthur had to boom out, “What did you say?

           “Nothing,” Morgana lied, already regretting having said anything and probably making things even worse. It didn’t matter that she’d solved another mystery, this was Arthur and Merlin’s relationship; this wasn’t about prophecy, this was real.

           “No, out with it,” Arthur ordered. “You wanted to help, so help. What did you say?”

           “I’m sure it’s nothing,” Morgana equivocated.

           “It sounded like something,” Arthur pressed.

           “It’s good news, really,” Morgana assured Arthur.

           “Then you should be able to say it,” Arthur gritted out, all the while Merlin’s eyes were bouncing back and forth between the two, wondering if he shouldn’t just magic the door so it would slam shut and stop Morgana from talking, though also morbidly curious to hear what she’d said as well.

           “There’s a prophecy,” Morgana eventually said. “It says that Emrys, together with the Once and Future King, will unite the land of Albion, restore magic, and bring about a Golden Age.”

           “The druids told you about that?” Merlin asked, shocked once again by just how well-informed Morgana was. Morgana hadn’t even been with them a year.

           “You knew about this?” Arthur said before giving a derisive snort. “Why am I surprised?”

           “I’m very good at picking up interesting facts,” Morgana said, meaning she’d done some eavesdropping at the druid camp as well. “But it’s a good prophecy, Arthur,” Morgana said, trying to mitigate the damage of this new revelation. “It means you’re the Once and Future King and our plans are going to work.”

           “That’s not how I see it,” Arthur said ominously before once again slamming the door in Morgana’s face.

           “I’ll give you two some privacy,” Morgana shouted through the door before walking off in the direction of her own bedchamber. She lamented her part in causing a fight between Merlin and Arthur but felt reasonably assured they would make it through; their love for each other was so obvious, she couldn’t fathom that this could tear them apart. It was inconceivable that Merlin was Emrys, but, as she had said to Arthur, that was a good thing, and she was almost giddy with the discovery. That Emrys was a peasant who looked like a breakable twig and not a noble, wise, old man was a surprise but she was hardly one to quibble over subverted expectations. She had been grieving the loss of the ability to properly practice her magic with her return to the Citadel but now, it seemed her studies could continue with one of the most accomplished magic users there was. They’ll get past this, Morgana thought hopefully as she made her way through the corridors.

           Arthur waited until he could be reasonably certain Morgana was actually gone and then turned to face someone he thought he knew but was turning out to be a complete stranger.

           “A prophecy,” Arthur said dully. “That’s why you’re with me? All of this is because of a prophecy?” His voice was rising but he didn’t actually feel angry. He wasn’t sure if he felt anything at all.

           “Arthur,” Merlin said firmly, willing his words to break through whatever scenarios were concocting themselves inside Arthur’s head. “I barely listen to your orders, I’m not about to let some ancient riddle make my decisions for me. I’m with you because I want to be.”

           “And yet you never mentioned any of this,” Arthur said sourly. “I don’t even know your real name. Why hide all of this if you weren’t actually acting how the prophecy said you should?”

           “I wasn’t hiding it,” Merlin said. “It just never occurred to me to tell you about it.”

           “There’s a prophecy that concerns the both of us and you never thought to tell me about it,” Arthur said skeptically. “Right.”

           “I’m serious, Arthur,” Merlin said, his whole body leaning forward as he fought the desire to go over to Arthur and wrap him in his arms, to soothe away the pain Arthur was exuding. But he knew such an advance at this point would just force Arthur to resurrect the old, protective wall around himself, to deny that he was experiencing any kind of pain or weakness, so Merlin kept himself removed, giving Arthur space and hoping they could resolve this misunderstanding quickly. “You know my name. I’m Merlin, I’m the same person today that I was yesterday. I never tried to hide that. And once I told you about my magic, I never lied about that either. Emrys is just what the druids call me. I’d never even heard the name—or this prophecy—until I was already in Camelot. Please believe me.”

           “I don’t,” Arthur stated, freezing Merlin’s heart before Arthur took a giant breath and finished his thought. “I don’t know what to make of this, I don’t know what to make of you and your lies.”

           “I never lied,” Merlin said frantically, taking a step towards Arthur and that was a mistake as Arthur snapped even tighter, holding himself rigid as he pulled away from Merlin.

           “And yet I feel lied to,” Arthur declared like he was addressing one of his subjects.

           “Arthur,” Merlin said sadly, his hand twitching like he wanted to extend it towards his husband and yet he held himself back.

           “I need to think,” Arthur said tonelessly. “I don’t know how to finish… I don’t know where to go from…I need space and I need to think.”

           With that, Arthur left, closing Merlin inside their bedchamber. Merlin didn’t run after him.

           Arthur planned to go to the training field. It was where he always went to work through his anger, the harsh beat of his sword as it collided with the practice dummy acting as a reassuring reminder of his own strength. But as he neared the training field, it just didn’t seem right, he didn’t feel angry so much as confused. He had been through so much with Merlin, they had gotten married, so why had none of this come up before? He didn’t want to feel it but he felt a sense of betrayal where he expected to feel anger, a sense of loss when Merlin was still alive, hale and whole in the room they shared together, just as they shared their lives together. Arthur just felt lost and that feeling sent him away from the training field and to his hidden garden.

           He had a lot of think over, he wanted to organize his thoughts and try to make sense of this riotous day. He thought he he’d known what to expect from his life with Merlin but now the truth felt obscured. He planned to sort through everything whilst he gardened, surrounded by the comforting certainty that what he cultivated with his hands would grow and flourish. To his surprise, however, his mind remained mostly blank as he pulled out weeds, prepared the soil for the coming spring, and checked the perennials for anything that might need pruning. None of his concerns penetrated his mind as he toiled, despite how pressing they had been before he started his work. There was nothing but the mild awareness of his body at work, no increasing pressure to end the tyranny of his father’s laws, no expectation to marry a woman and produce an heir, no plotters out to kill him, and no ridiculously endearing manservant who harboured more secrets than Arthur could even fathom. All of that disappeared as Arthur focused on providing his garden the best chance to thrive, his mind at peace and his hands in constant motion.

           When he finally came to a natural stopping point and sat back to admire his work, Arthur was astonished to find that the sun had set and darkness prevailed around him, only held back slightly by the torchlight coming from the Citadel. It was as he was looking at the pile of weeds he had accumulated that it finally struck Arthur that Merlin was a powerful magic user. He’d realized that before, of course, Morgana had been very clear, but now, sitting within the garden he had created from Merlin’s gift, he truly realized what that meant: Merlin’s use of magic was much more deliberate than Arthur had given him credit for. The fact that his garden attracted weeds that he had to pull, wildlife that wanted to eat his efforts that he had to guard against, and held plants and flowers that didn’t instantly bloom into life wasn’t because of the limitations of Merlin’s skill, which, if he’d thought about it, Arthur would have attributed these fact to; these facts were because that’s how Merlin had designed his magic to work. He hadn’t given Arthur a perfect garden, the equivalent of a shiny bauble for Arthur to look at but not really do anything with except admire the beauty. No, he had given Arthur a gift that allowed him to be creative, that forced Arthur to work to get his desired results, and it showed a level of understanding of Arthur’s personality that went beyond superficial. Why would Merlin go through all that trouble if it was all just a farce? Arthur didn’t know but, now that the initial shock had worn off, he felt ready to find out and actually listen to what Merlin had to say.

           Arthur entered their bedchamber quietly, not wanting to disturb Merlin if he was already asleep, only to find Merlin sitting in a chair, his upper body thrust forward, whilst staring morosely into the fireplace—which wasn’t lit. Arthur hadn’t known what to expect when he saw Merlin again after the way he’d left things that afternoon but all the confusion and hurt that had sent him away didn’t come roaring back; instead there was simply concern. He knew Merlin—and he couldn’t believe he had forgotten that fact—and he recognized the signs of when Merlin’s worry over a problem sent him spiraling inward, making his usually chatty and spirited husband taciturn and grumpy, refusing to interact with the world outside his own thoughts unless pushed to do so. Arthur regretted his part in causing this turmoil within Merlin. Everything was so new, their commitment to each other so fresh, he hadn’t known how to handle their first big fight. He knew Merlin wasn’t like the courtiers who presented Arthur with the face they thought he wanted to see but years of ingrained self-preservation against schemers and liars were hard to ignore when the love of his life was suddenly being called by a different name, seemingly sent by an ancient prophecy.

           Approaching Merlin’s chair, Arthur knew Merlin was aware of his return by the tightening of his body but he didn’t turn to look at Arthur, still deep within his own mind and wherever it was he retreated to when he closed off like this.

           “I didn’t mean to make you worry,” Arthur said sincerely, getting a slight raise of Merlin’s chin in acknowledgment but no actual words from the other man.

           Trying to figure out how to get through to him, Arthur finally landed on an idea. Moving so that Merlin could see him out of his periphery, Arthur extended his hand out, palm up in invitation.

           “Will you come to my garden with me?” Arthur asked quietly. “I’d love to show you what I’ve done.”

           Merlin sat back in the chair, his back finally resting against the soft cushion and stared at Arthur, his expression inscrutable. Arthur understood that he had hurt Merlin even as he had been hurt and simply waited, confident that they weren’t irreparably broken. Finally, still without a word, Merlin took Arthur’s hand, allowing Arthur to lead him out the door, through the corridors, and out of the Citadel.

           For the very first time, Arthur led Merlin through his garden. They both felt the weight of the conversation that they knew was coming but both of them were also content to ignore it in that moment and focus on Arthur’s achievement. Merlin listened with increasing attention as Arthur pointed out arrangements he was particularly proud of, as he led Merlin through his thought processes for why he placed certain flowers where he had, and as he outlined what different seemingly barren beds would look like once spring arrived. As Arthur spoke, his passion evident in every syllable, the tension that had been twisting Merlin up tight slowly eased, loosening his tongue as well.

           Arthur recognized that the worry that had sent Merlin retreating into himself, robbing him of his usual chatter, was clearing when Merlin began to offer probing questions in response to what Arthur had just said. Arthur knew Merlin’s interest and knowledge didn’t match his own when it came to flowers and gardening, the questions weren’t terribly deep, and yet it was delightful, Arthur, and eventually Merlin, speaking freely, with no hidden meanings or words left unsaid. They felt no rush, no sense of urgency to address the revelations of the day and Arthur’s feelings about it because they knew they would work it out. They could feel it, the love and trust holding strong between them, stronger than what one day of near death and new information could tear apart. Merlin had given Arthur the space he needed and Arthur was doing the same in his own way, allowing Merlin to emerge from his internal retreat and not demanding that he talk before he was ready. The conversation was coming, neither had any doubt about that, but that didn’t stop them from enjoying the moment they had before them.

           When they reached the heart of Arthur’s garden, Arthur stopped and took Merlin’s hand once more as they stood in front of a cluster of bushes with large, long leaves.

           “In the spring,” Arthur said as he gazed at the bushes that just looked haphazardly placed to Merlin but that Arthur knew the design behind. “These bushes will be covered in so many rhododendron blossoms, huge blooms made up of tinier flowers, you’ll hardly be able to see the leaves. I’ve got orange, pink, and reds here, it’ll be an explosion of colour and vitality in the center of everything.”

           Merlin took a second look at the large, green bushes, trying to envision what Arthur was describing, when Arthur disengaged his hand from Merlin’s to sit down.

           “They were my mother’s favourite flower,” Arthur said thoughtfully, his voice tinged by a sadness that had been accepted long ago and was almost a companion at this point, it was so familiar. “And not one any suitor was likely to guess,” Arthur added, having shared with Merlin the story of how his parents got together before and not needing to explain.

           Merlin moved to sit down beside Arthur but changed his mind and sat in front of Arthur, who readjusted so that Merlin could lean his back against Arthur’s chest, Arthur’s arms wrapping loosely around him as he extended his legs to bracket Merlin’s hips.

           “What do they mean?” Merlin asked as he settled into Arthur, actually feeling the reverberations of Arthur’s voice against his body as Arthur answered.

           “Danger,” Arthur replied with a light laugh that jostled Merlin slightly. “Both to warn of danger and to seek it out. To be the danger.”

           “She sounds like an interesting woman,” Merlin observed. “I wish I could have met her.”

           “So do I,” Arthur nearly whispered and Merlin ran a soothing hand along Arthur’s forearm, once again feeling the trust that they had built between them thrumming strong as, even as quiet as Arthur had spoken, he had let Merlin hear.

           They sat in silence, the darkness closing in around them though the starlight and torchlight from the Citadel provided enough of a warm glow to keep the night from becoming oppressive.

           Eventually, Arthur started the conversation, his voice breaking through the calm atmosphere, though he spoke softly and without any anger.

           “Why didn’t you tell me?” Arthur asked, ready to listen to Merlin’s answer this time.

           “Because I don’t think of myself as Emrys,” Merlin said freely. “It wasn’t a conscious decision, I didn’t mean for it to feel like a lie, I just, I don’t associate who I am with Emrys.”

           Arthur took that in, wondering what it must be like to suddenly learn you had this epic destiny that you hadn’t been raised for. But Merlin wasn’t done.

           “I was thinking, all whilst Morgana was telling you about him,”

           “About you,” Arthur said. He might not have been as upset as he was when all of this had been revealed but he still hadn’t forgotten how he’d felt either, how his world seemed to upend as he realized there was a whole other side of Merlin he’d never known about.

           “About Emrys,” was Merlin’s compromise “I was thinking about why I didn’t want her to make the connection, why I didn’t, however unconsciously, I didn’t want you to know. And I think, I think it’s because I wanted you to know me, love me, for who I am, not what the druids say I am. I don’t know how to be Emrys, I don’t feel like Emrys, and I didn’t ever want you to look at me expecting to see Emrys and be disappointed.”

           “You’d rather I think you were incompetent?” Arthur asked dubiously and Merlin just gave a light chuckle.

           “Like that would be anything new.”

           Arthur frowned at that. He knew he made jokes but he didn’t want his husband to believe he thought so little of him.

           “But you’re not incompetent,” Arthur stated. “I’ve known that for a while now. I just never realized how competent you were. You never said.” There was a slight rebuke in that last part, a return to the question of why Merlin had never told Arthur just how powerful he actually was. Surely, he could have done that without revealing anything about the druids or Emrys?

           “Yes, I did,” Merlin contradicted, quickly glossing through all the conversations they had had about his magic. “Not often, but I did.”

           “When?” Arthur challenged. “I think I would have remembered something like, ‘oh, and Arthur, I can do more with my little finger than most people can do with their entire being.’”

           “I wouldn’t put it quite like that,” Merlin said, obviously holding in a laugh, before returning to the seriousness of their conversation. “And I told you. I did, I said ‘I am magic.’ I told you that more than once.”

           Arthur stilled as he did remember Merlin saying those words but then he burst out in a fit of outrage, “How was I supposed to know what that meant?!”

           “You could have asked,” Merlin said reasonably and Arthur tweaked his ear in annoyance.

           “No one likes a clever clogs, Merlin,” Arthur grumbled. He supposed Merlin had told him about his magic, just not in a way Arthur would ever be able to understand, though, so he wasn’t sure how much credit to actually give the other man. “So, what does it mean?” Arthur finally asked.

           “It means that magic and I have an affinity to each other,” Merlin said. “And that’s all. I’m not infallible, I’m not perfect at magic—I still need to study and practice just like everyone else. But there’s an instinctive understanding between my will and magic that helps me use trickier spells, no matter what talent they fall under.”

           “And you can stop time,” Arthur said, finally feeling appropriately impressed by Merlin’s magical feats.

           “Only for a few seconds,” Merlin said

           “And, can you see the future?” Arthur asked, addressing his question to the bushes in front of them instead of Merlin himself.

           “I can’t,” Merlin answered, also to the bushes.

           “But there’s a prophecy…” Arthur said, his tone questioning and Merlin nodded, the back of his head rubbing gently against Arthur’s shoulder.

           “Yes,” Merlin said. “There are ways to see the future, people who possess the skill. I’m just not one of them…Morgana is, though.”

           “Morgana!” Arthur said, getting sidetracked by this surprising information.

           “Yeah,” Merlin elucidated. “She sees possible futures in her dreams.”

           “‘Possible futures?’” Arthur repeated quizzically.

           “The future is always changing,” Merlin explained. “And even seers can’t predict which visions will come to pass and which won’t.”

           “And what of this prophecy?” Arthur asked. “Our prophecy. Will that come to pass.”

           “I don’t know,” Merlin said carefully, as they were getting to the point where Arthur had left, needing space only hours before. “I hope so.”

           “But you said that’s not the reason why you’re with me,” Arthur stated, an edge creeping into his voice though his body remained lax as he held Merlin close. “How can you know all this isn’t just because of some prophecy?”

           “Because I don’t believe some vague words can force me to feel something I actually don’t,” Merlin said emphatically, though his gaze remained focused forward, as did Arthur’s. “All the prophecy says is that we’ll bring magic back and unite the land of Albion. It doesn’t say anything about us.”

           Leaning his head forward so that they were pressed cheek to cheek, Arthur asked, “So it didn’t say you should court me?”

           “No,” Merlin said as he tilted his head to the side, the light stubble that had grown on Arthur’s cheek as the day progressed scraping lightly against his skin.

           “And it didn’t tell you how to act around me?”

           “No, Arthur,” Merlin said, knowing how important that was, how tired Arthur was to be surrounded by people who pretended to be who they thought he wanted them to be.

           “And it didn’t say anything about you loving me?” Arthur said, his voice becoming raspier, turning his head so that his words brushed along Merlin’s cheek along with his lips.

           “No,” Merlin said as he closed his eyes.

           “And it didn’t say we would get married?” Arthur asked

           “Definitely not,” Merlin said. “I might’ve run screaming all the way back to Ealdor if it had.”

           “Ah-ha, is that so?” Arthur said, oddly soothed by Merlin’s jibe.

           “I wasn’t exactly all that impressed with you when I first heard this prophecy, if you’ll recall. I think my exact words might’ve been ‘fuck no, he’s an idiot.’”

           “An idiot you married,” Arthur said, rocking his body side to side and bumping Merlin. “What does that make you?”

           “A saint,” Merlin said flatly and Arthur laughed despite himself. How could he have ever thought, even for a second, that what was between them wasn’t real? Merlin chuckled along with Arthur before answering more honestly, “And incredibly lucky. Prophecy be damned, I know what I want.”

           “And what do you want?” Arthur asked seriously.

           “A life,” Merlin replied readily and Arthur could tell this was something Merlin had thought about a lot. “A life with more happiness than fear. A life with purpose and people around me I can share it with. A life where my mere existence isn’t a crime. A life with you, Arthur.”

           “And the prophecy?” Arthur asked, not able to let that bit go. “Where does that fit in?”

           “It might not,” Merlin said unconcernedly. “From my experience, prophecies tend to only come true when they become known to the people involved in them and they, in turn, try to avoid them. But I don’t want to avoid this one, I want magic to be free and the land to be at peace.”

           “Doesn’t that mean, though, that it won’t come true then?” Arthur asked. “Since you’re not trying to avoid it?”

           “I, well, Arthur, we can make the future we want!” Merlin said in frustration. “You’re going to be king. You have allies amongst the druids, the people, both magic users and non. You have me. Forget the prophecy, you were well on your way to fulfilling it before you even heard of it.”

           “But it’s the reason I have you,” Arthur said, voice not quite a shout but still distressed.

           “Hold me, Arthur,” Merlin commanded, rather superfluously since Arthur was already doing that but Arthur tightened his muscles around the leaner man as Merlin continued to talk. “I’m solid flesh and blood. A prophecy didn’t create me. I’m here in your arms because that is exactly where I want to be. A prophecy didn’t put that desire in me.”

           “How can you be sure?” Arthur asked, though Merlin’s conviction was persuasive.

           “Because all a prophecy is is someone seeing some images of the future. It’s just like a scouting report, information that could be useful or not. It all depends on how we react to it.”

           “I don’t want to react to it,” Arthur said mulishly. “But I want to build a life with you, one where your talents don’t have to be hidden away. Someone as extraordinary as you shouldn’t have to diminish themselves.”

           “Did you just give me a compliment?” Merlin asked gleefully.

           “Don’t let it go to your head,” Arthur said sternly. “I’m still not completely convinced you are that powerful, anyway.”

           “I could turn you into a turtle,” Merlin said chirpily. “Would that help?”

           “I’ll pass on that,” Arthur said drily before once again turning his frown to the rhododendron. “If you truly are so powerful, “Arthur started slowly and Merlin’s smile faded from his face as the conversation once again took a serious turn. “Why are you my manservant? Why are you even in Camelot? You could be out leading the druids, changing the world. Why would you stay?”

           “I know this is hard for a born prince like yourself to understand,” Merlin said. “But not all of us strive to be leaders. And I don’t see service as diminishing myself. I said once to you that I would be happy to be your servant ‘til the day I died. I meant it then and I mean it now.”

           “Well, you can’t be my servant anymore,” Arthur said, a bit stunned.

           “What!” Merlin exclaimed, almost sliding out of Arthur’s arms but Arthur held him firm.

           “No, listen,” Arthur placated. “What I mean is, we need to find another position for you, like Lord of the Chamber, or Court Advisor.”

           “Or body guard,” Merlin offered, liking that idea quite a bit. Expecting Arthur’s adamant denial that he would need any such protection, Merlin was taken aback when Arthur agreed with that plan.

           “Body guard, I like it,” Arthur said with a nod Merlin felt against his shoulder. “You’ve apparently been doing that job already. Quite ably, too.” Silence once again reigned between them as the events of the day replayed in both their heads, Merlin also remembering countless other times where he used his magic to save Arthur.

           “I do recognize that you saved my life today,” Arthur said softly.

           “Glad you noticed,” Merlin said just as softly, bringing Arthur’s arms tighter around his middle, reassuring himself of how strong and alive Arthur was, not lifeless and bloody with an arrow sticking out of his chest.

           “Merlin,” Arthur said, slowly and carefully. “I want to say something I don’t know I’ve ever said to you. But it’s long overdue…Thank you.”

           For the first time in the conversation, Merlin turned his head to meet Arthur’s eyes, their gazes holding steady as the future wound before them, unknowable and exciting; a life awaiting them that they would get to build together.

           “You’re welcome.”