Archive of Our Own ^beta

Chapter Text

Prologue:
A Piece of Paper and Some Fancy Wax

The dawning day cast over Arthur’s sleeping form like a shadow. With his hair mussed and face relaxed, he laid in Merlin’s bed, utterly oblivious to everything around him. Sometimes Merlin wished the world would just stop and he could be with Arthur like this forever, sleeping in on a lazy morning and basking in the morning sun. No knights training, no council meetings, no wars or treaties.

He glanced down to the letter in his hands, the wax seal of Camelot glistening in the sun like blood pooling on the paper.

If only…

Arthur stirred and flung his arm out, like he did every morning, to pull Merlin closer, and groggily searched the room when he failed to find him there. The gesture made Merlin smile.

“Why are you at your desk?” he asked, voice raspy and parched from sleep.

Merlin didn’t answer him. Instead, he read the letter once again, as if the words would magically change. Actually, Merlin could magically change them, but it wouldn’t make much of a difference. The deal was struck. His hands were tied.

“Merlin?”

He looked up to see Arthur sat up and leaning against the headboard.

“I love you, Arthur.”

Arthur quirked an eyebrow.

“And I, you,” his mouth moved gingerly around the words. He gave Merlin a once over. “How was the council meeting?” he asked as he pulled his nightshirt on over his head.

“It was good- very good. We heard back from Uther,” Merlin told while Arthur pulled a chair and sat diagonally across, “He agreed to everything. There are just a few details that need to be sorted out. Exact numbers and things of that nature.”

A long moment passed. The morning birds chirped away outside in mockery.

“What's the catch?”

“He wants assurance that Cornwall will abide by the treaty, just like we want the same of Camelot. A piece of paper with some fancy wax on it is simply not enough.

There has to be something more binding the two kingdoms together. Something substantial.”

“Like a marriage?”

Merlin nodded and cleared his throat.

“To serve as the foundation of our alliance. Reasonable considering how much both sides are investing in each other.”

“… Where are you going with this?” he asked, though it was obvious he already knew.

“As a showing of good faith, Uther has already offered Princess Morgana's hand in marriage.”

“To you.”

Merlin twirled the letter between his fingers.

“I’m sorry.”

His lips pressed into a line. He shook his head, “No.”

“No? What do you mean ‘no’?”

“I mean, no! This is madness!”

“We can’t afford to have Camelot against us.”

Arthur scoffed, his face sour and eyes red, “Bullshit. Camelot has always been against us- against everyone! They still are. This isn’t good faith. Uther's wanted Cornwall for himself since before he took the throne. This is how he gets it.”

Merlin recoiled at the very accusation, “I’m not going to let him!”

“You’re going to marry his daughter!”

“Yes, not sign my kingdom away to him.”

“He'll get his dirty claws in anyway,” he snarled.

Merlin’s eyes narrowed, “Your confidence in my abilities is heartwarming.”

“You don’t know him like I do. He is a relentless leech, and he won’t stop until he has drained us all dry,” he shook his head in disapproval. Silence filled the room once again, “I don't like this…”

It didn’t matter what Arthur thought, but Merlin chose not to point that out. He knew Arthur knew that. It didn’t matter what either of them thought. And the last thing either of them needed was to fight, especially now.

“I don’t either, but the people cannot afford to wait. I will be married to Princess Morgana. I just have to figure the rest out later.”

Arthur let his head fall, neck bent backwards over the backrest of his chair, “Fuck this…”

“I’d marry you if I could.”

“That's really not helping…” Arthur laughed, but Merlin could see him start to tremble. “I can’t believe you’re getting married... And to a Pendragon, no less. It must be a sick, cruel joke the Gods are playing on us.”

It was so funny it hurt. A joke by the Gods indeed.

Merlin stood when he could no longer bear seeing Arthur so defeated, and pulled him into his arms where he belonged.

“I don’t want to put you through this,” he said against the tender skin at the crook of his neck, with as steady a voice as he could manage, “I’m so sorry, Arthur.”

“Don’t be. This was always going to happen, with out without Camelot,” Arthur tightened his arms around him, “I just thought we’d have more time.”

“Yes, so did I.”

Chapter Text

Chapter 1:
An Apt Arrival

Morgana despised winter. Especially days like this. A false-sunny sky warmed nothing and shone directly in every pair of eyes. Humid to the point of clinging to the skin like sickness sweat, cold and clammy. There was no birdsong, save for the castle’s messenger crows making their usual noise. The acrid smell of ash had already become a permanent fixture in the air just two weeks after the first frost.

Fitting, wasn’t it, that they should arrive in such a morning, a day later than planned.

Distant trumpet noise steadily grew closer, as each trumpeter standing by the path would start a few paces before the column passed in front of them. Meanwhile, the trumpeters along the courtyard balconies were waiting at the ready for them to go through the gates. Standard bearers and guards and knights stood at attention in diagonal formations, leading to the Royal Household at the stairs to the castle proper. Camelot had spared no expenditure in ceremony. They couldn’t afford not to.

Aside from King Balinor and Prince Merlin, two other Dragonlords were with them– those were the houses with assets directly relevant to the treaty. The rest of the houses had sent their heir apparents to represent them. Such an eminent arrival required fanfare. To welcome them as important friends of Camelot and remind them of the dangers of losing that friendship.

Upon their sighting at the gates, the citadel erupted in a cacophony of brass. One by one they came into view, horses donned with extravagant bridles and saddles, knights in vibrant teal capes, and the noble guests with fur. They were every bit as lavish as their reception.

The column moved at a slow walk through the courtyard, the trumpets easing off as they got close to the stairs.

“Balinor!” her father addressed, voice full and vibrant, “Camelot is happy to welcome you and your court.”

The Dragonlord King got off his horse and approached, “Thank you, Uther,” he said, just as loud, so that all could hear, “I think I speak for all of us when I say we are happy to finally be here.”

They shook hands and that was that.

Simple actions and short words to mark the end of the war that wasn’t. Technically, they had never been at war. They didn’t even share a border, they had Nemeth and Gwant in between.

But Nemeth was a long standing ally of the Dragonlords, and Gwant a big supporter of Uther’s reign ever since he took the throne back from the Disirites. And while Cornwall and Camelot had never crossed swords in battle, skirmishes between Nemeth and Gwant had been going on for decades.

There was also the conflict between the Temple of Tintagel and the Silverwell Druids, going back centuries beyond the battle of Daobeth and the founding of both kingdoms. More recently, there were the economic treaties between Caerleon and Cornwall, which had allowed them to take Everwick and cost Camelot thousands of men, including Lord Gorlois. And of course the naval battle between Amata and Cornwall, in which the cold iron that won Amata the battle had been purchased from the Queen’s Sorcerers and whose handsome profits went straight into Camelot’s royal treasury.

This wasn’t peace, technically, either. Nothing had changed. Only with the engagement, anything that happened to one would also happen to the other, thus all external avenues of conflict were rendered moot. A part of Morgana understood why this was the only option for an alliance. Another knew this was too precarious for some wyverns and gold.

One signal and the servants were off to unload the guests’ belongings and show them to their quarters. The Dragonlords were already introducing themselves to her mother, as the knights of both kingdoms kept close eyes on each other and the proceedings. No, this was no peace. Not by a long shot.

Morgana’s first move was approaching Prince Merlin. He was easy to spot, in his family colours and the crest of Ambrose embroidered on his deep purple cloak. Two knights flanked him, the three of them standing apart as chaos flowed around them. The one to his right, a blonde man in chainmail, looked a little familiar. Something about the angle of his nose… He stood too close to the Prince, and tense. The one to his left was a mage knight, in thick gambeson and embellished plate pieces along her arms and shoulders. She had her hair in a single rope braid over her shoulder, with red flowers woven through it. The infamous Sir Freya. So she was here. At least Morgana had one thing she could truly look forward to this week.

The blonde knight, who she now recognised to be Arthur de Bois, noticed her first and signalled the other two. Coming to Camelot with a de Bois at his right hand? He was either shameless or mad. Morgana wasn’t sure which would be worse.

Merlin broke away from his companions and approached to meet her with an easy smile and a bow, “Princess Morgana.”

It looked easy enough anyway.

“Prince Merlin,” she returned his smile with a slight curtsey and an incline of her head, “We meet at last.”

“We do indeed. Your reputation precedes you, my lady.”

“As do yours. It’s good to finally put a face to the name.”

The conversation was formulaic, wrapped around their true colours. The same way memorised incantations in the Old Tongue veiled the magic underneath, unique and revealing to those who knew how to look for it. Such was the nature of politics in their world. A few hollow pleasantries that gave way to unassuming topics with an expected level of flattery dotted throughout. Not too much, not too little.

Her mind kept coming back to all that she had heard of Merlin the Mischievous; obstinate, green, and overemotional. But the person in front of her had cunning behind his eyes and a measure to his words. He was actually quite… charming. He knew exactly what to say, when to smile, what formalities to break or keep– but of course, so did she.

The flow of conversation only faltered when her eyes met Arthur, eyebrows crossed very slightly and jaw set firm, suddenly much closer than he had been moments before.

“Allow me to introduce,” Merlin intervened immediately, “Sir Arthur de Bois.”

He bowed, deeper than Merlin had, as was proper, but his jaw clenched ever tighter.

“Yes, we’ve met before. It’s good to see you again, Sir Arthur.”

“I’m… honoured you remember me, Your Highness.”

He was not.

But she did remember him. She remembered their first meeting in Everwick, on her eighth Samhain. How they had immediately become best friends, in the way eight year olds did, getting up to a years worth of trouble that week. How he had been obsessed with wildflowers.

She remembered him coming to Camelot three years later, holding on to his mothers skirts like his last lifeline. She remembered the way he broke when even that was taken away, poisoned by her own brother. Agravaine de Bois. She remembered her mother calling him weak behind their backs, scolding her when she caught her crying and made her watch the beheading.

He would have been her knight, in a different life. He would have squired with her like Leon, first to be really hers. In this life, he was Merlin’s.

“And this is Sir Freya,” Merlin moved on, not giving a chance for another awkward moment to set in.

“It’s a privilege to meet you, Princess Morgana.”

“The privilege is mine.” Morgana eagerly followed the change. To appear polite, she would rationalise later. What else could it have been, right? “I’ve always wanted to make your acquaintance. I hope you will join us for practice once you have rested up from your journey,” she said to Freya specifically before adding on as a courtesy, “All three of you.”

A conversation passed between the friends, spoken in silent glances.

“Of course,” answered the Prince, “It will be our pleasure.”

◊◊◊

The reception was over relatively quickly. There were meetings to be held, deals to negotiate, noble guests to befriend and they were already behind schedule. Cornwall knights were due a day of rest after the long journey. Mother of course had something planned for anyone else who wouldn’t be occupied with meetings. And at sundown, the feast would begin in honour of their engagement.

Morgana had excused herself to get changed shortly after she met the Prince and his friends, saying she was due at training. By all accounts the training could have been handled by someone else, but she was itching for something to hit.

She pulled on her gambeson slowly, already changed out of her dress and into britches and a tunic. Every little rustle of fabric sounded like nails agains sanded glass. Too small and too loud amid the silence. She tied the jacket closed, looking at her fingers in the mirror and trying her best not to think of what was missing from her reflection.

The vase of wildflowers was still on her bedside table. Yarrow, marigold and forget-me-not; wilted and blotched brown. She brought her hands up to her face, her fingers pressing against her eyes so she physically wouldn’t be able to look at it.

As if it wasn’t all etched into the back of her eyelids and echoing in her ears.

Foolish girl… Nothing happens in this kingdom without my knowledge. Or continues without my permission.

Rough scratch of a rusted hinge mercifully distracted her, and she quickly blinked the half formed tears away. There was some shifting and an awkward couple curses before two leather soles landed on stone.

“Bad time?”

Isn’t that just the default now?

“No. It’s fine. I’m fine.” She ran her fingers through her still loose hair, and waved a dismissive hand at nothing in particular, “Training. You know?”

Mordred nodded, in the sluggish and slightly childish way that he did sometimes. He had his official robes on, made of soft wool dyed viridian, and trimmed with white and yellow embroidery. On his ears were the pearl stud earrings Morgana had gotten him for his seventeenth birthday. It made her feel warmer inside despite everything to see them on him.

“You look nice.”

He muttered a thanks under his breath and brought his hand up to toy with one of the earrings.

“Did you need something or…?”

“No, I just wanted to check up on you,” he smiled briefly, eyes trailing around her chambers and taking in the mess before landing on her, “Are you okay?”

“Could be worse,” she said, going to the foot of her bed to fetch her armour, “Could be sobbing in the corner because she has won and will always win and I just have to live with that.” She yanked out the armour with as much noise as possible and threw them on her bed, “But I’m not. I’m going to beat the shit out of some people instead.”

Mordred chuckled, glancing at his feet, “Your old friend violence?”

“Hasn’t failed me so far.” She grabbed a pauldron and went back to the mirror, “What about you? How are you holding up?” she asked as she slipped her arm through.

“I’m good,” he lied. He looked nervous, maybe a little scared. “It’s just the robes,” he tucked his shoulders towards himself, “I feel like a child in them, in a weird way. ”

A lot of things would be decided within the next few weeks, including the fate of the Druids. And there was no good outcome for them, just ones not as bad.

With how magical Cornwall was, the Druids’ leverage with Camelot was halved the moment the engagement became official. They had the favour of the people, but that meant very little as far as the King and Queen were concerned. Depending on how the details were written out, they could lose their sway at Camelot’s court entirely. And with Temple of Tintagel having the power they had in Cornwall, Morgana would be limited in restoring whatever this might cost them, even as eventually Queen.

“I think they suit you,” she tried to tighten the buckles one handed, “They make you look wise. You always were.”

Mordred reached up to his ear again, “Thank you…” he stepped forward and took the buckles from her hands, “Let me.”

Silence pooled in the room like a heavy mist, around them and the empty space where she was supposed to be. Even in private, with wards woven through the walls in their own magic, neither dared address her. How was she? Where? Was she alright? Morgana was dying to ask. It was killing her, slowly, piece by piece. But she kept quiet.

“So whats the verdict on the Prince?” Mordred asked after a while.

“He was nothing like I expected.”

“In a good way?”

“… I’m not sure yet. He isn’t an immature brat like the rumours suggest. He was negotiating with me as much as our parents are with each other. But his companions have me concerned.”

“Why? Who are they?”

“Arthur de Bois and Freya of Tintagel.”

“As in de Bois, de Bois? He actually brought him? I thought that was just exaggerated gossip. What kind of an insane move is that?”

“That’s the thing,” she bit her lower lip, “I don’t think it’s a move at all. I think it’s personal,” she helped Mordred put on the hauberk, “I suspect Sir Freya is here for the same reason. You should have seen the way they interacted. They are obviously intimate friends and made no attempt to hide it.”

“What difference does that make?” he questioned, slipping on her rerebraces.

“All the difference. Cornwall’s two best fighters are not here for their kingdom, they’re here for their prince. To the detriment of the kingdom even, in Arthur’s case.”

“You think it was Merlin’s influence that brought them here?”

“I’m certain of it. It turns Merlin into even more of an unknown. Just imagine what that could say about him.”

“Better yet, about the Council of Dragonlords…” he trailed off, eyes focused on something beyond the floor and her vambraces held loosely in his hands. She could see the pieces moving in his head, “I’m supposed to be in a few meetings with them. I’ll keep an eye out.”

She took the final two pieces of armour and started putting them on, “Focus on your own people, Mordred. Let me worry about their internal politics.”

“I am.” She felt his hands gently gather up her hair, “If he is influential enough to bring Arthur with him, how come all we’ve heard of him is that he is an immature child playing games? It’s worth looking closer. The Council is not on our side but he might be.”

“Oh…” Of course Mordred was considering the druids anyway. That was stupid of her, “I hadn’t thought about that.”

“There,” he flipped the braid over her shoulder, “That is a formidable mage if ever I saw one.”

“Thanks…”

She turned around, to find herself in a big Mordred hug, “And you are my people too.”

◊◊◊

The training grounds smelled of kicked up earth and hand touched metal. There were hints of the oil they use to condition and waterproof their leather gear mixing in from the armoury too, and damp wood from the weapons racks outside. The ground itself was packed firm and level from the night before. There were several racks around the training area, just outside the circle marked out by a chalk line hammered into the bare ground, also refreshed and pristine. They held swords, axes, daggers and spears, with wooden, dulled and sharpened blades; shields and staffs and rag markers. Next to each rack were two servants, ready to give or replace whatever they might need.

Peace or war, festival or famine, Knights of Camelot stopped for nothing.

Usually she took pride in that, both the discipline of the knights that trained here and the servants that maintained the grounds to such a high standard. Today, she was just grateful. Today, it was her reprieve, like the sleeping draughts. Yes, it would not change what her lot was in life but sometimes she just had to get some fucking sleep. The future could damn well wait for its turn.

The knights didn’t notice her right away this morning, too busy with whispering amongst themselves. It seemed even Knights of Camelot were not immune to gossip. She waited the half minute it took them to fully come to attention. She couldn’t blame them. There hadn’t a foreign court and entourage within their walls as long as they’d have been alive, including herself.

“Pair off,” she said without reaching to her right. There was no piece of paper with the training plan being handed to her. Instead, she quickly counted knights, “Everyone will be doing sparring practice today. Two against two with sword and quarter staff. The odd team out fights against me.”

The way they rushed to pair up and face teams to avoid going against her could have been amusing.

I love it when you’re scary; it’s cute.

She didn’t chuckle at the words of teasing and affection that weren’t said just as Owain and Kay shuffled towards her and sounds of sparring from the others filled the training grounds.

They were quite new, Owain and Kay, but promising. She was starting to see what Leon was talking about. On top of the discipline expected of a Knight of Camelot, they were respectful and idealistic. And they were both had a remarkable aptitude for combat. Kay even showed some towards magic.

“Morning, boys.”

“Good morning, sire,” they said in unison, standing at the ready for her to start the fight.

“Since you two are the first, I’ll let you decide what weapon you want to go against.”

The two knights glanced at each other, one shrug and another, before Kay spoke, “Could we go against magecraft, sire?”

Her magic already tingling at the tip of her fingers and shimmering gold behind her eyes, she said, “Morris, please bring me a shield, steel edged and silver backed.”

Very promising indeed.

◊◊◊

The halls and walkways of the castle were lavishly decorated, as one would expect. It was an even split between paraphernalia of the Pendragons, tapestries and banners honouring the royal houses descendant of Bruta, and magical artefacts.

Edwin, Head of the Seofons, and a member of the esteemed Muriden family, was their guide for this so called tour of the castle they had been roped into. And he was only too happy to elaborate and describe in detail every little thing to the detriment of Merlin and his companions’ sanity. Just endless praise and self congratulatory drivel about himself, the magical prowess of Camelot and the Queen’s Sorcerers and the oh so great gloriousness of Camelot’s royal line. Even for the son of a Dragonlord it was a bit much.

There truly was no escape from condescending men ready to show off how important they were and how much they knew at every given opportunity.

It was curious, though, to find a Muriden so close to the Pendragons. The Muridens had been executed for treason shortly after Uther Pendragon rose to power. They had later been acquitted when the real culprits that had framed them were exposed, but by that time they had been dead for three years. They had a son that survived them, and he had been heavily compensated afterwards. That was the story the Court of Camelot told anyway.

That son was standing before him, a high ranking Sorcerer, which was a title in this kingdom somehow, singing the praise of the Queen.

Merlin’s history instructors words echoed in his mind, The aftermath of wars centuries past are still being felt today. You think a civil war twenty years ago could be irrelevant just because it was in a different kingdom?

Only fools let themselves forget history and Edwin seemed quite eager to do so, including what the Muridens had fought for.

He took Merlin for a fool too. These artefacts were not impressive. They were just magical amplifiers with very expensive materials and convoluted forms. An amplifier, was an amplifier. It was magically no different than a gold-silver bracelet no matter how fancy looking or big.

The only thing on display here was how much coin Camelot had to throw around, and how little they had moved away from the ways of the previous rulers. Familes like the Muridens had risked their lives and legacies to overthrow them from the seat of power. Look where that got them.

“I’m judging Balinor,” Freya spoke inside Merlin’s head.

“Freya, not again.”

“He wants to ally us with magic hoarders. How can I be alright with it?”

“I don’t see how our being alright with it has to do anything.”

“It doesn’t have to for me to judge him.”

“Yeah? Go on and tell him that, then. I dare you.”

Freya stuck her tongue out to him when Edwin's back was turned.

From his other side, Merlin heard Arthur mutter under his breath, "Every fucking time..." and elbowed him in the bicep in response. He couldn't speak Gemean. Too bad, so sad.

“Now, this next one is a favourite of mine, Your Highness,” Edwin lead them down the hallway, out of the grate hall being prepared for the feast tonight, “It was designed by the Queen herself…”

“Why am I not surprised that his favourite is the ugliest one yet?”

Merlin had to agree, “And what a waste of opal. I’m pretty sure most of them are not even functional to the scattering.”

“And we could have gone to knights training with the Princess instead of this.”

“I should have known from the way she practically ran when he showed up." sound of clashing metal grabbed his attention. “They are right outside the window too. This is cruel!”

“So close, yet so far… Oh, sweet Hecate she is fighting magecraft. Merlin, do we really have to suffer through this ridiculous man? Let’s just bail somehow.”

“I don’t–” A tap at his heel made him cut off, “… See an out.”

He glanced at Arthur from the corner of his eye. He was on high alert, but has his eyes trained on whatever Edwin was showing them. Their eyes met and Arthur shook his head with the smallest movements.

They were being watched. Possibly eavesdropped on.

Perhaps that was the purpose of this strange tour. Hand them off to the most insufferable fool and observe once boredom and the frustration of having to listen to this nonsense lulled them into a sense of security until they lowered their guard.

And it had worked!

Merlin started looking around, playing up his boredom. He kept is gaze on the floor or ceiling but his attention at his peripheral vision, trying to spot what Arthur must have seen but failed to find anyone. By then, Freya and Arthur had both moved close, on either side of him. Arthur was spinning his mothers ring on his index finger with little flicks of his thumb. They were still here.

There wasn’t anything to their left but the window. The only place this observer could be was behind them or around the corner to the right. Behind them was too obvious, the doors were shut and the great hall was too noisy for someone to try eavesdropping on Gemean. Merlin was pretty sure the latter was the case. The way Arthur had moved in front of him confirmed it.

Well, Merlin was not going to just let this observer be. He had a reputation to protect.

Let’s see who we’ve got, shall we?

He gathered his magic with a deep breath, letting it find purchase on the threads of time and fate, and Looked. His vision surged forward, rounding the corner within a second to see a boy in a green robe running away from the spells eyes.

…Wait.

Running from the spell?! That was impossible!

“Lord Edwin,” Freya interrupted both Edwin’s lecture and Merlin’s confusion, “Would you be so kind as to show us the training grounds next?”

“I’m afraid the Princess Morgana is conducting knights practice at the moment,” he said with an exaggerated smile, “But I will be happy to guide you there at the end of the tour when they are finished.”

Yeah, that worked. He could contemplate on this spy later.

“Why would we go there when nobody is using it, Lord Edwin,” Merlin questioned, “We have heard so much of the Knights of Camelot. I, for one, am very eager to see them for myself. Aren’t you, Sir Arthur?”

“Absolutely, sire. To be completely honest, much of these magical words go over my head. Knight’s training is much more interesting to me.”

That was a blatant lie. Arthur was well versed in magical theory. He must be eager to not be doing this too, otherwise his pride had never endured it.

“Your Highness, Sir Knights, I cannot let you interrupt the Princess’ duties. Your arrival is a cause for festivities but not at the expense of– ”

“She won’t mind,” Merlin interrupted, leaning on his royal status, “Her Highness invited me and my companions to training just this morning.”

Edwin gave a pause at this for a split second before his overly deferential smile returned. If he hadn’t been watching the mans face, he would have missed it. “I see. Well then, of course. We can continue the tour another time.”

Preferably never.

“Sure," he said and let Edwin lead them outside.