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Warm winds carry birdsong through the forest of Camelot’s southeast border, though Arthur can only hear them distantly. He stands at the base of great mountains – the White Mountains, that is – which hinder the earth’s breaths. With the sun directly overhead in the midday heat, Arthur longs for the coolness of the absent winds, though he does not miss the sting of winter.
Arthur looks around the small meadow he stands in, quite a beautiful thing, really; tall grasses billow like waves in the few breezes that manage to stir, spring flowers sprout all around, punctating the evergreen of the forest with their yellows, purples, and blues. There is a faint dampness in the air from spring showers, but it eases into the shadows with the warmth of noon, though dew drops still cling onto leaves, petals, and grasses.
Growing up large rocks like a blanket are the flowers Arthur came for: tiny, closely-knit yellow flowers. They grow in small but dense clusters.
“Ah, there you are,” he remarks, approaching the golden sprouts and bending down to gather a bouquet.
Though he would deny it if asked, Arthur has come to gather these flowers on Merlin’s behalf – only not in the way castle rumors would imply, truly. He has merely noticed his servant had been quite preoccupied as of late. With what, the king isn’t sure; Arthur only hopes it isn’t the tavern, for the sake of his chambers’ cleanliness if nothing else.
So, when Arthur overheard Gaius talking with Merlin about a need for these flowers… whatever they had been called (Arthur has already forgotten), he decided to take it upon himself. Regardless, he has sparse other things to do for the day. (That isn’t entirely true, but it is what he will tell himself… along with anyone who may question him.)
Plucking several of the flowers, Arthur gathers them in a small bunch to put in his pocket while rustling leaves sound from behind him.
Before the blond can even glance, the being rushes at him from behind.
/|\
Dry, bleary eyes open slowly, the king stirring up with a confused expression before his latest memories return to him.
Starting upright, he is suddenly on guard as his now-alert eyes dart around his surroundings – a cave, well-lit by its mouth that opens not five meters from where he stands. This cave certainly isn’t the largest, but it is a beautiful thing, with a small waterfall somehow flowing softly at the cave’s furthest end, water cascading down the rear wall and falling into the smallest of streams that ends at a crevice in the floor. In the center of the room’s expanse sits a small fire, which is surrounded by various pots and what Arthur assumes to be cooking materials.
A woman kneels at the fire, hands tending to some sort of herbs that Arthur does not recognize. They look to be just younger than he, with long, chestnut hair and eyes that loom darkly, broad arms, and a pudging stomach – something that Arthur hasn’t seen in some time after the long winter Camelot has only just begun to heal from. He might find this to be nearly comforting had this person not likely been the one who abducted him.
Arthur instinctively reaches for his sword, something he always carries with him when outside the castle, only to find it missing from his waist.
“Who are you?” he orders.
There is no reply whilst the figure merely continues their chore.
“I demand you tell me where you’ve taken me!”
When his further implores are only met with silence, Arthur takes note of the woman’s passive nature and decides instead to escape, as it doesn’t seem to be terribly difficult. He makes motion for the opening of the cave.
Before he breaks not three steps, he hears the figure utter something and finds himself pulled back by an unseeing force, leaving him sitting back on the cool, damp stone floor where he’d awoken. “You use sorcery?” he accuses.
“Yes,” the figure, at last, speaks, looking to Arthur with a calm expression as they set aside their herbs. “Is that so profane?”
He huffs. “Magic is illegal in Camelot, punishable by death, and you practice it against the king,” he says plainly.
“We are not in Camelot,” the sorceress says simply. “And I would not say ‘against’ you. On you, certainly. . . but I’ve done you no harm.”
“None that I know of,” Arthur mumbles more so to himself. “Where have you taken me?”
“The Mountains of Asgorath.”
“In Gawant? You hold me captive in the kingdom of my allies.” Arthur moves to get up again only to find himself in the same position after more incantations are spoken. “Stop that!” he calls, meaning to feign warning but instead only bearing frustration.
“I’ve waited a long time for you, Arthur Pendragon,” the sorceress remarks. “You won’t be leaving until this is through.” They stand, moving towards Arthur.
The king gets to his feet quickly, standing at the ready. “Until what is through? What do you mean to do?” Arthur demands.
“You will find out soon enough, only know that I mean you no harm.”
Before Arthur can respond, the figure, standing across the fire from him, begins to perform a spell of sorts, using the herbs they have been preparing and Arthur previously thought harmless.
He makes a final attempt at getting out of the cave, knowing defending himself against a sorceress alone – weaponless, no less – is not wise. His sword may be somewhere outside, or even a sharp branch, perhaps.
Unsurprisingly, he is forced on the floor again. Arthur finds this time to be different, however, as now, when he tries to escape, he cannot seem to move very far – as though within an invisible sphere. When he tries to move not even a step in any direction, his muscles grow weak, as though walking through the thickest of jams. He tires himself trying to step out of the boundary, only to sit upon the chilled stone floor with exhaustion after some time.
“Who are you?” he queries dejectedly.
“Maelwys. Maelwys Lunned.”
“And you are a sorceress.”
Maelwys smiles. “I’m no lady, Pendragon.”
“Right,” Arthur says stiffly, oddly embarrassed despite the situation at hand. He almost apologizes before remembering the grievous circumstances he is in. “A sorcerer, then,” he corrects.
Maelwys’ smile does not fade. “Nor am I any man.” At Arthur’s confused expression, Maelwys continues. “Your concept and belief of the nature of things does not make it fact, may it be about this or magic or ample other matters.”
Arthur’s lack of understanding doesn’t fade, but he drops the conversation, allowing it to dissipate. He instead warns that his men – his knights – will find him.
“They will not,” Maelwys replies. “Another will.” They look towards a fair, clear crystal that rests beside the falling water at the rear of the cave. “I’m counting on it.”
“You possess the Crystal of Neahtid,” Arthur states, though it’s almost a question.
“I do not. The Crystal of Neahtid is not the only of its kind.”
Arthur’s mind grows dry of what to do. He can’t escape, though he hardly wants to carry conversation with his captor either. He decides to instead take more observation of his surroundings and said captor, and hopefully, make one lucky observation that may grant him escape. He does not know if he should make means to attack the figure who resides across the fire, considering they have abducted the king but have done him no real harm. Though, he ponders on their practice of what he knows little of and surmises they may still have harmed him without his knowledge. A poison of some sort, perhaps.
Arthur takes comfort in knowing, at the very least, that his people are safe, before realizing this is of no certainty.
“Do you mean harm to Camelot?” Arthur demands, his voice sharp. “Do you mean harm to my people?!”
Maelwys shakes their head. “No,” they say. “I mean harm to no one. I only wish to have my people free.”
“Camelot today homes no captives.”
“We might as well be prisoners with how carefully we must tread under the Pendragon crown and its allies.”
Arthur sighs. “Persecution of magic and its users have lessened under my ruling,” he says. “I mean no harm to those that hold the same regard for me and my people.”
“And yet its use remains banned.”
/|\
The day passes on. Arthur does his best to pay attention to time through the sun’s castings beyond the mouth of the cave; they show the time to be late morning. He recalls the mountains of Gawant lie southwest of Camelot and thinks of the mountains which he’d been standing at the base of, picking flowers just that morning.
Flowers for Merlin, which he finds remain crumpled in his pocket.
Arthur thinks of Merlin but quickly pushes the thoughts from his mind as his reign on them slips.
“It begins,” Maelwys suddenly says, drawing Arthur’s attention back. “The truth.”
Arthur turns to them, stuffing the flowers back into his pocket. He finds Maelwys bearing the crystal – if not of Neahtid, Arthur does not know what. They peer into it intently, and he notes that it now glows vibrantly with hues of cerulean. It’s larger than that of Neahtid, with a greater expanse across one side – the one that Maelwys looks into. They stand with the crystal and approach the sitting king.
“What are you doing?” he says, wishing he could move away from their looming form and the crystal itself.
Bearing no words, Maelwys lowers the crystal to be sat in front of Arthur, just within his reach at the edge of his invisible circle. He doesn’t look at it at first, eyes locked on the figure in front of him.
“It’s time you know,” Maelwys states, face hopeful.
“Know what?”
Maelwys only nods toward the crystal before returning to their spot across the crackling fire. Arthur reluctantly looks into the face of the glowing crystal, only to find an image of Merlin in Arthur’s own chambers. They are cleaned, Merlin having seemingly completed his morning chores as he paces back and forth in front of the desk. Arthur’s training clothes are laid out on the bed, untouched by his lack of training today, what with having been abducted. The blond wonders why Merlin is in his chambers, as he thought his servant had much to work on during the sun’s rise. Had he already noticed his king’s absence?
Merlin stops and tends tediously to the pot of flowers on Arthur’s desk, a kind gesture from Guinevere. She and Arthur had eased out of the heat of their closeness into something somehow warmer, though in a different way. Something comforting that didn’t bode sharing chambers or lying one another to bed, but instead spring picnics and talks of their futures, which were no longer entwined, though still close. He loved her dearly, and she, him, only differently now. Not as a wife, but a friend.
Lifting the flower pot, Merlin suddenly turns towards where the door would be, though it remains out of Arthur’s view. The king realizes why when one of his knights, Elyan, suddenly comes into view.
The two talk soundlessly, prompting Arthur to realize he can’t hear them through the crystal. He can presume, however, as Merlin drops the flowerpot, that Elyan has confirmed the king has been taken.
Always has been a bit dramatic, Arthur thinks fondly.
This warmth fades as Merlin makes his way through the castle halls and into his and Gaius’ chambers. He dashes up the steps to his room, tearing furiously through his belongings before coming up with a leather-bound book.
Merlin whips into its contents as Gaius approaches him curiously. Though Arthur doesn’t hear what is said, he sees the physician take on a grievous expression as Merlin speaks. Gaius’ eyes quickly fill with worry as Merlin gathers things into a bag. Arthur doesn’t recognize these things, and obscurity in the crystal’s view – as though there is an oil on its surface, almost – grants no ease of discerning them. He presumes them to be medical supplies.
Merlin, you idiot, stay home! Arthur thinks, wishing he could shout to Merlin through the crystal.
“What is this?” Arthur shouts instead to Maelwys, who now sits at the small creek with clothing in hand. “What are you going to do to him? Why do you show me this?”
Maelwys looks to Arthur for a moment but does not say anything. They return to their washing without a word.
Arthur shakes his head and returns to the crystal, seeing Merlin slung with a satchel and making his way out of the bustling castle. In the courtyard, he finds the knights and approaches them, speaking with Elyan once more, who makes motions directing Merlin southwest. The knight then gestures for the servant to join them in the search for Arthur, but Merlin points back towards the castle and steps away, shaking his head and granting Arthur relief.
That is until Merlin sneaks off to the stables to grab a horse of his own once the knights have taken their leave.
The servant leaves the city grounds, riding southwest, the same way his king had gone only hours earlier. Merlin finds the same grove Arthur had picked the flowers he can’t name in, and he feels his face heat up in embarrassment. He hopes Merlin takes no notice of the flowers and remains ignorant to his king gathering them on his behalf. How ridiculous, he realizes, to be concerned with such things in a situation like this.
Dismounting, Merlin steps into the flowers – pretty, standing amongst them, Arthur notes. He hasn’t a clue what his servant is doing, but the servant himself seems to. He walks about in the clearing before stopping suddenly, looking around intently. Arthur sees no indications of his capture – because of the crystal’s haze, surely – but Merlin apparently does, as he mounts his horse with a look of determination and eyes set on the southwestern edge of the clearing.
He rides further into the mountainous landscape, his horse galloping through woods with no beaten path. Arthur suddenly wonders how his captor had even gotten his unconscious body here by themselves, though he knows asking such a question would bode no real answers.
/|\
The shadows beyond the bounds of the cave grow longer as the day wanes into evening. Arthur watches as Merlin rides towards the setting sun, finally stopping to make camp for the night as his horse begins to slow with exhaustion.
“Why do you behave civilly towards me?” Arthur speaks up, breaking the silence that has filled the cave as Arthur viewed the crystal and Maelwys busied themself with sorting out a meal. At their puzzled expression, Arthur continues. “Your kind have been punished under my family’s ruling countless times, often wrongly so – yet you hold no grudge.” He keeps his eyes on Merlin while he speaks, before finally looking up to the figure that sits across the cave from him. “Why?”
“I do not know whether you are a moral man,” Maelwys says, walking towards Arthur with a shallow, wooden bowl in hand. “I only know that you have a false perspective that has prompted a hatred of an evil that does not exist. Hatred of an art that is neither good nor bad, but instead only is. I have no reason for harboring ill intent against a man who has been kept from the truth for far too long.”
“What is this truth you speak of?”
“You shall learn soon enough. For now, eat.”
Maelwys sets the bowl within Arthur’s reach, and he sees it to be filled with stew. He looks at it with doubt in his eyes, neglecting to touch the food. Instead, he returns his gaze to Merlin, who takes his belongings from the horse’s luggage before moving on to gather firewood.
“Watch closely, Pendragon,” Maelwys says from her side of the fire, spooning stew into her mouth.
Arthur looks to her, and then the crystal. He only sees Merlin gathering wood for fire, though, and looks to the person across from him, puzzled. Maelwys only nods towards the crystal.
The king watches on and picks up the crystal to look closer, wondering what he’s meant to be seeing. Merlin eventually forms the collected wood into a pile amongst kindling, then fetches his bedroll off of the horse and leads it to a nearby stream for a bit of water.
After feeding the horse, Merlin returns to the unlit fire. Arthur watches, waiting for Merlin to develop a flame with some of the smaller sticks and branches, but he makes no motion to.
Instead, he turns his gaze to the tent of wood, and it lights, a twin flame in each of his eyes as they flare with a color Arthur can’t identify through the crystal’s blue hue.
Arthur drops the crystal, looking for Maelwys frantically, only to find the cave empty. He had not noticed them slip out, he realizes, now calling out their name.
The figure in question steps into the cave’s mouth, looking at Arthur questioningly. “You disturb my time with the stars,” they say. “What for?”
Arthur stands. “What is this?” he cries. “What do you mean to do to me with this manipulation? To— To M— To my servant? Do you mean to hurt him?”
Maelwys shakes their head, finally looking something other than calm as they stand against the night sky. “No, I have told you already, I mean no harm,” they say. “What you see is but the truth.”
“No,” Arthur states, “Merlin is too good a man; he does not have magic. I would know.”
“What you say is true, he is too good a man – too loyal to you to push you to reason. But the man you know as Merlin is both a good man and magic itself.”
“Magic itself, what does that mean? Stop this!” Arthur calls. “You’ve. . . you’ve done something to this crystal. You lie; this cannot be true!”
Maelwys purses their lips. “Neither the Crystal of Colwyn nor its kin from the Crystal Cave can so easily be tampered with. Surely you know this, having possessed the Crystal of Neahtid?”
Arthur remains silent, gaze fixed on the dark sky beyond Maelwys’ shoulders.
“Magic users have waited long enough,” Maelwys continues. “Having watched you and your servant for a full moon, I know you are mistaken regarding magic, Arthur Pendragon, and will see reason no sooner if one does not interfere. I will not let my intentions be hindered by your ignorance. You will learn this with your own eyes.”
“If you bear such knowledge of this ‘truth’, why don’t you simply tell me yourself!”
“I have waited my entire life for the allowance of magic; my patience will not wane now,” Maelwys says.
Arthur bows his head, anger still present but draining. “It’s true you have waited long enough; you have waited far longer, really, and for that I am sorry,” he says solemnly. Genuinely.
The conference withers there, in the dim firelit cave as the sun’s time expires. Arthur sees his servant settle for rest in his bedroll, but finds he can do no such thing. His body trembles with worry while he observes the man he’d grown so fond of, more so than ever in the latter months. Though now thawed, the chill bite of winter had led him to find warmth in his and his servant’s late, firelit exchanges. Despite Arthur’s hopes, these exchanges sparsely went beyond converse, save the two men’s gazes landing on one another for a few moments too long – or perhaps, not long enough.
Arthur ponders the idea of the one he trusts most having lied to him from the beginning. If it is true, does Merlin truly think so lowly of his king? Of his friend? Though it stings, Arthur loaths himself for his friend would be right in doing so. Why hasn’t Arthur repealed the law? Has Merlin felt unsafe around Arthur for these many years?
No, Arthur has confidence in the smiles he shared with Merlin, the ones Merlin echoed back at him warmly, even in the cold, even in the rainy nights of miserable hunts as they settled their bedrolls closer together than any of the other knights. Surely the truest piece of what the two of them formed is genuine – that comfort that Arthur can’t help but indulge in, showing in the lingering stares and warm smiles and brushing hands that prompt rosing cheeks, creeping all the way up to the ears, in Merlin’s case.
Arthur looks to Merlin, who is drifting into sleep now. He knows as much by the way Merlin’s shoulders lose the tension they carry during the day’s waking hours. That’s what they always do when Merlin is at last asleep, even if it takes a long while for him to be. Arthur knows that.
He looks at Merlin, at his limp shoulders and unclasped hands and lidded eyes and parted lips. Arthur looks at Merlin’s lips, and he thinks to himself that they could never say an evil incantation or curse or anything of the sort.
Whether Merlin bears such power or not, Arthur feels the same. He only worries that favoring – that trust – is not shared.
/|\
“Why am I beginning to hear him?” Arthur queries the next morning.
The sun has risen, its expiration date mended once again. He still sits on the stone floor within the invisible force, having slept in its bounds only some short time earlier. Grasses and flowers dot these floors of the cave, though Arthur swears they were not there when the moon reigned the sky, nor yesterday’s sun. The small creek of falling water looks clearer now as well. Arthur thinks it almost crystallized, though it does still flow freely.
The fire long dwindled, having dimmed into nothingness during the night, still sits between him and Maelwys, who presses several picked flowers beside the falling water at the far end of the cave.
“As he grows nearer, the bond grows stronger,” Maelwys answers.
“How is that?”
“We reside far from Camelot, and viewing someone who is so distant comes with lack,” Maelwys replies. “As he nears, the crystal’s power to see what is occurring around him grows broader.”
“So, you are capable of giving real answers, then,” Arthur quips.
Maelwys only smiles lightly in response before returning to their flowers.
As the day goes on, Merlin merely treks on through the mountains with his horse, stopping now and then to determine where to go next. How he makes this decision, Arthur doesn’t know, but he has faith in his servant, as the man moves at a quick cadence.
He moves on and on through the landscape save a stop at a broad stream. Merlin walks his horse to the water’s edge for a swill, before kneeling down to get one for himself.
Cupping the water in his hands, he splashes it upon his face, running it through his unruly head of hair that had grown through the winter. He looks down, and Arthur can’t see his face, but he can see the slump in his shoulders. Not like the ease of them when he rests, but instead, a solemn drop of them.
When he looks up, Arthur sees water droplets beading down Merlin’s cheeks and thinks nothing of it – until Merlin weeps, putting his head in his hands as his shoulders shake.
Arthur feels something dark within him, clawing at his empty stomach and sore heart and heavy throat. He looks away, wishing Merlin, brave dollop head he is, would just go home, where Guinevere and Gaius are. Where chores and the flowers are. Where it’s safe.
He also wishes the crystal had just stayed silent. Wishes Merlin’s broken sob hadn’t filled the cave with such ease.
Arthur looks back as he hears Merlin speak, gaze risen to the sky, “If you are watching, you need to let him go. If you harm him—” His head dips for a moment before he takes a deep breath and looks back up. “If you harm him, you will not be pleased with what greets you when he is found, and I will find him.”
The servant gathers himself up so soon, Arthur is certain the man has practiced it countless times, and the ache in him does not ease. Merlin splashes his face with water once more and sits upright, looking out at the water.
“Does he—” Arthur begins, looking to Maelwys, finding that they had already been looking at him. “Does he know you have been watching him?”
“I did not think he could,” the sorcerer says, “but it seems to be so.”
Arthur returns his gaze back to where it had been, upon Merlin. Through the blue haze of the crystal, it nearly glissades through the cracks of his awareness, but he watches helplessly as the tip of a sword lowers itself warningly upon Merlin’s shoulder. Arthur tenses, his eyes wide with helpless panic, but takes note of Merlin’s calm nature, who bows his head. Almost with annoyance, it seems.
Arthur looks away from the crystal again, eyes fixing around the cave in search of Maelwys. When his gaze lands on them, he’s bothered to see how relaxed they are, even as he begs for their help.
With his supplications falling on deaf ears, he stops his pleas and turns his attention back to Merlin, who remains composed even as he kneels beside the water, a sword to his neck.
“Do not move, we only seek your belongings,” a voice from behind Merlin states.
“I can’t allow that,” Merlin says stiffly, his eyes fixed on the creek before him.
“Allow? You haven’t much allowance to grant,” replies the same voice, now amused – likely the swordsman, as the blade jars as the man chuckles.
“Do not make this difficult,” quips another.
Merlin continues with a steady voice, “You are clumsy.”
Arthur can see the men now, and his breath catches in his throat; there are eight of them. Perhaps Merlin could outwit a handful of bandits, but few could escape near ten. Certainly, no unarmed man.
The blond turns his focus to Maelwys once more, his appeals reprising. “Please, help him,” he says. “Do not drag him into this; he has done no wrong!”
“Emrys can handle himself.”
“Who—?” Arthur begins, before deciding it is not important. “He has no training!” he cries. “End this madness and help him!”
With no further words from Maelwys, Arthur turns to the crystal. He clutches it in his hands as he takes in the scene before him, praying desperately to the gods that Merlin complies with what the bandits want. That Merlin makes it out unharmed.
The man in question turns his eyes towards the shining blade on his shoulder, but he does not move except for the bringing of fingers to his neck. When he takes them away, they are darkened.
“Your lousy excuse for a swordsman nicked my neck,” Merlin says, almost teasing.
Arthur grimaces, thinking to himself, Why provoke them?
The mentioned swordsman sneers, straightening himself and edging the blade into Merlin’s form. “Watch your tongue, or it won’t just be a nick.”
Merlin laughs this time, and Arthur’s stomach twists. What are you doing, Merlin? he wonders desperately. Run!
“I don’t want to hurt you,” Merlin says, tone serious now. “Please, just let me be on my way. I bear nothing of value.”
The swordsman shakes his head. “Really?” he muses. “And I am to take your word?”
“Better than taking a life.”
“I disagree.” The man raises his sword, and Arthur closes his eyes.
“Really think you can hurt me with that, do you?”
Merlin, you utter idiot!
“I s’pose at least I’ve got one,” the swordsman replies, gesturing to Merlin’s empty hands.
Merlin’s face straightens at this, and he sighs, his gaze downcast before he stands himself up to at last face the eight of them.
“I have no need for one.”
Before Arthur can begin to wonder what the hell that means, Merlin’s eyes are turning something bright that he can’t quite pin through the blue haze of the crystal. The same brightness he’d held in those eyes when lighting the fire. He nods his head, and all eight men are soon soaring beyond the crystal’s view; Arthur hears their bodies hit the soft earth. Merlin approaches one, checking the man’s neck, presumably for a pulse. He is apparently satisfied with what he finds, as he just as soon hurries over to his horse.
“I have places to be,” Merlin says grimly with a burdened sigh.
“Stop these preposterous falsehoods!” Arthur exclaims to the sorcerer, standing upright in the limited space he has. “Merlin is no sorcerer! He won’t even swat the stable flies; he would not keep this from me. I demand you stop showing me these. . . these utter lies!” He moves against the confines of his space, pushing with all his valor against the invisible wall, though his muscles grow weaker the further he moves. His actions are in vain, as he eventually drops to the floor as he is overcome with exhaustion.
He goes on to suggest he be let go before his men who, unlike Merlin, are trained for this – and not incapacitated, as he is – find them.
Maelwys purses their lips, seemingly to hold in a laugh, and shakes their head. “Emrys, who I’m certain will be the one to find you, is far stronger than any of your men,” they say. “But I am hopeful he will not harm me when I show him my reasoning.”
Arthur grows upset at this claim, taking it as an accusation against Merlin.
But the sorcerer only raises their hand. “Calm yourself, Pendragon.” Suddenly, the Pendragon in question feels as though his body is being pulled down into slumber. Within a moment, everything goes dark, and he falls out of consciousness.
/|\
When Arthur wakes, he is unsurprisingly in the same position as he had been, his body growing quite sore now. The shadows outside have diminished in the mid-noon light. He looks around the cave for the sorcerer, only to see he is alone, save the flowers and grasses – which he’s sure there are more of now. The flowers bloom more vibrant and abundantly, and the water falls clearer than ever, sparkling even in the sparse light of the cave.
He looks to the crystal and sees Merlin walking along a cliff that is lined with treetops, higher in the mountains and closer to Arthur than ever. He calls out the man’s name, but it only bodes Maelwys returning into the cave.
“You wake,” they say simply before walking to the crystal and picking it up. “He is close.” And then the crystal is set aside, beside the water where it had been when Arthur arrived here.
“What are you doing?” he says as it is taken out of his reach. “I need to—”
“Emrys will be here soon. Very soon,” Maelwys replies. “Nevertheless, I thought you did not believe what you saw?”
“Well—" But Arthur does not continue, unsure of what words to speak, and Maelwys smiles modestly. “Why do you call him ‘Emrys’?” he asks instead after several moments in silence.
Maelwys sits in their spot across the fire from Arthur, though now they rest on a bed of grass instead of cold stone. “For that is his name,” they state.
“No, his name is Merlin,” Arthur replies, accentuating the man’s name in the way he invariably always has, and surely always will.
The sorcerer shakes their head. “That may be true, but that is only his mortal name. The Druid prophecies speak of him as Emrys.”
“And how might you know the Druid prophecies?” Arthur queries. “I was under the impression they were kept silent.”
Maelwys does not reply.
Arthur pauses for a moment but then looks at the sorcerer curiously. “You are a Druid?” he finally says with disbelief. “They are peaceful people, they would not condone abduction.”
That earns him a pointed look, but still no response. Instead, Maelwys goes outside. For what, Arthur could figure doubtlessly: to avoid the conversation at hand.
The minutes go on silently, and Arthur grows impatient. That is until the flowers and grasses and water of the cave flourish more than ever. Petals and vines climb up the walls before his eyes, and the water nearly emanates light of its own. Butterflies, grasshoppers, and ladybugs now dot about in the cave, seemingly coming from nowhere.
He looks to the mouth of the cave expectantly and feels as though he stares at it for many eons before he sees Merlin’s figure step into it. Merlin, who’s slung with a satchel of things Arthur doubts are purely medical, and whose eyes frantically look around the cave before landing on his king. He calls out Arthur’s name, and Arthur does likewise, attempting to stand up as Merlin runs to him, only to realize his legs remain weak.
Merlin stops short at the invisible wall holding Arthur inside. “It’s a spell,” Arthur explains breathlessly, but just then Merlin bears through it, as though walking through nothing but a bit of harmless rainfall.
“Are you harmed?” he asks frantically, kneeling before Arthur and putting hands on his arms and shoulders and face and everywhere he can check for wounds before resting them either side his king’s face. “Why can’t you stand?!”
Arthur puts his hands over Merlin’s, pulling them down from his face to hold them in his lap. “Merlin, I’m fine, only tired from trying to get through the spell,” he says. “They’re outside, they’ll be back soon. You must go.”
“No,” Merlin says definitively, shaking his head. “No, not without you. I am going to get you out.”
“How did you get through the spell?” the blond suddenly wonders.
“Must only work on you,” Merlin replies, gaze not meeting Arthur’s.
“Merlin,” Arthur addresses, and the man looks to him. “I know,” he says, voice quiet. Merlin looks at him questioningly, but before he can reply, Maelwys returns.
“Emrys, you have made it.”
Merlin’s face twists into something Arthur does not recognize before he turns to face the sorcerer – or Druid rather, Arthur now knows. “Let him go!” he says simply, and then there is a beat of silence.
“It is time he learns the truth. Magic is not evil, and you must be the one to show him as much.”
Arthur watches as the two figures only stare at one another, but their lips never form any words.
After several moments, the Druid speaks out: “It is only right we share these words out loud, Emrys; allow Arthur to hear.”
Merlin shakes his head quickly. “No,” he says with a shaky voice. “I will speak with you, but please, just do not make him see me as this. Let me take him from here.”
“Merlin,” a voice sounds from behind.
The man in question turns at the sound, looking with glossy eyes at a worried king.
“I know,” the king repeats.
“What?” Merlin says in a small voice. He whips around to face the Druid once more. “What did you do?!” he shouts accusingly, voice withering further with each moment.
Maelwys looks solemn. “I showed him the truth. Magic must be safely practiced; the king needs to understand that it is not inherently evil,” they say. “I knew he would see reason upon seeing whom he trusts most bearing magic.”
“The Druids do not pardon these actions, surely?” Arthur watches as Merlin’s figure turns towards the small waterfall, seemingly finally taking note of the crystal, cast aside at the back of the cave. “You steal from the Crystal Cave,” he says in a voice of thorns.
The Druid looks down, the well-meaning smile still on their lips fading. “It may be returned now. I only needed it impermanently.”
Merlin speaks something quiet as if to prevent Arthur from hearing it. Whatever it is that he says, the Druid before Merlin flinches back from their shaking smile. “My Lord, surely there is no need for that?”
Merlin shakes his head before going on, “You have been the one watching me? I could feel someone was, and when Arthur went missing, I was sure it was related.”
“I needed to see what was going on, if the persecution of magic was to end or if— if someone needed to interfere.” Maelwys pauses a moment, a visible lack of confidence as they choose their next words. “We have waited long enough!”
“People like you are part of the reason we must!” the brunet retorts. “How do you expect him to accept you when you spy on us? When you abduct and trap him? When you steal from the source of magic itself and are rejected even by your own?”
“But surely you want recognition for all that you have done to protect the kingdom? To protect him? Surely you want the crown to approve of magic just as much as I?” the Druid cries, and there is desperation in their voice.
“How is he to approve of magic when you use it against him like this? There are other ways to go about this!”
Merlin turns from the sorcerer to Arthur suddenly, before looking between the two indecisively.
Finally, as tears spill, he whips around to face the sorcerer with a raised hand. He holds it there, trembling as he hesitates.
“Merlin,” murmurs the king. Lifting his own, Arthur takes the hand that still remains at Merlin’s side. “They have not harmed me. They have done wrong, but as have I. There is no need for you to follow suit.”
“I know,” Merlin says. A beat of silence and Merlin reciprocates the hold Arthur has on his hand and lowers the other that had been lifted towards the Druid. His eyes remain locked on the Druid as he repeats, “I know.”
“You will leave these lands,” Merlin says after a moment of silence that feels like eons. “Don’t ask me to spare you twice.”
“I lie beyond the borders of Camelot,” Maelwys points out, “and I only wanted to help our people.”
“I understand,” Merlin speaks, his voice dismal, “but my caution stands.”
Arthur looks past Merlin to Maelwys as he speaks up, “I will see to it that the ban is lifted.” He looks aside, gathering himself before continuing. “I am truly sorry for how overdue it is.”
Maelwys nods, looking from one man to the other, and then Arthur blinks, and they are gone.
Merlin turns to Arthur jauntily, hands trembling as he returns them to either side of the man’s face. He looks in Arthur’s eyes, and Arthur returns the favor, before Merlin pushes himself into his king, arms thrown with abandon around the man’s neck.
Arthur stiffens, and Merlin quickly pulls away.
After a moment, Arthur wonders aloud, “Is this you?” He gestures to the abundant flowers and luminous water and diddling bugs.
Merlin doesn’t look away from Arthur as he speaks. “Yes.”
Arthur takes in a shaky breath at the admission, nodding to himself as he looks away from the brunet in front of him. They sit in silence for a long while, Merlin observing Arthur and Arthur doing anything but.
“Do you trust me?” Arthur finally queries, voice wavering as his eyes remain fixed on the trees beyond the mouth of the cave.
Merlin states as if this matter weaves the fabric of what they share, “I trust you with my life, Arthur.”
“But you didn’t share this with me.”
“The lying, the self-preservation. . . it is all I’ve ever known,” Merlin says. “I didn’t want you to get hurt, or to put you in that position, burden you with that conflict. If you legalized it, I would tell you; if you didn’t, I would not.”
Arthur finally turns to Merlin, and he does not look away. He thinks of the lingering gazes they shared that held for a bit too long, though, again, perhaps not long enough. He places a hand either side of Merlin’s neck, tracing his thumbs along the man’s rosy cheeks. Leaning forward, Arthur pauses, only a breath away.
“May I?” he puts forth.
Merlin nods and drifts into Arthur, opening to him and joining their mouths in a way they had each only thought of. They sit opposite one another, pulled together not only by Merlin’s arms but also by something beyond that, as though Merlin’s magic flourishes beyond anything it ever had as it, at last, unites with its reason of being.
When they part, though only enough to reclaim their lost breath, the pair notice the cave thrives with more life than it ever had before, a rainbow of butterflies cascading around the sorcerer. Arthur smiles at this and at said sorcerer’s blush – the one that always steals all the way up to his ears.
“Sorry,” Merlin mumbles, a sheepish smile at his lips as his gaze turns downcast, doubtlessly – and futilely – to avoid his blush being noticed.
Arthur wonders aloud as he looks at the beauty around him, “How could I not see it before?”
“You saw what you wanted to, I s’pose,” Merlin replies, looking at Arthur without realizing the rosiness still reigns strong on his face.
“Oh,” Arthur suddenly says with remembrance, reaching into his pocket. “I, uh. . . I got some of these for you.” He takes out the crumpled yellow flowers he’d plucked on Merlin’s behalf the morning before, now limp in his hand.
“You got flowers for me?”
It’s Arthur’s turn to flush, now. “I just heard Gaius telling you to fetch them, and I knew you were a bit busy, so—”
Arthur stops short as Merlin looks to the flowers, face still as pink, and places his hands over Arthur’s. His eyes glow in what Arthur can at last see is gold, and when he removes his hands, the flowers are upright again, spines tight with life.
Something warm is within Arthur as he takes Merlin’s hands back into his, something warmer than all the smiles and held gazes and firelit exchanges even put together ever emanated because he knows Merlin feels the same as he – trust, devotion, and appreciation, an amorousness weaved with magic that neither of them can quite place, but finally grant is between them.