Archive of Our Own

“Emrys,” said Gaius, raising the Eyebrow of Disappointment and flicking his gaze to where Merlin stood behind Arthur’s chair. “That is who you wish to have as your court sorcerer.”

Arthur nodded gravely, every eye in the council meeting upon him. “I know he’s a relative unknown, but I have heard his name whispered with respect by magic users all across the land. Camelot is dangerously close to division even now that sorcery is legal. We need someone who will unite us all, and I cannot settle for less. I’ll send riders out at first light chasing rumours and follow up any promising leads we have myself.”

He looked so beautiful when he said it, every inch the king, with the sunlight through the windows turning him gold. His voice had taken on that richness that sometimes infused Arthur’s words – that for the good of the kingdom voice, that let it be so voice, the voice that Merlin had come to understand meant another brick laid on the road to Albion.

Unfortunately, that voice had been co-opted for a fucking farce.

“Well,” said Gaius. “It’s quite possible we won’t have to send too many riders out, your majesty.”

“What do you mean?” said Arthur.

Arthur stared at Gaius. Gaius stared at Merlin. Merlin stared at the wall and tried very hard to look like a servant and not a great and mighty sorcerer.

“I mean, sire, that perhaps we will find knowledge of Emrys in Camelot,” said Gaius, who was glaring at Merlin, who was focusing on the wall and trying to look like he’d never even learned to read, let alone do magic.

“Do you think he might have passed through here?” said Arthur.

“But why would he?” said Leon. “Surely he wouldn’t have dared with the ban on magic.”

“Perhaps he found that the path of his destiny led him here,” said Gaius, who was attempting set Merlin on fire with his eyes while Merlin wondered desperately what the least sorcerer-y way to stand was. “Perhaps someone here – “

“Emrys is a terrible person and you shouldn’t go looking for him!” blurted Merlin.

There was a ringing, horrible silence as everyone in the council turned to look at him. Gaius put his head in his hands.

“Merlin – “ Arthur blinked at him. “Good god, man, why are you slouching like that?”

“So, how bad is it?” said Lancelot, handing Merlin a jug of ale at their back corner table in the tavern.

“How bad is what?”

“Gaius’s fury.”

“Oh, that?” Merlin shrugged. “Not that bad. I explained my reasons – “

“You’re avoiding him.”

“I’m avoiding him. If you see him, tell him I had a vision I needed to go slay an ogre or something.”

“Hmm,” said Lancelot, leaning forward. “So just avoid Gaius until it all goes away.”

“Eventually Arthur will have to pick a new court sorcerer.”

“That’s a solid plan.”

“Thank you.”

Lancelot nodded. “You have, of course, made one little mistake.”

“What’s that?”

“You’ve forgotten to account for the one other person apart from Gaius who’ll be disappointed in you.”

Fuck. “What? Where? My mother? Freya? Who?”

The smack he got round the head was swift and blinding.

“Me, you dolt!” said Lancelot. “How many years have I watched you suffer under the ban on magic, never able to claim credit for your good deeds! How many years have I watched you give sound and solid council to Arthur only to be ignored because you’re just a servant!”

“He doesn’t ignore all – “

“Arthur needs you! You know this. I know this. A jumped-up lizard with delusions of grandeur told you this when you were eighteen. Why are you running from your destiny now?”

“You don’t understand,” said Merlin, putting his head in his hands. “When Arthur finds out that I’ve been lying to him all these years, he will kill me.”

“But the ban on magic – “

“Sod the ban on magic. I mean, he won’t even think about it. The second I go ‘Oh by the way, Arthur, I’m Emrys’ he’ll have a sword in his hand. I won’t even be able to say ‘and I’d love to be your court sorcerer’ before my head’s off.”

Lancelot patted his arm. “Merlin. I love you. But you’re being ridiculous. Arthur would never hurt you.”

“Yeah, but – “ He stared down into the wood grain of the table. But I’ll hurt him. All those years of Arthur thinking he had a friend he could turn to, and Merlin would rip it away with just a few words. He would have Arthur’s ear, yes, but he would never have his trust or his friendship again. Arthur wouldn’t say anything, of course. But he would feel that – oh, he’d feel that he’d given more of himself in the friendship than Merlin had, and it would wound his pride into a retreat.

Lancelot clasped his shoulder. “It’s all right, Merlin, I understand. Change is scary.”

“So how bad was it in the council meeting?”

“Hmm.” Lancelot tilted his head. “I think Arthur just started tuning you out around the third time you repeated that Emrys was a food thief.”

“It seemed the most likely thing to put him off,” said Merlin, finally giving in to his destiny and letting his head fall to the table with a thunk.

It did not put Arthur off.

“I just don’t understand why you think this is a credible source,” said Merlin, for the fourth time.

“Because we have at least three different villages along the same route where someone reports a man called Emrys who can do magic,” said Arthur cheerfully. “That pattern suggests legitimacy, Merlin. Nod if you understand.”

“I just – “

“Admittedly,” said Arthur, “they may have gotten the wrong man. I mean, absolutely none of the reports describe him as a flatulent, food-stealing, shriek-laughing eccentric who coos like a pigeon, enjoys making small children cry, likes kicking puppies and – Gwaine, what am I missing?”

“The biting,” said Gwaine.

“Ah yes – and bites people.” Arthur grinned, and Merlin understood now why so many people wanted to assassinate him. “So perhaps it’s the wrong man.”

“Just repeating what I heard, sire,” said Merlin.

“I’ve heard the opposite about this Emrys,” said Lancelot.

Arthur turned. “You’ve heard talk of him?”

“Indeed,” said Lancelot, ignoring Merlin’s many frenzied-yet-subtle (it was a delicate balance) hand motions. “I’ve heard tell of how loyal he is to the king of Camelot. Dedicated, even. How he has poured his magic into defending Camelot in a thousand different ways even before the ban on sorcery was repealed, toiling with credit or benefit purely for you, Arthur.”

Well, fuck this. He was going to go full dark sorcerer, he really was. Sod Camelot and sod destiny.

Arthur was nodding gravely. “I look forward to the opportunity to finally thank him and offer him a place in Camelot.”

“But he doesn’t want a place in Camelot!” said Merlin.

Lance dropped his head into his hands.

“He – he – “ Arthur was looking at Merlin with exhausted resignation. “He hates people, Arthur. He’s a hermit.”

“A hermit,” said Arthur.

Merlin nodded. “He lives in a cave. He says it helps him think. He won’t want to come to Camelot to be your court sorcerer, Arthur.”

Arthur looked like he was considering Merlin’s words. Considering considering them, maybe. For a second, Merlin felt a wild beat of hope that maybe Arthur would call the whole thing off and send everyone back home for tea and cakes.

“Perhaps we could set him up just outside Camelot, give him some peace and quiet,” said Arthur. “It seems strange that so many magic users enjoy cave living. Do you think he knew Balinor?”

This, Merlin decided, must be what it was like to be boiled in oil. Lance was laughing at him, the wanker.

“No,” said Merlin shortly. “No. Probably just a coincidence.”

“Just to be absolutely clear, sire,” said Aglain, “you’ve come to us because you need help finding – Emrys.”

Every single druid in the tent looked at Merlin.

Arthur, god bless him, didn’t notice. “I swear to you that I mean him no harm. The ban on magic has been repealed. I wish only to find him so that I can begin to heal the scars that the purge left.”

There was a ringing, beautiful silence.

“If there is any way to prove that I am sincere, let me know and I will do it,” said Arthur.

“Oh – oh no, sire, we believe you,” said Aglain. “We’re just – um – communing with magic to see if we could find the location of Emrys.”

He looked at Merlin. Merlin shook his head. Aglain widened his eyes in a deliberate way.

“I believe that Emrys may be very close at hand,” said Aglain.

Merlin shook his head harder.

“How close at hand?” said Arthur, breathless.

Aglain sighed. “I’m sorry, sire. I think Emrys will choose to reveal himself when the time is right.”

“Why don’t you ask Aglain to be your court sorcerer?” said Merlin, dividing the food between Arthur and Gwaine as they poured over maps in Arthur’s quarters. “He seems nice.”

“He’s a druid,” said Arthur. “Geoffrey and Gaius inform me that they only cover one form of magic. Emrys has all magic, or is all magic – I don’t know, it’s all very confusing.”

“I just think that having Emrys here might be dangerous,” said Merlin. “I’ve heard he’s a real loose cannon. Bit of a drinker. Likes to smoke those weird herbs you get in the forest and then shoot lightning out his fingers.”

“Then he and Gwaine will get on famously,” said Arthur from between clenched teeth.

“I’m sure we will,” said Gwaine, tearing into a hunk of bread. “I’ve heard great things about him.”

Arthur looked up. “Oh?”

Yes, thought Merlin with rising hysteria, fucking oh?

“I’ve heard he’s funny and brave and true,” said Gwaine. “Heard he doesn’t care about a man’s station as long as he’s got a good heart.” He tossed a quick smile at Merlin. “I heard that he once gave up his bed for an injured stranger and slept on the floor.”

“Well, this all sounds like idle gossip – “ said Merlin, but Gwaine rode over him.

“Yeah, he’s got his faults, you know? He’s crap at keeping secrets, and he can’t hold his ale. But he’s as sweet and kind a man as you’ll ever meet.” And then, because Gwaine was the worst human being ever and Merlin should have left him to die in that alehouse, he winked. “Plus he’s got dreamy eyes and cheekbones you could cut glass with.”

“Are you sure about all this?” said Merlin, completely monotone. “Because it sounds, you know, like rampant conjecture, or who knows, maybe Emrys is putting out stories about himself to – “

Arthur gripped Merlin’s wrist.

“Gwaine,” he said, even and calm, every bit a king. “You are under no circumstances allowed to fuck my court sorcerer.”

“No promises,” said Gwaine.

“Um,” said Merlin, wringing his hands together in the doorway to Gwaine’s chambers. “Um, yeah. So. Uh. What I was wondering was. Uh. Do you – “

“An imp on a bridge called you magic to your face,” said Gwaine, eyes closed and collapsed on the bedspread. “It wasn’t that hard to work out. Why are you jerking His Royal Hideousness’s chain?”

“Um – “

“Wait wait wait – I’ve been wanting to talk to you about magic for ages and now I finally can. I have a very important question.”

“Yes?”

“Can you magic away a hangover?”

“Uh… no?”

Gwaine moaned and rolled onto his back. “Ok, second question – are you Emrys? Because I’ve just been assuming you are, what with the fact that you have magic and you’re acting like an utter twatting lunatic every time he’s mentioned – “

“Uhhhhhhhhhh – “

“Because if you’re not, then he better not be some wrinkled old asshole. Not after I said all that about how gorgeous he was last night.”

“I do think you could have stopped before you described my neck as lickable,” said Merlin.

“Arthur’s going to be thinking I’m some kind of perverted – ah! You said ‘my neck’!”

Merlin groaned. “Fine, fine, yes. I’m – I’m – you know. Just don’t tell anyone, ok? Only you and Lance and Gaius know.”

“Well,” said Gwaine. “I’m actually pretty sure Elyan and Percival have guessed.”

“What?”

“And I think Elyan guessed because Gwen let it slip.”

“GWEN KNOWS?”

“I know what?” said Gwen, poking her head round the door.

“Merlin’s great and terrible secret,” said Gwaine.

“Oh, Merlin.” She came over and wrapped her arms around him, so lovely and soft. “You really should tell Arthur that you’re Emrys.”

“I’m not Emrys!”

The hug began to tighten. “Do you know something funny, Gwaine?”

“Gwen, you’re kind of squeezing me – “

“What’s something funny, Gwen?” said Gwaine, grinning.

“People forget, now that Arthur’s raised me up to a lady and put me on his council, that I used to be a blacksmith’s daughter.”

“Seriously, Gwen, my ribs – “

“That is funny, my lady.”

“You know what else is funny? They forget that blacksmith’s daughters spend a lot of time hammering metal and lifting heavy weights – “

“Breathe, I need to breathe – “

“Which makes blacksmith’s daughters incredibly strong –“

“Fine, I’m Emrys! I’m Emrys!” Gwen released him, and he staggered over and gasped. “How did you know?”

“I mean, I always knew you were magic,” said Gwen. “You weren’t the best at hiding it, you and Gaius.”

“Excuse you, I was excellent at hiding it – “

“And then you started being so bloody weird about Emrys – “

“I’m not acting weird!”

“You told Arthur he likes to throw rocks at birds,” said Gwaine. “No one likes to throw rocks at birds.”

“Wait,” said Gwen, “do you like to throw rocks at birds? Because if so, maybe you shouldn’t be court sorcerer.”

Merlin covered his face. “You’re both terrible friends. Terrible.”

It was late at night, the candles throwing golden shadows over Arthur’s skin as Merlin undressed him, when Arthur looked down at the ground and said “Do you think it’s because he doesn’t forgive me?”

Merlin’s hands stilled over Arthur’s waistband. “Who?”

“Emrys. He must know by now that I’m looking for him. I’ve sent riders out to every corner of the land. There are proclamations in every town. Which means that he’s deliberately refusing me. I keep going over and over why that might be, and the only answer that makes sense is that he’s punishing me.”

Or that he’s a foolish coward, thought Merlin. “Arthur, I’m sure it’s not that.”

“Why not? After all, my father offered sanctuary to the Dragonlords and then chased Balinor out of the kingdom. Why wouldn’t Emrys expect the same treatment?”

“Because you’re not your father!” Merlin grasped Arthur’s shoulders, resisted the urge to put his hand under Arthur’s chin and force their eyes to lock. “Even before this repeal on magic, you weren’t going out and hunting down magic users. You weren’t even burning them anymore – Morgana’s still imprisoned in the tower. The druids trust you. The creatures trust you. Even the fae sent a delegation saying they weren’t going to try and kill you anymore – “

“They did also send a poisoned cloak and told me they would wrap it round my shoulders the day I came after them – “

“Yes, but it was only a threat rather than out-and-out murder, and I think that shows a lot of growth for them. Come on, Arthur. You’re doing everything right. Why are you letting one stupid, stubborn sorcerer get you down?”

 Arthur rubbed his eye and stepped away from Merlin’s touch. “It’s not just one stubborn sorcerer though, is it? There is still no magic practised in the streets of Camelot. There are still no sorcerers living openly in my court apart from Gaius. I live with the distrust of magic users every day. I look it in the eyes of my reflection every morning when I wake and every evening before I go to sleep, and I think how could you ever be arrogant enough to believe that you could fix this?”

“It’s not arrogance,” said Merlin. He stepped towards Arthur again, and those eyes, those beautiful eyes, were so regal and blue. “It’s – it’s kingship that make you want to fix these things, that makes you put in this much effort every day. You do so much for your people. You never stop thinking about ways to help them and make it right. And you don’t need Emrys to be your court sorcerer, because you can do this just fine on your own.”

Which was a blatant lie, but also – not. Yes, Arthur wouldn’t have survived his callow youth without Merlin at his shoulder every step of the way, but – but he didn’t need Merlin for this. Not for the horrible, heavy business of being king – or, well, he did need Merlin, but not as his court sorcerer. He could do well enough as Arthur’s servant, as his talking-post and his confessor and most importantly as his friend. That was worth more than any title.

Arthur sat down heavily on the edge of the bed. “You really don’t want me to find him, do you?”

“I just don’t want you to be disappointed in what you find,” said Merlin, and it felt like the first honest thing that had left his mouth in months.

Arthur hung his head. “I trust you, Merlin.” And then, so low that he almost didn’t hear it, “I just wish you trusted me.”

“Here’s to us,” said Leon, carrying over three jugs of ale. “Arthur’s loyal knights, surviving another round of Emrys hunting.”

Gwaine winked. Lance raised his jug at Merlin. Elyan and Percival were studying the ceiling with nasty little smirks as if they didn’t know that Merlin could set this tavern on fire with just a word. Arthur rolled his eyes.

“Pity we didn’t get within spitting distance of the man,” said Leon. “Or lucky we didn’t get within biting distance, depending on how you look at it.”

“I’m a king,” said Arthur. “I’m sure he wouldn’t bite me.”

“I’ve heard Emrys thinks of nothing but biting you all day,” said Gwaine.

“Really.” Merlin’s teeth were hurting from how hard they were clenched. “I thought you said he was brave and true and all that bollocks.”

“I’ve heard that he’s desperate to bite Arthur all over,” said Elyan. “Just really sink his teeth into the king.”

“That doesn’t sound very sanitary,” said Leon, looking pained. “I’m sure he’d prefer to, I don’t know, take the king out for a candlelit dinner or something – “

“Nah, he’s definitely a biter,” said Gwaine.

The colour was rising fast on Arthur’s face. “Are you implying that Emrys is some kind of – sexual deviant?”

Gwaine clapped him on the back. “Don’t worry, your Grace. We’ll protect you. We know how much you don’t want to be dragged down and tussled with by a nice, strong, magical man.”

“Uh – yes,” said Arthur, with a quick little look at Merlin. “Exactly.”

“Oh for god’s sake,” said Merlin, polishing off his drink. “I’m going to get another ale.”

Leon pointed to the jugs on the table.

“Then I’m going to get a jar of spirits, and I’m going to drown myself in it,” he said, and flounced off.

He didn’t get the spirits, of course. For one thing, they always made him slightly nauseous. For another, all that talk of him biting Arthur had gone straight to his stomach, or possibly a little south of there. He didn’t want to bite Arthur, of course. Or – well – he didn’t, but he couldn’t stop thinking about putting his mouth on the seam of Arthur’s neck. Not to bite, obviously, but just to kiss the skin there. Though maybe he could use a little teeth, just to keep Arthur on edge. He’d make such beautiful noises, needy and whining and –

So no, he didn’t get a jar of spirits. He went out the back of the tavern and stood in the cool night air and had a nice little fit of hyperventilation instead.

He was coming back round to the entrance when he found Leon and Arthur standing together in the shadows, caught the tail end of a sentence about Emrys. He ducked back out of sight and listened in.

“- think Merlin really doesn’t want him to be found,” said Leon. “Perhaps we should listen to him.”

“Merlin? Really? Just because he’s heard a few rumours – “

“I think it might be more than that, sire,” said Leon.

“You do?”

Yes, Leon, thought Merlin, wondering if it was too late to run away and actually become a hermit. You do?

“I think it might be – personal for Merlin.”

How hard could hunting really be, anyway? And there were some perfectly respectable caves around that probably wouldn’t be too draughty to live in.

“Really,” breathed Arthur, as if the answer to life had just been handed to him on a plate, and this was it, Merlin was going to go back up to the castle and find that the repeal on magic had been amended to say except in the case of lying, cowardly manservants and then his head would be on a spike and Gwaine would probably make up a rude song about it unless he decided to kill Arthur instead, which was a very real possibility, and this was why you didn’t give great destinies to idiots like him, honestly the gods really should have seen this coming –

“I wouldn’t want to make Merlin uncomfortable,” said Arthur, sounding low and troubled. “I suppose I didn’t consider it from that angle.”

“Understandable,” said Leon.

“I mean – really – it beggars belief – “

“It definitely does,” said Leon. “I honestly could barely believe it myself.”

“But Merlin – do you think – does he - ?”

“I believe so, sire.”

“Well,” said Arthur, blinking like he’d been struck. “Well. Now I kind of want to find Emrys just to hear what he has to say for himself.”

“Um,” said Leon. “I’m sure he didn’t mean any harm.”

“Didn’t mean any harm? Didn’t mean any harm? Honestly, poor Merlin.”

“I’m a little confused,” said Leon.

Arthur clasped him by the shoulder. “Leon, you of all people know how much I – um – care about Merlin.”

“I had noticed.”

“I would never want to upset him,” which seemed a bit rich coming from a man who just yesterday had spent fifteen minutes musing on how Merlin’s mother had ever managed to give birth to him with those enormous dinner plates attached to his head. “To me, he is – he is a vital part of Camelot. More than he knows.”

“I know,” said Leon, his voice gentle in that way that always made Merlin remember that Leon had known Arthur far longer than any of them, since he was a boy. He laid a hand on Arthur’s shoulder, and Arthur accepted it for just a second, before he shook it off briskly.

“Thank you for telling me this,” said Arthur. He strode back into the tavern. Leon turned towards Merlin – who was apparently less hidden than he thought – and gave him a bewildered shrug and two thumbs up.

And Merlin – because life was a joke, and nothing made sense – gave him a thumbs up back.

The next two weeks were the most excruciating of Merlin’s life.

The hunt for Emrys seemed to have been called off, which should have been a relief, except that it had only been called off because Arthur knew that Merlin was Emrys.

Merlin busied himself around the castle and tried to avoid Gaius’s glare and Gwen’s increasingly unsympathetic looks with a horrible drumbeat of he knows he knows he knows pounding through his head.

Except Arthur didn’t drag Merlin into the throne room and demand an explanation. He didn’t order that a pyre be built in the courtyard. He didn’t even seem to stop trusting Merlin. Instead, he kept saying things that were –

Well –

“You know you mean a lot to me,” he said, while Merlin was stoking the fire in Arthur’s chambers and wondering how much magic he could get away with using in front of the king. “I hope that you feel Camelot needs you. No – that I need you.”

Or –

“I wouldn’t be half the king I am without you, Merlin,” while they were on horseback, heading to yet another boring meeting with yet another boring lord. “The day you walked into Camelot changed me.”

Or –

“Don’t let anyone underappreciate you, Merlin,” while he was lounging in a bath. “You deserve to be fully – appreciated.”

And every time Merlin would end up choking, because Arthur was just saying these beautiful, incredible things while shimmering in the firelight, or looking resplendent and majestic on his horse, or while being fucking naked, and later he’d realise that that would have been the perfect time to admit to Arthur that he was Emrys and would bang his head three times against the wall and promise to do it next time.

And he would have.

He really, really would have.

Except, then –

“’Tis I, Emrys!” boomed the colourfully robed man who had thrown open the doors of Camelot’s great halls with a burst of magic. “I have come to claim my rightful place as court sorcerer!”

“Oh, fuck off,” muttered Gwen, which was so out of character that Merlin nearly forgot about the beribboned lunatic to stare at her instead.

“You’re… Emrys,” said Arthur.

“Indeed,” said the man, with a jingling shake of his cloak.

“I hope you know this is exactly what you deserve,” whispered Gaius, and Merlin couldn’t even answer back because he was absolutely right. All he could do was stand there like a ninny and pray that Arthur wouldn’t believe the greatest sorcerer who ever walked the earth would dress like – that.

There was a veritable bird-massacre of feathers.

Gaius coughed discreetly. “Sire, perhaps we should ask this man for some proof of his identity. A great work of magic, perhaps, or – “

“Say no more, my elderly friend,” said not-Emrys. “I have mastered all four of the elements through strength and – er – mastery! Behold! Fire from my hands!”

He shot two small, slightly wobbly fireballs up into the rafters, and Merlin pinched his nose and put them out with a gesture before the whole bloody castle set ablaze.

“So, as you can see, I have – “

“Hold on a minute,” said Merlin. “That’s one element. What about the other three?”

The kaleidoscopic charlatan looked a little ruffled. Well, a lot ruffled, considering how much lace he was decked in. “Surely one is enough; after all, what other sorcerer could – “

“Literally any other sorcerer walking the streets, fireballs are the first things anyone learns. Everyone just thinks they look cool and flashy, but they’re actually very dangerous and much harder to control than you – “

“Merlin, could I have a word?” said Arthur, and Merlin abruptly remembered that he was surrounded by the entire court.

“Uh, of course, sire,” he said. Well, this was it. Arthur was going to take Merlin up to the highest tower, stare him dead in the eyes, call him a traitor and throw him off. It had been a good life, really. He would be sad to leave it but when it’s time, it’s time.

Arthur beckoned him and Leon into a small antechamber that led from the throne room. And then he walked to the window and just sat there, apparently content to ponder the hedgerows while Merlin stood and sweated and tried to avoid Leon’s eyes.

“I have come to the decision that I will not be asking Emrys to be my sorcerer,” said Arthur.

Merlin could have wept. “Yes, thank you, Arthur. This is what I’ve been trying to tell you.”

“Your council has been invaluable to me over the years,” said Arthur. He was still staring out of the window. “I suspect that having Emrys here would have strengthened us, yes. But I know having you here does. I – “ He swallowed. “I would never invite anyone here who might make you so uncomfortable that you felt you couldn’t stay.”

Leon was frantically trying to get Merlin’s attention. Merlin focused very hard on ignoring him. He needed to devote one-hundred-percent brainpower to working out whatever Arthur was going on about while looking like he already knew. One would think that he’d be skilled in every sort of deception now, but life just kept on throwing curveballs, usually while said balls were on fire.

Arthur stood up. “That being said, it is still important that we remain on good terms with the man if we want sorcerers to start trusting us again. Obviously I don’t know the – the details on how you ended your – your – “ He was turning steadily red – “companionship. And of course I wouldn’t expect you to divulge anything so private.”

“Companionship,” said Merlin, nodding along. “Right, yeah. Um, what do you mean by – “

Arthur was still avoiding his gaze. “Leon explained the – um – personal nature of your relationship with Emrys.”

Merlin spun and stared very hard at Leon. Leon stared right back.

“You explained this, did you, Leon?”

Another aeon of unblinking eye contact passed.

“Yup,” said Leon. “Yes, this is exactly what I explained to Arthur.”

“And you thought this was a good idea?”

Leon’s smile was starting to look painful. “I thought it might help avoid an awkward situation.”

“Oh, you’ve definitely done that. No awkwardness here.”

“Well you see, Merlin, I had to say something in order to explain your behaviour. I tried to leave it vague. Possibly too vague.”

“Oh, I really don’t want to know the details,” said Arthur.

Merlin nodded vigorously. “Yep, no. Vague is fine.”

“So – “ Arthur was still looking between the two of them. “I’m probably going to have to extend an invitation to the man for a brief visit in order to smooth over the fact that I’m not appointing him court sorcerer. You can take personal leave, if you – “

“Wait, wait, no.” Merlin held up his hand. “Arthur, that man isn’t Emrys.”

“Are you sure?”

“Absolutely sure. Look, he couldn’t even do a piddly little fireball properly. He’s just an idiot in a fancy coat who heard there was a job going.”

“Trust me,” Leon added. “He’d know Emrys anywhere.”

“Oh.” Arthur broke into a sunny grin. “Well, that makes everything considerably easier. Shall we tell him to piss off, then?”

“I’d love to,” said Merlin. Merlin – 1, Curveballs – 0.

Arthur’s hand was on the door, and they were all about to be blessedly free from this horrible room when he suddenly turned. “Look, Merlin, obviously you don’t like the man. But it is very important that I meet him at some point. If you see him, or hear of him in any way – will you pass that onto me?”

“Uh huh.” Nodding, that was the way to look normal. Wait, that was too much nodding. But now he couldn’t stop. “Yes, I’ll – tell you anything I hear.”

“Thank you,” said Arthur gravely, and then he went out and Merlin let himself collapse against the table.

“Do you know,” said Leon, “when I was fourteen, I fell out of a tree.”

“That must have been painful,” said Merlin, wondering what had caused this very special sharing moment.

“They thought my leg would be buggered up for years,” said Leon. “Luckily, there was a fantastic physician in my father’s house who managed to fix me up. Without him, I’d never have been able to get on a horse again and I’d never have become a knight.”

“Good for you?” said Merlin.

Leon smiled mirthlessly. “And for years, I’ve heaped honours on the man in repayment for the debt I owe him. Titles, land, jewels. And then you came along, and I find I am suddenly filled with the urge to go back in time and wring his bloody neck.”

“Ah,” said Merlin.

“Yes, ah,” said Leon mockingly, and then he strode out with a dramatic billow of his cloak, leaving Merlin to the lake of dread in his chest.

So that was that. Arthur thought Merlin had been involved in a torrid affair gone wrong with Emrys, and he wasn’t trying to find the man anymore. Other sorcerers were being put forward as possible candidates and visiting the castle for quick one-week bursts. Life was good. Well, it would have been if it wasn’t for literally every other person in Merlin’s life.

“You should really tell Arthur,” said Percival, loitering irritatingly while Merlin mucked out the stables. “None of the other sorcerers are half as good at dealing with him.”

“And then you wouldn’t have to take crap jobs like this,” said Elyan.

Merlin stopped shovelling to sneer at them. “You could help, if you felt like it.”

“Don’t need to,” said Elyan. “I’ve got a title. Something that you could also very easily have.”

“You’re basically choosing to muck out stables,” said Percival. “We wouldn’t feel right getting between you and your manure-y destiny.”

“You have to tell Arthur!” shrieked Gwen when she saw him in the corridors, and then chased him half the length of the castle before he managed to lose her. Blacksmith’s daughters were apparently very fast too.

“You should never tell Arthur,” said Gwaine over a round of ale at the tavern. “This is absolutely hilarious.”

“Yes,” said Lance, looking pained. “It’s so much fun hearing Gwaine speculate about your wild sex life with Emrys.”

“You should have seen Arthur’s face when I told him that Emrys was probably prettier than him,” said Gwaine.

“You should have seen his face when Gwaine explained that you had, and I quote here, dick-sucking lips that Emrys probably made good use of – “

“Please stop fantasising about my sex life with myself!” yelped Merlin.

“Shan’t,” said Gwaine.

“Tell Arthur,” begged Lance. “Put us all out of our misery before I get a sword and do it myself.”

“I’m not going to tell Arthur,” blurted Merlin, when Gaius looked over their bowls of stew and drew his breath in a way that meant they were going to have a talk.

“And that is your right, of course,” said Gaius.

“Really?” He was almost breathless with – oh, some strange mix of relief and disappointment that he didn’t care to examine too closely.

“Yes, Merlin. Heavens, if this charade is what makes you happy then by all means, do go on.”

“Well, that’s – good to hear.”

“I suppose it was foolish of me to hope for anything more.” Gaius was carefully prodding at his soup. “I am an old man, and I should have resigned myself long ago to never living to see my deepest wishes realised.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake – “

“Language, Merlin. I just hope I have enough years left to learn to live with the disappointment.”

“I should be immune to this. How am I not immune to this?”

“I suppose I can find some other passion to fill up my twilight years with. Knitting, perhaps. I just pray that the regret won’t taste too bitter on my deathbed – “

“Look, I can’t all right?”

Gaius flung down his spoon with a clatter. “Give me one reason that amounts to more than cowardice!”

“You don’t understand!” He kicked back his chair and stalked to the potions bench, breathing heavily. “From the second I arrived in Camelot I knew that Arthur was going to be the other half of my destiny.”

“Which is all the more reason to tell him – “

“I knew it was destiny,” he said. He had choked up pathetically. “But no one ever told me what that would feel like. No one ever told me what he would end up meaning to me.”

Gaius was silent. And then he came up and rested his hand on Merlin’s shoulders, just as he’d done when Merlin was a skinny little thing of eighteen, straining against the ropes of fate as hard as he could until he collapsed and Gaius would come and pick up the pieces.

“What does he mean to you, Merlin?”

“Everything,” he whispered, and shut his eyes against the tears.

“Ah.”

“Yeah. It’s a lot.”

“If you were equals – “

“Look me in the eye and tell me that knowing who I am wouldn’t change anything between me and Arthur.”

“I confess I cannot. But Merlin, not all change is bad.”

“Maybe.” He wiped his eyes. “But it’s not all good either and I can’t – I can’t risk it, Gaius. God, you were probably right. This all just adds up to cowardice any way you look at it, doesn’t it?”

“Love is the hardest test that bravery can face,” said Gaius, and Merlin groaned.

“I’d been really, really carefully avoiding that word.”

“I thought as much,” said Gaius, “and you’re a sweet boy, you really are, but sometimes you do need a good hard kick up the rear.”

But thankfully no other kicks came that night. Gaius let him go to bed without cleaning up, and even bought him a cup of chamomile tea. Merlin lay in bed and watched the shadows flit on the ceiling as he tried to figure out some way out of the situation. Around four in the morning he came to the horrible realisation that there was no way out of the situation, and maybe this – this wild, frenzied feeling – was exactly what those chains of destiny had been made of all along. And then he rolled over and slammed his head into his pillow, because the chains of destiny are made with love sounded like exactly the kind of thing that Lance would write in one of his truly terrible poems.

So there it was – Merlin would keep being Arthur’s sorcerer without Arthur ever knowing even as everyone else around him did, and he would keep being in love with him just as secretly (hopefully more secretly) and then one day he would die. Maybe he could whisper the truth to Arthur with his dying breath. That would be nice. Arthur would close Merlin’s eyes and declare him the truest friend he’d ever had. Gwen would cry prettily. Lance would deliver a horrible eulogy saturated with purple prose. God, what was his life coming to that he felt cheered up by imagining his own funeral?  

But overall, it was a workable situation. Nobody would leave Merlin alone, true, but they also didn’t seem like they were going to tell Arthur without his permission. It almost made Merlin feel a bit fuzzy inside on the days he had enough energy left over for anything other than panic. The people in his life might be persistent, and terrifying, and a tiny bit mad – but they were also good people who cared enough about him to let him make his own mistakes. It was enough to make him feel lucky sometimes – that everyone he’d met since coming to Camelot was just such a true friend.

Of course, he’d forgotten the exception.

The giant, scaley bastard of an exception.

“They came in the night,” said the terrified peasant woman, shaking on the floor before Arthur’s throne. “They said we had twenty-four hours to hand over all our valuables and a third of our harvest. We didn’t think much of them. No weapons, nothing, just three skinny little bastar – uh, men in black cloaks.”

“And then what happened?” said Arthur. He always sounded so kind when he talked to his subjects. It was ridiculous, really, that the sight of him being a good king did stupid things to Merlin’s heart.

“They came back the next evening. Set these strange black jars around the village. Tom tried to break one. He knew it was sorcery. And the fire spilt out and just burnt him to a crisp.” He voice was shaking. “And then they all said a word and the fire roared up out of the jars and took the village. It was coming from everywhere at once. There was no place to hide. I threw myself down in a ditch and it missed me by inches.”

Arthur got down off the throne and helped the woman to her feet. “Thank you for coming here. Your bravery is commendable. Lance, see to it that this woman is given bed and board for as long as she needs. Gaius?”

“I have heard of this ritual before,” said Gaius. He cast a miserable look at Merlin. “But I thought it impossible.”

“Why is that?” said Arthur.

“Because we thought all the means to perform this spell were either dead or imprisoned.” Merlin’s brain was screaming, fifteen alarms going off all at once, and he sorted through all the mess and confusion and horror to arrive at the conclusion just a second before Gaius gave him a weak, shaky little nod and said “It appears that these men have stolen dragonfire.”

Leon clutched at his sword grip and leaned down to Merlin’s ear.

“I thought you said that dragon was dead.”

“It’s a little more complex than that,” whispered Merlin, and he started to plan how to best dress for his beheading.

They rode at first light, because Arthur was the worst.

“She said they came from the west,” said Arthur. “There’s a network of caves hidden in the forest there. It would make a perfect place to hide a captured dragon.”

“What are we going to do about the dragon when we get there?” said Elyan.

Arthur chewed his lip. “I don’t know. Gaius said it was very unlikely that any dragon would consent to the ritual, so we can assume it’s being held against its will. Dragons are creatures of magic – I’m hoping that if we make it clear that magic is no longer persecuted then we can reason with it. But Aithusah is impossible to reason with, so if we can’t – “

He let the pause ring, and Merlin swallowed down a lump in his throat. He didn’t know how he felt about Kilgarrah these days – it was all a strange blend of understanding and enmity, irritation and companionship. Kilgarrah had helped him, had told him about his destiny. Kilgarrah had killed innocent citizens of Camelot. They were both creatures of the old magic, something out of myth, and sometimes that felt like brotherhood and sometimes it felt like a noose around his throat. He didn’t want Kilgarrah to die, he knew that. But if it came down to him or Arthur, he chose Arthur every time.

It started out as all quests did – Elyan and Percival loudly mocking Gwaine for his exploits two nights previous, when he’d apparently declared his everlasting love for the tavern owner’s wife and then accidentally stolen a pig, Leon teasing Arthur about the latest rumours of his marriage, Lance interjecting whenever he thought things were getting out of hand. At one point Percival found a scrap of poetry in Lance’s saddlebag and Gwaine read it out as they rode to general mockery.

“Your eyes are as brown as the summer – is summer especially known for being brown? All right then – And they speak to the sweetest part of my soul – it says something that the line not scanning at all is the least of your problems – “

“What is the sweetest part of your soul, Lance?” said Percival.

“I believe it’s located just behind the balls,” said Gwaine.

“If you just asked my sister to marry you, I wouldn’t have to live through this,” said Elyan, slumping forward onto the horse.

Leon craned his neck to look at the parchment. “Love is like a trusty horse – Lance, mate, it really isn’t.”

“Easy to ride.”

Lance groaned. “One more comment like that, Gwaine, and I’ll call you out for the lady’s honour. Percival, I can’t believe I trusted you to dig through my saddle-bag, I thought you were my friend – “

“Quiet!” barked Arthur.

It was Arthur’s own private form of magic – just like that, six young men messing around were replaced with battle-hardened knights, hands on their grips. And Merlin. A still, tense core at the heart of the rustling forest.

“There,” said Lance, and Merlin heard it a second after – distant screaming.

“West,” barked Percival, and they turned as one and rode hell for leather, cresting the hill just in time to see a man on fire come screaming out of a village below. The smell of burning hit them even from here, bile rising in Merlin’s throat as the man threw himself down amongst the bushes and rolled uselessly, once, twice and then lay still.

“Westward wind,” barked Arthur. “Circle round and get all the villagers out the other side. They’re our priority. If you get a chance to kill the sorcerers, do, but for god’s sake stay away from those jars.”

Merlin was still looking at the man – no, the body, still smouldering, licks of fire catching at the dry stalks around him – it – oh god. He shut his eyes, opened them, whispered a spell that would end the fire – too late, always too late – and took off down the hill after the knights as fast as his horse could carry him.

Inside the village, it was pandemonium.

People were screaming, rushing this way and that as they searched for stored-up treasures, love tokens, beloved pets, children. Any little thing they could grab before their homes disappeared in flames. The knights were reeling with the crush of people. Gwaine grabbed an old woman and pulled her up onto the back of his horse. There was a clang of steel and a cry of triumph – Elyan beheading one of the sorcerers as Lance scooped up a screaming child. And beneath it all, a humming in the air that Merlin felt in his bones. A sick, sour sent so deep and awful it separated into layers – pungent rot, the shit-sharp decay of old meat, a noxious chemical tang and underneath it all, like a tremulous base note, embers. Old magic, twisted into an awful form. Crazed with the knowing of what it had become, too lobotomised to break free. Building steadily higher.

“Get them up on the east hill!” Arthur was roaring. “Out of the fields, as fast as you can.” Merlin turned on his horse, pushed a burst of magical energy into a man so sick that he shook when he moved. It was just enough to force the man forward as the column of people sped away from the village, flanked by the knights. The spell was wobbling to a fever pitch now. But they’d done it, they’d cleared the village – Arthur was turning to go, Merlin on his heels –

“Sidone!” screamed a woman, rushing back towards the village with a baby on her hip. “Sidone, sweetheart! Where are you?”

“We’ll find her!” yelled Arthur, pushing the woman back into Lance’s arms. “Go, go now!”

“She’s only six, she likes to hide, she – “ Her face contorted in misery. “She can’t hear too well.”

“We’ll find her,” said Arthur again, and whatever she saw in his eyes was enough to make her let go. Arthur leapt off his horse and Merlin followed suit, cursing the whole way down.

“Arthur.” Merlin grabbed at the edge of that red cloak. “The spell. We don’t have much time – “

“Six years old,” snapped Arthur. “Go, Merlin. Make sure everyone’s safe.”

He jogged away, and Merlin caught up with him. “Of course, sire.”

“That’s an order.”

“And I love following those, don’t I?”

“I – “

“I won’t leave you,” he yelled, grabbing Arthur’s shoulder with all his might. It still shouldn’t have been enough to stop him – Merlin had never had a knight’s strength – and yet impossibly it was. Just for a heartbeat, just long enough to make a promise. “I won’t leave you. Ever.”

It felt like communion. Arthur’s eyes, the shock of his trembling lip as he read whatever was in Merlin’s face. Merlin tried to pour it all out, every inch of feeling. The crazed song of the spell flattened into a high whine, spinning away from the two of them.

“The – “ Arthur’s voice croaked. “The girl.”

“Yes.” It felt like a pact being sealed. “Yes. The girl.”

Arthur laughed weakly. “I suppose if I told you we should split up to cover more ground you’d ignore me, wouldn’t you?”

His grin felt like it was cracked across his face. “It’s like you’re finally getting to know me after all.”

They didn’t bother to search the homes. They were all just one-room cottages, too small and pokey for a six-year-old to successfully hide in without notice. They tried woodsheds, hen-huts, even the pigpen with Merlin’s heart in his throat. They looked up trees and down ditches. And through it all, Merlin tried to control the dragonfire spell. He blew soothing winds across it, begged it to calm. But it was like trying to sing an earthquake to sleep.  

“Nowhere,” said Arthur, panting with his hands on his knees. “Fucking – nowhere. Merlin, I’m serious this time. Run.”

“Sure thing,” he wheezed. “You go, I’ll be right behind you.”

“You’re an idiot. Just go and get to the higher ground, the fire won’t – oh. Oh. I’m an idiot!”

“I’ve been telling you that for years.”

“Shut up, Merlin. How can a girl who can’t hear make sure she won’t be found? She’d need to be able to see everyone coming, she’d have to – “

“To get up high,” said Merlin, already breathlessly scanning the roofs. “She’s – there!” He saw her at the exact same moment Arthur shouted with triumph, a small black figure silhouetted against the sky on the roof of the village hall.

“Sidone!” Arthur was already sprinting across the distance, waving his arms. “Sidone! You need to get down! We need to go!” Merlin pushed his magic across the space, made Arthur’s words resonate with more than sound until he was sure she could hear them in some way.

Sidone’s tiny face was tear streaked. Her arms were wrapped around her chest so hard they’d turned white with effort.

“I can’t get down!” Her voice was so high and reedy. “I broke a – a – something and now I can’t climb down and I – I – “

“Jump!” called Arthur, his voice gentle and his face heart-breaking. “Jump, and I’ll catch you.”

And it was then that Merlin felt it – the spell beginning to break, lapping at the edges of the jars that contained it. “Arthur,” he gasped. “We don’t have much time.”

“Then she better jump fast,” Arthur muttered, never taking his eyes off the girl. “Sidone! Come on! I’ll take you to your mother!”

Sidone edged towards the drop, so slowly that Merlin bit his lip to blood to stop himself from crying out. Two metres from the edge; one and a half; one – all the while the rattling of the jugs that contained the fire echoed through his bones. She was almost at the edge when she stopped, frozen.

“What if you don’t catch me?” she whispered, and Merlin resisted the urge to scream then you’ll die anyway!

“He will,” he said instead. “He’s a king. A really good king. They don’t make promises they can’t keep.”

“Never?”

“Never. He saves everyone. He always does.”

“I promise I’ll catch you,” said Arthur, nodding. “On my sword and my crown, I promise.”

Sidone nodded. Teetered. Jumped.

Merlin reached out with just a touch of magic, as much as he could spare, to lighten her, to guide her fall, and Arthur caught her. Magic and might working as one.

And then they were running, sprinting like demons with Sidone wailing in Arthur’s arms. The edge of the spell was twenty metres away, ten, five. The magic was coming undone, and they could make it if they just –

But they were too late. They were always going to be too late.

It was like being plunged face-first into hell. A wall of flame, so bright and dazzling it threw everything into split-second frames. The black stick figures of the sorcerers behind the blaze. A house exploding with the heat, wood-chips stabbing the air. And Arthur, turning with his last motion to hide Sidone behind his cloak so she wouldn’t have to see her end. Arthur, looking at Merlin with beseeching, hopeless eyes with the words he was forming snatched away by the fire. One last look between them, and it needed to say everything and it said nothing –

“No.”

Only later would Merlin realise that it was his own voice. All he felt was the power bursting out of him, singing as it bent around them. The joyful song of magic doing exactly what it was meant to do – protecting his king, his destiny, his friend. It exploded around them, a shield of blue and gold. The fire beat against it, wailing and screaming, but nothing would get in. It was just them, the still point on which the world turned against the apocalypse outside, with Sidone still crying in Arthur’s cloak and Arthur – Arthur looking at Merlin with a light slowly dawning in his eyes.

It was probably seconds. It felt like eternity.

Arthur’s face was slack with awe. With his free hand, he reached out to the shield. Just a brush of his fingers, but Merlin felt it in his bones, in the dead ends of his hair and fingernails blazing suddenly with a touch they couldn’t understand. Those fingers against the shield caressed the shape of his jaw, his shuddering breastbone, his fluttering lungs. They trailed through his blood. He’d never known touch before until he’d been touched like this – whole, entire, every atom of him.

The fire died with a screech and Merlin let the shield drop, never looking away from Arthur. He stood very slowly, still cradling Sidone in his arms. Merlin was trembling. Or rather, his body was trembling but he was very high and far away.

“Arthur,” he croaked. “Arthur, I – “

He hadn’t a clue what he could possibly say.

In retrospect, it was probably a blessing that that was the moment a blow to the back of the head knocked him unconscious.

“ARTHUR!”

Merlin jerked out of sleep with a shout, hand scrabbling across the cold stone. Arthur was – the fire – but he’d saved them – the girl –

“Sidone?”

“She’s fine.”

Arthur was leaning laconically against the wall the cell, staring down at Merlin with eyebrows raised. “She got away while I was trying to fight off the bandits after you heroically passed out.”

Merlin took one look at him and felt sick to his stomach.

“Arthur, I – “

Arthur turned away and began pacing the length of their cell – four by four, one high arrow-slit too far to even jump to. “Do you often jerk awake screaming my name?”

“I don’t – “

“I admit, I assume a lot of people in Camelot dream of me, but I never expected you to be one of them.”

“I can – “

“We’ve been captured, by the way.” He gestured lazily, back still turned to Merlin. “In case our accommodations didn’t clue you in. I have no idea where the knights are, so it looks like we’re on our own.”

Words. He needed words, but his jaw hung limply and his brain was nothing but wind.

Arthur shrugged, as if Merlin has said something terribly interesting. “I don’t think you’ll be able to magic us out of this, I’m afraid. I had a look and I’m pretty sure the door is cold steel. My father used to use it to – well.” He coughed. “You know what he used to use it for.”

“I never intended you to find out like this,” said Merlin.

Arthur stiffened. With his back to Merlin and his body cutting off the light he was half-silhouetted, the cut-out shape of a man. “You never intended me to find out at all.”

His voice was a door closed – not slammed, just shut politely and never to be opened again. In all his wildest dreams of what it would mean when Arthur found out, it had never been as bad as this. He’d imagined Arthur frantic with recrimination, sick with guilt, cold with wounded pride. But at least in all those sick fantasies he’d known. This was worse, somehow. This quiet, polite shutting down of intimacy. A route he’d used to know by heart closed off forever.

“That’s not true,” he said miserably. “That’s – I would have found a way, a time. I was just – I was scared, all right? I thought that if you knew how long I’d been lying to you you’d never trust me again. Or that it would change something between us – I don’t know, Arthur. It all just sounds cowardly however I put it. But I couldn’t imagine you finding out in a way that didn’t damage – this. Us. And now I’ve let you find out in the worst way possible. You deserved – deserve – better than that. And I – please look at me.”

Arthur turned, every line of his face pinched and worn.

“Oh, Merlin,” he said, soft and tired, “I knew.”

“You – “ His insides felt like they were turning cartwheels, strange and mixed-up and new. “What do you mean you knew?”

“I knew about you.” His voice was so kind and gentle, his speaking-to-subject’s voice but with something dark and sad tugging underneath it. “I knew about your magic.”

“When?” gasped Merlin, which wasn’t even the most important question but was the only one he could vocalise right now.

Arthur hummed thoughtfully. And then he came and sat on the straw opposite Merlin, knees tucked up in front as if he expected this to take some time.

“I can’t say when.” He was staring out into the space behind Merlin’s ear, and Merlin wondered what he was seeing there. “I think I made myself un-know, in a sense. The way things just went right around you, the way I’d black out and when I woke up you’d be there smiling and the problem would have gone away. And that light, when I was looking for the flower that would save your life – I recognised it. I knew it.” He looked down, shifting uncomfortably on the floor. “I trusted it.”

Merlin couldn’t breathe.

Arthur kept his eyes downcast. “But if I’d known – if I’d let myself know – then there would have been consequences. I’d have had to choose between you and Camelot, or you and my father – and for so long they were the same thing, my father and the realm. So I buried it. I told myself again and again that you were just lucky. I called you an idiot and begged myself to believe it. And then, when my father’s ghost – “

He stopped, choked up.

“You knew what he was going to say,” breathed Merlin.

Arthur nodded and finally raised his eyes to look at Merlin. His eyes were bright with emotion. “I knew what he was going to say. And – I chose. Over my father, over his legacy, over the laws of the kingdom – I chose you instead. Because I couldn’t bear to have to lose you.”

“You’d never have lost me,” whispered Merlin, but Arthur just shook it off.

“That knowledge – it sank in me like a stone. That the one thing I’d always hated, I’d allowed myself to – well. I hated myself every second. I wanted to push you away, and I wanted to drag you close and keep you safe. Instead, I did neither. I just stewed in awful, guilty doubt. And every day I scrutinised you for marks of evil. I don’t know what I was hoping for. If you were corrupted by sorcery, then I’d thrown away my honour on the back of a man who didn’t deserve it. If you weren’t – well, if you weren’t, then I had to keep making that same choice.”

“Did you find anything?”

Arthur scoffed. “What do you think, Merlin? And eventually I realised that in the kingdom I’d built I would have to make that choice every day, between the law and you. I waited two months and then I started building a kingdom where I would never have to make that choice again.”

“You – “ It was almost too big to say. “You repealed the ban on magic for me?”

Arthur grinned humourlessly. It reminded Merlin of the labyrinth after the unicorn, Arthur facing death with a joke and terror in his eyes. “Don’t be such a narcissist, Merlin. It was a lot of things. Seeing what happened to Morgana, remembering Aridian – I’d spent my whole life seeing places where the law was unjust. But yes, you helped me see that. So I suppose it is yours in a way.”

He looked off into the distance, a dreamy little smile playing over his features. “I assumed you’d tell me. I was waiting for it the whole night after the bill passed. When I was very young, my nursemaid used to sneak into my room on my birthday and leave me a present at the foot of my bed. Sometimes I’d stay up all night waiting for the moment she’d creep in, practically vibrating with excitement. And then when you didn’t tell me that night I just thought you needed a bit of time, or that maybe you were celebrating with someone else. And then a week passed, and another week, and eventually I realised that you just didn’t trust me.”

“No.”

Arthur was still smiling that same exhausted smile. “It’s all right, Merlin, really. You’re one of the most important people in my life. Sometimes I forget that to you I’m just an employer.”

“That’s not it, Arthur, it’s not.” He leant forward and pressed his hand across Arthur’s chest. “You’ve never been just that to me. Yes, at first you were ‘my employer and also an irritating, obnoxious, rude, arrogant prat’ – “

“Oh, tell me how you really feel.”

“But you’re my friend. You’re my – my king, and I don’t mean just that you have a silly crown and live in a big castle. You’re my king. Everything I do, my magic, all of it – it’s for you. I’m so proud to know you that sometimes it makes my bones shake. It’s belief. I’ve never believed in anything like I do you.”

Arthur was silent for a long moment. Slowly, tentatively, he covered Merlin’s hand on his chest with his own.

“Then why?”

Merlin sighed. “When you lie about something that long and that hard, you don’t know how to stop. And because of all the stuff I said before – about you never trusting me again.”

Arthur nodded. “So you were worried about me trusting you and I was worried about you trusting me?”

“Yep.”

“So we’re both idiots?”

“Looks that way, doesn’t it?” He grinned, and Arthur grinned back as easily as when they were barely men and destiny felt very far away.

“All right, Merlin, touching emotional moment over. You can stop feeling up my pecs now.”

“All I’m feeling is flab,” grumbled Merlin, which earned him a sharp poke in the side and a very un-regal tussling match.

“So,” said Arthur moments later, apparently unconcerned that he was sitting astride Merlin and pinning him to the floor – Merlin was still swearing up a storm and trying to pelt straw in Arthur’s face – “now that we’ve got all your feeeelings out of the way like the great big girl you are, should we work out a plan to get out of here?”

Merlin stopped straw-pelting. “Um, yeah. Sound idea.”

Arthur looked at him expectantly. Merlin looked at him eagerly.

“No great works of magic come to mind?” said Arthur.

Merlin reached out with his magic and felt something blocking him from all sides. “No, sorry. It looks like you were right about the cold iron. My magic’s stuck.”

Arthur wrinkled his nose. “Your magic’s stuck.”

“It’s a cell built for sorcerers!”

“How you ever managed to save anyone’s life – “

“This doesn’t usually happen to me – “

“I bet you say that to all the girls.”

“You’re a nightmare,” said Merlin, beating back the uncomfortably horny thoughts that popped up with Arthur talking about dicks and sitting on top of him. “I don’t know why I ever saved your life.”

“I’m your king, Merlin, you belieeve in me,” crooned Arthur, who thoroughly deserved getting roughly bucked off Merlin’s hips.

“So magic’s out at least while we’re in this cell,” said Merlin, dusting himself off while Arthur was still spluttering. “But they can’t have seeded the whole place with cold iron. They’ll have to have some plan, right? Otherwise they’d have just killed us in the village.”

“They’ll have to have some plan,” muttered Arthur. “Truly, your strategic genius knows no bounds.”

Merlin threw up his hands. “I don’t hear you coming up with any ideas!”

Arthur pursed his lips and looked at Merlin sideways. Merlin knew that look. He hated that look. It meant a patented Arthur Idea ^TM was coming his way.

“You’re not going to like it.”

Merlin sighed. “When do I ever?”

“And I know it will be uncomfortable for you, but I’m pretty sure the other alternative is some lingering form of death – “

“Out with it.”

“Could you… call him?”

“Call…” Arthur was still staring up at him with an embarrassed, pleading look. “Call who?”

“Call Emrys?”

“Call Emrys.”

“Through… magic?”

Merlin closed his eyes and thought bitterly about something Lance had said to him – your tangled web of deception is going to choke you one day. Merlin had hit him on the shoulder and told him he needed better metaphors. It was particularly galling to realise that this time Lance was right.

“Right. Um, about Emrys – “

And it was then, just as things seemed like they might get a little less complicated, that the door slammed open. Arthur fumbled for the air where his sword should have been on instinct. Merlin reached for his magic, but they were still within the circle of iron, and the mangy, broad-shouldered bandit had a sword at Arthur’s throat before he could blink.

“Right, prettyboy,” said the bandit, grinning through yellowed teeth. “We’re in need of you.”

“I don’t negotiate with criminals,” said Arthur, radiating ice.

The bandit spat on the floor. “Not you, your highness. We’re in need of a sorcerer.” He moved closer to Arthur, the sword pressing in across the jugular while his eyes never left Merlin. “And if you try anything funny, we’ll gut your precious king.”

“Merlin, don’t – “ said Arthur, but it was never a choice, not when the sword was scraping a thin line of red under Arthur’s jaw.

“You know me, Arthur,” he said softly. “You serve Camelot. I serve you.”

The bandit sneered. “Pretty words. Are you in or not?”

“I’m in,” said Merlin, steeling himself. “What do you need?”

“You’re going to squeeze that dragon bastard for every last bit of fire he’s got,” said the bandit.

Oh.

Ah.

Fuck.

“Great!” he squeaked. “Just – great. When do we start?”

“Do you have any idea what you’re doing?” hissed Arthur.

They’d put Merlin in cold iron cuffs as they’d dragged them from the cell. The keep was a crumbled-down thing, clearly abandoned for decades. It was built over the cave formation that Arthur had mentioned. Apparently they’d been used a century ago for storing smuggled wine. A lovely little tidbit to know as they were dragged down into them.

“It’s fine,” Merlin whispered back. “I have a plan. Sort of.”

“Forgive me for being less than thrilled.”

“I kind of know this dragon.”

Arthur stared at him blank-faced. “You know this dragon.”

“We’re friends. Sort of. It’s complicated.”

“Oh god,” said Arthur, toneless. “I made magic legal for the sake of a madman.”

“Oi, what happened to trusting me?”

“As I recall, Merlin, you were the one who said you trusted me – “

“No talking!” bellowed the broad-shouldered bandit. Erik, his name was, and the thick-necked one with a knife poking Arthur in the ribs was Orf. Merlin had to assume it wasn’t his birthname. No parent would do that to their child.

They passed a black-cloaked man that Merlin vaguely recognised as one of the sorcerers from the village, bent double against the wall. Two things struck Merlin at once. The first was the scalding look of hatred that the man cast at Arthur. The second was how absolutely wrecked he looked. His cheekbones were carved into his face with starvation, and his ashen skin was pulled taught across his face until his dark-shadowed eyes looked huge and insectoid.

“You’re draining them,” Merlin murmured. He spun on Erik. “The ritual exhausts them. That’s why you need me. They can’t do it anymore!”

Erik rolled his eyes. “Congratulations, you’ve figured out our evil plan. Does that make you feel better?”

Merlin shrugged. “Worse, actually.”

Erik poked him in the shoulder with his sword. “Then keep walking.”

“You need to run,” Arthur murmured out of the corner of his mouth, but then Erik hit him with the flat of his blade and he shut up. Merlin felt useless – worse than useless, actually. If he could just summon up the shield he’d used against the dragonfire they could sprint out of here unharmed, but the cold iron was cutting into his flesh and even if it wasn’t, he had no idea how to actually do that. And then they’d be leaving Kilgarrah here in the dark, rotting away as his magic was forced out of him to burn more innocent villagers. Merlin couldn’t – wouldn’t – do that.

He’d just have to conjure up a cunning plan. He normally did that, didn’t he? A wonderful idea that would save them all would pop into his head any minute – now.

He tried again, screwing up his face to make the thinky thoughts come. Genius plan – now.

Orf belched. “What’s that face for?”

“It’s my face of strategic brilliance,” muttered Merlin. “Don’t worry, it’s not working.”

Arthur rolled his eyes.

A dank, animal smell rolled over them – just like the smell of the caves below Camelot where Kilgharrah had been chained but magnified a thousand times. Arthur gulped and grimaced; Merlin tried to breathe through his mouth and coughed against the stench; even Orf wrinkled up his face. Only Erik seemed unaffected. If anything his grin got wider, and Merlin had a horrible feeling that he enjoyed this proof of suffering. His eyes met Arthur’s, who nodded at Merlin. Erik would die painfully.

And then the cave opened up into an enormous chamber, lit by one circle of far-above moonlight, and Kilgharrah was there.

For one heart-stopping moment, Merlin thought they were too late. There were thick chains wrapped around that titanic body twice and staked into the ground, wound so tight that they’d cut through his scales and left trails of crusted blood. Kilgharrah was unmoving, desiccated. Merlin’s eyes tracked him desperately, looking for evidence of life. There – that slight tremble of his wings. That had to be a breath, right?

“I need to talk to him!” blurted Merlin.

Erik raised a brow. “He doesn’t like talking to humans. Thinks we’re ‘neath him.”

You are. “It’s still worth a try. If I can convince him to show willing then, um, the ritual will be easier.”

“Castor said the suffering was a part of the ritual,” said Orf.

Oh, the fuckers. “The suffering and the willingness. It’s, uh, a delicate balance.”

Arthur looked deeply pained, and Merlin abruptly remembered that he wasn’t actually as good at lying as he thought he was.

But Erik just shrugged. “Go on, then. Just remember we’ve got a knife at your little king’s throat – “

“It’s at his back, actually,” supplied Orf.

“Then put it at his throat, Orf. God’s above, this is why your mother should have drowned you – “

Merlin left them arguing and picked his way towards the dragon. “Kilgharrah,” he hissed. “Kilgharrah. It’s me, Merlin. I’ve come to save you.”

For a second, there was nothing. And then one enormous yellow eye opened, just a fraction. “Young warlock.” The words sounded carried on the breeze. “I assume you have a plan?”

“I was actually hoping you had one.”

“Have you considered waiting till they take your cuffs off and then killing them all?”

“I can’t,” he admitted miserably. “They’ve got Arthur at knifepoint.”

“Ah. So ‘I’m here to save you’ actually means ‘I’m in the middle of a disaster of my own making and I hope you’ve got an idea’.”

“Basically, yeah.”

“I would expect nothing less.”

His stomach was wringing like dirty laundry. “I don’t know what to do. They’ve got you in cold iron too.”

Kilgharrah rustled his wings, a sound like laughter. “The secret of how to make cold iron was a gift from the Sidhe long ago, back when the realms of man welcomed magic. It is not anti-sorcery – it is its own form of sorcery, written in a tongue that has been lost.”

“Fascinating history lesson, but I’m not sure how that helps us – “

“You – are – Emrys.” The words came more forcefully now, and those teeth – god, how had he forgotten those teeth? “Remember what that makes you. Remember what you are.”

“What does that mean?” he hissed, but Erik was right behind him and dragging him away.

“Any luck, sorcerer?”

“None,” snapped Merlin. “He’s still annoying as always. Ta very much for your help, Kil – dragon.”

“Right,” said Erik. He twisted Merlin’s bound arms uncomfortably behind his back. “I’m going to unlock your cuffs now and give you the spellbook. Remember – one wrong move and your fancyboy gets gutted.”

“I am very fancy,” intoned Arthur.

Merlin looked around desperately once the cuffs were off, but it all seemed so hopeless. There were five men-at-arms positioned round the cave aside from Erik and Orf, and three of them had their weapons pointed at Arthur. And then there were the sorcerers – only three, and all looking just as weak as the man they’d met earlier, but probably still strong enough to lob a fireball at Arthur’s head if he stepped out of line.

Remember what that makes you. Remember what you are.

The spellbook was shoved into his hands. The ritual was a twisting incantation, five minutes long. Bile rose in his throat as he scanned the page and saw the words that would hook into Kilgharrah’s flesh, the words that would drag the old magic and torture it into new shapes. This was a perversion of the worst sort.

It is its own form of sorcery.

You are Emrys.

Emrys has all magic, or is all magic – it’s all very confusing.

Oh.

He let the words of the ritual trip over his tongue without any weight behind them as his magic probed the cave. He could feel the souls of each men – the weak, guttering flames of the exhausted sorcerers, the steady light of the men-at-arms paling compared to the brilliant glow of Arthur. Kilgharrah was like a wildfire muffled behind thick glass, a deadening of the air. Merlin tested the boundaries of that blank, buzzing space. It was a forcefield, he realised, a little like the one he’d conjured for Arthur. Smooth, slick, impenetrable.

The sorcerers were getting antsy, staring at him, then the dragon. They must be able to sense the fact that the ritual was doing nothing. If he could just find a chink, a crack, anything to shatter the field of the cold iron – but there was nothing but icy stillness, perfect and complete. He was running out of time, the words on his tongue tripping towards their end –

Emrys is all magic.

He risked a glance at Arthur, looking pale and sick, saw his answering nod. Communion. Be ready.

And then he reached into the cold iron, every nerve screaming at the wrongness, and switched it off.

The chains shattered, and Kilgarrah roared to his feet, one massive clawed foot already cutting Erik in two. The men were turning towards the dragon, Arthur forgotten as he snatched a sword out of a bandit’s hand and slashed him dead with one blow. Merlin was already turning towards the sorcerers, snuffing out their power as they lunged towards Arthur. Orf raised his knife for a killing blow and Merlin tore it out of his hands with a gesture and cut the tendons to his knees.

“Behind you!” roared Arthur, and Merlin turned just in time to see another bandit lunging at him. He raised his hand and dashed the man against the wall, and then he spun back around just in time to see Arthur stab the last sorcerer.

“Not bad,” panted Arthur. “But we’re going to practise a lot more. You need to be quicker.”

“Can’t you ever just be grateful?”

“As much as I hate to interrupt your petty human nonsense,” drawled Kilgharrah, “you did just cause a lot of noise, and there’ll be more men down here in a second. Should we perhaps get out of here?”

“Are you offering to let us fly on your back?” said Merlin.

“Don’t mention it,” said Kilgharrah.

“Thank – “

“I mean don’t. Or I’ll take you up beyond the atmosphere and let you choke.”

“I’d like it on the record that I’m very much against this plan,” said Arthur.

Kilgharrah sniffed. “Noted and ignored.”

“Come on,” said Merlin, already clambering up Kilgharrah’s back. “It’ll be fun. You trust me, remember?”

“I HAAAATE YOOOU!” screamed Arthur over the roar of the wind.

“I didn’t know you were afraid of heights!” yelled Merlin.

“I’M NOT AFRAID OF HEIGHTS. I’M AFRAID OF SPEED.”

“That’s ridiculous.”

“THIS SPEED IS A RATIONAL THING TO BE SCARED OF.”

“Could you shut up?” boomed Kilgharrah. “Imagine if the fleas living in your shirt started having an argument while you were trying to concentrate.”

Arthur turned red. “I do not have fleas!”

“It’s all right, most humans do,” comforted Kilgharrah. “It’s your disgusting fleshy skin. It just breeds vermin.”

“What do you expect me to do about that?”

“Have you considered evolving?”

“There!” called Merlin, leaning off Kilgharrah as far as he dared. “That’s Leon’s horse!”

“Set – us – DOWN!” screeched Arthur, and Kilgharrah sighed and obeyed. They landed in the clearing, horses scattering in all directions and the knights scrambling to their feet. Leon was bellowing orders, Lance and Percival falling into attack formation behind him as Gwaine swung suicidally at Kilgharrah’s feet and Elyan lunged for the face.

“Give us back our king, you great big ugly beast!”

“Hold, hold!” called Arthur, sliding down the tail. “Gwaine, put your sword away. Elyan, calm, please. We’re here to negotiate, not attack.”

Merlin followed him, and then there was a yell of joy from Gwaine, and suddenly they were all bundled together in one back-slapping, laughing, tearful and glad mess.

“We thought you were dead,” said Lance, his eyes shiny. “We were planning to go back and find the bandits in revenge – “

“Without going straight to Camelot and sorting out the constitutional crisis?” said Arthur, baffled, and Gwaine said “Oh, princess – “ and pulled him into another hug. Merlin felt half-drunk on the happiness of living, of getting through one big disaster unscathed. And the next thing, he thought fiercely. We’ll get through the next thing too.

Just as soon as he found a nice, quiet moment to tell Arthur he was Emrys.

Oh, fuck-a-doodle-do.

“Ahem,” said Kilgharrah. “I believe I was being negotiated with?”

Arthur turned towards him, all traces of boyishness falling away and the knights falling into position behind him. Merlin took his place at his side. He saw Kilgharrah take that in and raise an eyebrow, and Merlin set his jaw and tried to project surety. This is where I’ll always be. You make an enemy of him, you make one of me too.

“Kilgharrah,” said Arthur. “You have been through much ill treatment that was unjust at the hands of men. Not just the bandits, but my father before them. I am not Uther Pendragon. But I know that I have inherited my father’s sins, and that it is in my hands to make them right. So on behalf of Camelot and all it’s people, I formally apologise.”

He bowed, and Kilgharrah bowed his head in response. Merlin felt a golden hush in the air, the sense of history being written in these moments. The legends would remember this time – when the King of Albion offered his hand in friendship to the last great dragon.

“You have more wrongs to right than just mine, Arthur Pendragon,” said Kilgharrah.

“I know,” said Arthur. “Sorcery is no longer a crime in Camelot. The scars left by the Great Purge cannot be healed by any one law, but I’m hoping we can make a step towards a better future here, tonight. I know that you are close to being the last of your kind. I have no wish to hurt you. All I ask in return in friendship, and a promise that you will never harm my people again.”

“I have no need to attack your people any longer, Arthur Pendragon,” said Kilgharrah. “Not now that you have fulfilled your destiny and become one with the great sorcerer Emrys.”

Merlin seriously considered ordering Killgharah to roast him alive.

Arthur chewed his lip. “I swear on my sword and my crown that I will not harm you, or any innocent magic user, ever again. But I cannot lie to you. I’m not joined with Emrys. I’ve never even met the man.”

“Yes, isn’t that a shame, we better go now – “ Merlin was cut off as Kilgarrah started to laugh.

“It’s considered rude to laugh when a king offers friendship,” Arthur bit out.

“That’s not why he’s laughing,” said Gwaine in an infuriating sing-song.

Kilgarrah bared his teeth. “I apologise, your majesty. But you see, Emrys is standing right next to you.”

Arthur looked at Leon. Leon turned white.

“Other side,” said Kilgarrah.

Slowly, so slowly that Merlin was sure it was meant to be an early form of torture, Arthur turned to look at him.

“That’s the one,” said Kilgarrah.

“I’m sorry,” said Merlin, “I really am – but you already said you’re not angry about the magic, so – “

“I’m not angry, Merlin,” said Arthur.

“You’re not?”

“No, of course I’m not angry about the magic.”

“Oh.” Merlin swallowed. “That’s good.”

Arthur was smiling too hard. His left eyebrow spasmed. “I understand how difficult it must have been for you to trust me with that.”

“Well, it wasn’t trusting you, you see, it was – “

 “But the lying and the useless rides around the countryside looking for you and the fact that you made me listen to you twittering on about – dognapping? Nose-picking? DRESS-STEALING?”

“That one’s actually kind of true – “

“THAT. MAKES. ME. FURIOUS!”

He flung himself at Merlin, and only Leon’s quick wits and strong hold around Arthur’s chest kept everything from ending in a murder.

“I said I was sorry!”

“If it helps, he’s been really tied up in knots about this,” said Gwaine.

“GWAINE KNEW?”

Gwaine looked at Merlin, looked at Arthur struggling like a feral cat against Leon’s hold, and started to back away.

“He only found out by accident!”

“I AM GOING TO PUNCH YOU IN THE MOUTH!”

“I can go back to Ealdor, or Cenred’s kingdom, or – “

“YOU ARE NOT GOING BLOODY ANYWHERE! YOU ARE COMING TO CAMELOT TO BE MY COURT SORCERER!”

“I thought you were going to punch me in the mouth!”

“I AM GOING TO PUNCH YOU IN THE MOUTH AND THEN YOU ARE GOING TO KNEAL AND SWEAR FEALTY TO ME AND ADVISE ME FOR ALL YOUR DAYS!”

“I’m getting a very confusing vibe – “

“WHO ELSE KNEW?”

“Well – “

“No one!” shrieked Elyan. “Absolutely no one! Wow, Merlin, you’re Emrys? Knock me over with a feather because I am shocked.”

“Terribly surprised,” said Percival.

“Who could have seen this coming?” said Leon.

“YOU!” Arthur twisted so he could jab his finger into Leon’s face. “YOU TOLD ME THAT HE HAD A TORRID ROMANCE WITH EMRYS!”

“This is amazing,” said Kilgarrah.

“That’s not – technically what I said,” cringed Leon.

“I THOUGHT EMRYS HAD BROKEN HIS HEART AND STOLEN HIS JEWELS AND RUN OFF WITH HIS BROTHER!”

“Why?” said Lance.

“I don’t have any jewels,” said Merlin. “Or a brother. I don’t have any of those things.”

“So you’re – “ Arthur broke free from Leon’s hold. “You’re not still hung up on your uber-powerful ex-boyfriend?”

“You thought I was hung up?” said Merlin, and then he started backing away because Arthur was stalking towards him in full battle mode, except the backing away wasn’t terribly helpful because he ended up against a tree and before he could do anything useful, like move around the tree and leg it into the night, Arthur was in his face with his arms bracketing Merlin.

“I am going to put you in the stocks for a month,” he moaned, and then he –

Then he –

Then he kissed him.

It was the angriest kiss Merlin had ever experienced, and then it wasn’t. Arthur’s lips turned from ferocious to gentle, and then he moved away to pull his glove off with his teeth and cup Merlin’s face before kissing him again. As if he needed to be touching him as much as possible, like he could never be close enough.

“Merlin,” he whispered, and Merlin gasped “Yes, Arthur, yes,” and they were kissing again, Arthur’s hips pushing Merlin up against the tree and their bodies slotting together like they were always meant to join in this way, like they’d been made for each other, and Merlin wrapped one leg around Arthur’s hips to tug him in. He needed Arthur closer, needed them to tangle together and through each other and into each other. It felt like all the stars in the heavens were a book and he could suddenly read.

“I love you,” he said, and Arthur moaned and said “No, I love you,” before attaching himself back to Merlin’s mouth.

“Should we leave?” said Elyan.

“Can’t,” said Leon miserably. “The bloody dragon scared off all the horses.”

“Sounds like you should get braver horses,” said Kilgharrah.

“Wait,” said Merlin, tearing himself away from Arthur with great reluctance. Arthur, not to be deterred, attacked Merlin’s neck in a way that was not conductive to thought. “Um, I think I might – Arthur, oh – I think I might have a way for us to get back to Camelot.”

“No,” said Kilgharrah, catching on surprisingly quickly. “No, absolutely not. Not again. I am not a donkey!”

“Don’t make me Dragonlord you,” threatened Merlin. Arthur pulled his head back with a wet pop.

“I’m sorry,” he said, terribly calm, “but did you just imply you were a Dragonlord?”

“Um, I, ah – “

“Merlin, I am going to ask you once and once only. How is this dragon still alive?”

“Why don’t we discuss it back at Camelot?” said Merlin desperately.

Arthur closed his eyes, infinitely weary. “A year,” he pronounced. “I am going to put you in the stocks for a year.”

“You have to be joking,” said Merlin, staring in horror at the monstrosity that Arthur had laid out in their chambers. “Please tell me you’re joking.”

“I based it on the other Emrys,” said Arthur. “I felt he gave off the appropriate wizardly appearance.”

“I thought you said you weren’t angry anymore!”

“I lied. Behold my Great and Terrible Revenge.”

Once, Arthur had put Merlin in a ridiculous formal costume for serving wine. It had three feathers of different hues springing out of the top of an enormous pillowy hat, and britches that served only to magnify the ridiculous skinniness of his lower legs. Merlin longed for those halcyon days.

“Orange and purple aren’t traditionally paired together, are they?”

Arthur shrugged. “It’s symbolic, Merlin. Orange to represent your fire-y nature as a Dragonlord, purple to represent magic.”

“How does purple represent magic, exactly?”

“It’s in one of those banned books that Geoffrey just mysteriously found after twenty-seven years.”

“Fuck me, you read now?”

“You know,” said Arthur, his voice dripping with predatory power, “you really shouldn’t talk to your betters that way, Merlin.”

Merlin raised his eyebrow in that bratty way he knew did terrible things for Arthur’s sanity. “I’m Emrys, the most powerful wizard of all time. Who’s my better, exactly?”

“Um, the glorious king who’s the other half of your destiny?”

Merlin made a face. “Oh, I don’t know about that. I’ve heard terrible things about that king, you see.”

“Really.”

“I heard he once attacked someone in the square for calling him a prat. Bit of a loose cannon. Terrible temper.”

Arthur’s hand tightened on his hip. “Is that so.”

“Uh huh,” said Merlin, ignoring the breathy whine that had crept into his voice without him noticing. “Plus he once got turned into a half-donkey, so who can really take him seriously?”

“Hmm.” Arthur’s lips skimmed his neck. “Well, he sounds like a plonker. Who’d want to serve him?”

“My point exactly.”

“You should stay here instead.”

“What, all on my own?”

“I’m sure you could rustle up some company.”

“You wouldn’t happen to be free now, would you?”

“Oh.” The word ghosted the shell of Merlin’s ear. “I’ve got some stupid appointment this afternoon, but I’ll be free after that.”

“And what’s that exactly?”

“Just swearing in some idiot as my court sorcerer. Do you know he once tried to feed stewed rat to a king?”

“He sounds terrible. You should have listened to the people who warned you about him.”

“Mmm.” The tip of his tongue traced a pattern across Merlin’s neck. “Well, I can probably be late for it.”

Merlin struggled for breath as Arthur’s fingers danced across his navel. “Don’t you think the court sorcerer might be a little mad about that?”

“Oh, I’m sure he won’t mind – “

“Excuse me,” said a loud, imperious voice from the window. “But there’s a crowd of people waiting out here for the ceremony, and they’re being very rude.”

Merlin shut his eyes and took very deep, calming breaths.

“Kilgharrah!” he chirped merrily. “I’m so glad you’re here.”

Kilgharrah’s eye pressed up against the window, as if considering whether to set them on fire. “Well, there was a crowd of people. Most of them are gone now. Some of them are hitting my legs with sticks.”

“You should have let me kill him,” muttered Arthur.

“It’s sort of calming, actually. A little like a massage. Your tiny friend Gwaine told me about those.”

“Is Gwaine especially tiny?” said Merlin.

The orange eye flickered. “Merlin,” he said scathingly. “All your friends are tiny.”

“We’ll be down in a second, Killgharah,” said Arthur. “Just – try and say something calming to them.”

“Hmm.” The eye withdrew, and Merlin gave into the fit of giggles he’d been holding tight inside.

“Oh, don’t,” grumbled Arthur, and the sight of him all pink and irritated just made Merlin laugh harder. “I should have gone with one of the other sorcerers. I bet Imriel of Carthage wouldn’t have put me through this shit.”

Merlin rested his head on Arthur’s shoulder. “I’d still be here, though. Causing all the same problems. Just secretly.”

“Always?”

“I told you.” He twined his fingers through Arthur’s hair. “I’m never leaving you.”

“I don’t want to burn you,” boomed Kilgharrah’s voice. “Cows are much tastier. But I do object to swords.”

Arthur leant his head against Merlin’s and swore, and Merlin let himself laugh again.

“Come on, lazy daisy,” he said, tugging at the hand of his king – his friend, his lover, his destiny. “Onwards to the next disaster.”